Navelwort talked all through the long morning. He rambled a lot and Delioron had to ask many probing questions to get any sense or semblance of his meandering tale, but interrogating people was part of his trade and over the years he had become adept at putting the pieces of many a garrulous, untidy narratives together in his mind by asking all the right questions to fill the holes.
Navelwort had been born a little less than three decades earlier in the Beggar’s Alley in Bree to a pair of poor and destitute, habitually drunken parents, and like so many youths who had been brought up in such miserable conditions, young Navelwort had gotten into some very bad company from early on. The hungry and desperate, the poor but ambitious, the thieves and burglars, muggers, pickpockets, fences and ruffians who formed the criminal underbelly of Bree had embraced young Navelwort into his fold and he was fast on his way to nowhere. Maybe ten years ago, when Navelwort was still in his teens, new rumors had started to circulate in the town’s criminal underworld – rumors about a mysterious man known only as ’Sharkey’, who was rumored to be the new boss, the man who controlled the underworld from the shadows.
”And who is Sharkey?” interrupted Delioron, who remembered seeing the name in one of Greengage’s papers.
”Well, that’s the question, sur, isn’t it?” said Navelwort. ”Who is Sharkey? Who knows? Nobody knows. Nobody has ever seen him, though there are those who claim who have, or who claim to know somebody who has met him. Some don’t even believe he’s real at all, but I find that hard to swallow in light of all that I’ve seen. A man of Bree, obviously, though there are those who claim he does not even live in Bree, that he’s some kind of powerful hillman chieftain from Dunland who controls his network in Bree through spies and minions without ever stepping a foot here himself. The only thing I know for sure is that life has turned a lot better for us since his name turned up, better for us poor folk I mean.”
”The criminal element, you mean.”
”If you say so, sur.”
”And what does this Sharkey want?”
”He wants to make life better for us all! To everyone in Bree-land! The Shire should be open to us all, don’t you know it, to settle and to work there, just like the hobbits do here. But we must be patient. The hobbits wouldn’t let anyone settle there, and the Rangers collaborate with them on the outside. It’ll take years and years before we can make any kind of move in that direction. So far we can only do a little bit of mischief when we can, keep our eyes and ears open and spread the word, to let more and more people know what is really going on in the Shire!”
Delioron considered this for a moment. Navelwort’s interpretation of the political situation around Bree conflicted a little with Greengage’s information, but there was enough truth there for Delioron to see how Navelwort could see it that way. According to Greengage’s papers it was not strictly ’forbidden’ to visit the Shire, but in recent years the road had become less traveled and very few traders from Bree had visited the Shire proper in years. While it was fairly common for some adventurous souls or families to go ’vacationing in the Shire’, this typically meant Buckland, which was a hobbit colony near the border of the Shire, where the hobbits were accustomed to the presence of the ’Big Folk’, as they called the men of Bree. Things were very different in the Shire, where the hobbits would shy away and even hide from visitors in their land, so visitors didn’t feel very welcome. To further aggravate the isolation between the two settlements, the Dúnedain felt very protective towards the Shire and it was not unheard of for them to ’spook’ travelers who found themselves too near it’s borders simply by letting themselves be seen, to discourage the men of Bree from going there. The Rangers wouldn’t definitely have allowed anyone from Bree to settle there.
Buf course, this situation also provided excellent opportunity for anyone intent on stirring the pot by sowing seeds of suspicion and distrust to do just that, as seemed to be happening in Bree.
”What kind of mischief?” Delioron asked.
”Oh, some of the lads used to sneak into the Shire sometimes, during nighttime. You know, to steal some vegetables from their fields or even to burgle into their houses. It’s not usual for anyone to do this anymore but the word in the street is that Sharkey is very interested in hobbit valuables and willing to pay more than a fair price for them.”
”Valuables?”
”Yes! Like jewelry, paintings, silverware, rings and so on. Especially rings! The word on the street is that Sharkey has a thing for rings.”
”I see. Go on.”
Navelwort carried on with his meandering life story. It soon turned out that the only incident Navelwort was aware of when a man of Bree had dared to burglarize a hobbit-hole in the Shire had taken place about seven years earlier, and the hapless burglar had been none other than Navelwort himself. He had been a very brash and enterprising burglar back then, eager to prove his talents and worth to his underworld mates. At the time there had been lots of rumors about Sharkey’s interest in stolen hobbit valuables from Bree, so his friends had dared young Navelwort to take up the challenge. And Navelwort, fueled by strong ale, the taunting of his friends and self-confidence brought upon by his own youth and lack of experience, had risen to it.
One night soon after that Navelwort had crossed the Brandywine river and entered a hobbit village called Stock and burgled into the home of an elderly hobbit lady. The lady in question had woken up, found Navelwort rummaging through her cabins and cupboards and started screaming. Panicked, Navelwort had assaulted her, beaten her unconscious and fled the house with a single spoon of silver in his right hand. The Shirrif and the bounders had captured him and beaten him unconscious with sticks.
When Navelwort came to, he found himself tied to a cart and surrounded by agitated and angry hobbits trying to make their minds about what to do with him. If he was just trespassing or trying to steal a turnip or two, he would have been simply banished from the Shire with a strict warning to never come back again. But his crime had been a few shades more severe than that. He had burgled into the house of an elderly lady, he had tried to steal her possessions and finally he had assaulted her and caused her bodily harm. It was decided by the hobbits that a stricter punishment was in order to set an example for the arrogant Big Folk to stay out of the Shire.
Navelwort had been transported to Michel Delving, still tied to the cart, to meet the Mayor who, after contemplating upon Navelwort’s case through the night had sentenced him be taken to the Northfarthing and banished from Bree there. The sentence was more severe than it sounded. Neither the hobbits nor Navelwort knew what lied beyond the northern borders of the Shire or if there was any way for Navelwort to ever find his way back to the civilization. Everyone was well aware that the banishment probably meant a death sentence for young Navelwort.
From Michel Delving Navelwort was transported to Dwaling where he was finally cut loose from the cart and driven out of the village. The hobbits had given him a sumptuous bag of food and treats (as the hobbits would have considered starving anyone a cruel and unusual form of punishment) but no weapons of any kind to fend off against the wolves, orcs and whatever other predators lied beyond Bullroarer’s Sward.
Exhausted and lost, Navelwort had reached the bank of Brandywine River by nightfall. And that’s where Hodhion had found him, trying to make fire by rubbing two pieces of wood against each other. Hodhion had forced the whole story out of the scared young burglar. When he was finished, Hodhion had told Navelwort that he had broken the laws of the Rangers, who were the protectors of the Little Folk down in the Shire, and that Hodhion had no other option but to take him to a place called Tinnudir Keep, where he would be thrown into a dungeon, never to see the light of day again.
Navelwort had broken down and pleaded Hodhion to let him go. He had sworn to never go back to the Shire or break any laws ever again, he had promised the old Ranger all sorts of things, until Hodhion had seemingly relented and in turn promised to escort him safely back to Bree, on the condition that Navelwort would leave the hobbits alone from now on and also keep his ears open for any information about his friends’ plans concerning the Shire or this man called Sharkey.
Hodhion had kept his promise, and after a couple of days’ exhausting trek through the wilderness Navelwort had found himself back home in one piece, blessing the Valar for his good fortune. After that Hodhion had paid him a visit in Bree on occasion, even paid him some silver for any rumors or information he could provide, if it was good enough.
At this point Delioron stood up and walked over to the window, peering through the dim, dirty glass at the sun trying to burn through the fog. He thought he understood it now. At some point earlier this year Navelwort had learned something that Hodhion though was worth two Gondorian Double-Dragons to Parthadan. Something good enough to get his throat slit from ear to ear.
Navelwort had stopped talking, and Delioron turned around to look at the small-time crook pressing a blood-soaked handkerchief against his nose. The flow of blood had stopped long ago and the blood had clotted on the handkerchief, but Navelwort seemed reluctant to remove the cloth from his flattened, broken nose. He stared at Delioron expectantly. Delioron hesitated, then walked over to his cloak on the floor next to the chair and dug up a small pouch from one of it’s pockets.
It was not the same pouch he had presented to Hodhion yesterday. Delioron’s cloak had many pockets, and many pouches hidden in them. Some more pouches in his traveling bags as well. They were all tools of his trade, those little bags of silver, they were weapons as much as swords and daggers, only deadlier. One could deal devastating damage with those pouches, if one knew how to use them properly.
Delioron emptied the contents of the pouch on the bed next to Navelwort. There were four halves of Gondorian silver coins, two halves of Castar coins and two of Tharni. Delioron had cut the coins himself in Minas Tirith forty days ago before the start of his long journey north. Navelwort goggled, gasping for air. Somebody like Navelwort would have to work for a year or two to obtain as much silver as was in these mutilated Gondorian half-coins. Navelwort stared at the coins, then at Delioron, then back at the coins again.
”So that’s what Hodhion was after”, Navelwort marveled. ”He was trying to sell me short, the greedy bastard, only offering measly ten regular silver pennies for it!”
”Yes”, Delioron agreed. There was no point of telling Navelwort about the Double-Dragons. The value of money is relative. The half-coins Navelwort was gazing at represented a year or two of hard work for a lower-class worker in Bree, for Parthadan they were pocket change. But the Double-Dragons… those he would want back, if at all possible. ”Now tell me what you told him, and the money is yours. Don’t worry, I wasn’t the one who killed him.”
”You… didn’t? Then who?”
”That’s what I’d like to know as well.”
A smug expression crept upon Navelwort’s face and he let the handkerchief fall on his lap. ”Very impressive, sur, the money I mean, but not half as impressive as what I have. Might be best for you to sit down, because what I’m about to tell you will surely bump you off your feet!”
Delioron waited patiently.
”Have you ever heard of Paladin Took II?”
Delioron shook his head.
”Well, Paladin’s a hobbit. One of the most prestigious hobbits in the whole of the Shire, next in line to be the next Thain – that’s like the king of hobbits – after Ferumbras kicks the bucket! And you know what? Paladin is in Bree-land now. Visiting relatives and friends in Staddle, Combe and Archet. It’s been months since the lads heard he was planning this trip, and now it’s finally happening. He’s in Staddle now, I think, and from there he will tour the other towns before finally going back to the Shire within a few weeks. Only it’s not happening. That’s what I told Hodhion, that’s what the lads have been planning for months! How’s that, huh? How’s that for you fancy southern silver coins? The lads are going to kidnap the most important hobbit in the Shire save Ferumbras himself, and then we’re going to demand king’s ransom for his release! We’re going to make the little buggers pay through their teeth, we’re gonna rob ’em blind! The plan is already in motion!”
