The Needlehole Mysteries

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Sniff! Sniff!

{{{}}}

Sniff?

Peppermint, that I know... But what's that other smell... very exotic... ... Yes, definitely at least one encryption spell... but the other smell.... 'nutmeg'? Didn't Dark Planet reek with all sorts of foreign spices? I smell a rat! Maybe two rats?

All I want to know is, where is the next chapter, Eldo? Not slacking off, I hope.

{{{Btw, never mind what Ringo thinks of your depiction of him, after all, he's Fjordianlandian, and so not of a Race anyone really needs to take seriously. I heard they were created by Eru so that the girl crazy Danes had a Race they could look down their noses at. }}}

The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle

Part 5


“We'll need to look for physical evidence! Petty mentioned drowning, so we can start with the nearest body of water: Banks Lake.”

The Banks Estate, it surmised, stretched over a considerable portion of the district of Needlehole. Unfortunately, most of the Estate was covered by the treacherous marshy terrain of Rushock Bog. Few dared to go into the Bog, but every year there were reports of travellers and adventurers who attempted to explore its secrets and never returned.

However, there was a small area of solid ground at the northern end of the Estate, which was where the ancestral Hole of the McBanks clan was located. Just over the way was a small lake called, appropriately enough, Banks Lake. The McBankses had wielded considerable power over Needlehole for generations and controlled the committee in charge of naming geographic features.

As the two policehobbits made their way down the muddy, winding footpath to the shore, Sgt. Herring paused. “Look here, sir. There have been an awful lot of footprints going up and down as well as large skid marks.”

DI Eldo knelt down next to the markings the Sergeant had indicated. “It appears you're right,” he conceded. “And if you look closely, it appears that something heavy was dragged down to the lake last night.”

Both officers looked at each other, then out at the lake. Sgt. Herring was the first to speak. “You think the Coal Scuttle was taken to the Lake?”

“It's a possibility we have to consider. Mr Tyrant did say he almost drowned. Perhaps he was trying to hide the Scuttle here and fell in with it.” The DI pulled out his notebook again and flipped through it. “He also implied Biffo had come with him, though. Curioser and curioser.”

Sgt. Herring paused to let the DI think. “Should we search the lake, then?”

“We'll need a boat to do that, along with nets and other equipment.” The DI put his notebook away. “First, let's get back to downtown Needlehole. There are a few females I need to have a word with.”


It didn't take much to figure out where in Needlehole Mirabella and Pretty had gone to. They were the scandal and talk of the town, and every Hobbit seemed eager to tell anyone who would listen about the rumors of their engagement. It was common knowledge the two were staying – scandalously – at Mrs Figg's House of Eels and Pleasure.

“It's a hotel, but it's not exactly a hotel, if you take my meaning,” said one old grandhobbit. “That is to say, it's not the sort of hotel that you go back to because it was so restful.”

DI Eldo was rather more enthusiastic about the prospect of visiting Mrs Figg's again than Sgt. Herring was. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) it didn't take much poking around to find erstwhile Sheriff and her companion. They were relaxing in a jacuzzi in the pool room. All the walls bore the warning: 'Touch the water at your own risk. No refunds for infectious diseases.'

“Officer Banks!” said DI Eldo. “So good to see you again. I need to borrow you for a moment, if Pretty can bear it, to ask you a few questions about the murder.” Sgt. Herring gave his superior a brief, odd look, but said nothing.

“I can't bear it,” purred Pretty. “Go ask someone else. Maybe the Gaffer saw something.”

“What a shame,” the DI said dispassionately. “Mirabella, where were you last night?”

“Here, of course,” said the Sheriff with a sultry look in her eyes. “Go look at Figgy's records, they'll prove it.”

“Of course,” repeated DI Eldo, unconvinced. “How did you find about the murder?”

“I read about it in The Archet Bugle, Forumshire's premier newspaper.”

“No, dear, the Daily Purist is Forumshire's premiere newspaper,” cut in Pretty. “It's award-winning, too.”

“Just because people buy that paper so they can see the Hobbit Lass of the Day – and I distinctly remember you stripping down for that once or twice – doesn't mean it's better,” said Mirabella.

“Excuse me?! You were a Hobbit Lass of the Day too, Ms Morality!”

“That was only for the Admin's Birthday Edition, it doesn't count,” Mirabella replied petulantly. “And I still think I should have sued over that unauthorized palantir picture.”

DI Eldo cleared his throat loudly. “Ladies! A hobbit has been murdered, you can have your little catfight about the newsrags later. Speaking of which, State News is the only paper worth reading, but that's neither here nor there.”

“What did you say?!?!” cried both Mirabella and Pretty.

“Perhaps my partner spoke a bit unwisely,” cut in Sgt. Herring diplomatically. “But please, Officer Banks, could you tell us what you know? It is an important matter of public safety.”

“Very well,” Mirabella said snootily. “I read about the murder in the paper and I immediately called up Uncle Odo on the palantir to see if he had heard about it. He hadn't, but that was because he was so distraught at the break-in and the loss of his Coal Scuttle. He told me Biffo had disappeared as well and he suspected him of helping that scoundrel Petty Tyrant!”

It took all of Sgt. Herring's professionalism to stop his eyebrows from shooting off his head, but he remained calm. “Thank you very much for your help, ladies. We'll leave you to whatever it was you were doing earlier.”

“Wouldn't you like to know what 'it' was, Sergeant?” said Pretty seductively.

“Nice try, but no dice,” said Sgt. Herring, as he pulled the protesting DI from the pool room with him.


Once DI Eldo had calmed down somewhat and regained his concentration, he and Sgt. Herring went over their evidence together.

“Mirabella claims that Odo said Biffo disappeared along with Petty Tyrant, but when we went to the Banks Estate Odo knew Biffo was around but had no idea about Petty,” said DI Eldo, summarizing his notes.

“She must have lied about talking to her uncle,” said Sgt. Herring. “Which casts suspicion on her, and probably Pretty as well. But what about Biffo? We know that he was actually with Petty last night.”

“It is odd that Biffo is present in both narratives,” said DI Eldo, “but there are too many inconsistencies between what Mirabella said and what we know happened. I smell a Red Herring. Not you, Sergeant,” he added quickly, being aware of the Fjordlandian's Leftist sympathies.

Sgt. Herring had the good grace to look ashamed. “Is Mirabella our primary suspect now?”

“Yes, I think so. But we need to find the actual Scuttle before anything else. Find the Scuttle, and we find the culprit behind all of this.”

Bad enough Pretty is shacked up with a Banks but I don't need the details on it!!
You are so lucky Paw can only read pools coupons, buckie stock prices and that little box with the Hobbit Lass of the Days thought for the day in it in the award winning Daily Purist.

{{{ This is a marvellous and well written jaunt, Eldo! I'm just dying to know what happened last night! }}}

I have a bad feeling about all this... and there's that 'peppermint' whiff again! Was that you, Orwell?

Orwell wrote:{{{ This is a marvellous and well written jaunt, Eldo! I'm just dying to know what happened last night! }}}

{{{ Cheers, Orwell! Hopefully the resolution of the mystery won't disappoint. }}}

I was a bit worried about the Skid Marks, they are difficult to remove without bleach you know?

Mrs Figg! Hardly respectable! You'll give the Feminine Race a bad name if you persist with this kind of thing..

just bein domesticatedly sayin Skid Marks are not nice on undercrackers. and as women normally have to wash forementioned skiddy troosers, its just a bit of friendly hadvice to young detectives.

Thats why I never wear any.

oooohhh Skiddy Kilt? I suppose when one bit is whiffy you can just give it a quick twirl widdershins?

Mrs Figg wrote:oooohhh Skiddy Kilt? I suppose when one bit is whiffy you can just give it a quick twirl widdershins?

Oh my.

Precisely Mrs Figg, and then when you know your going to meet someone you dont like- like a Banks, you turn it inside out and stand up wind of them.

Oh my...

The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle

Part 6


Sgt. Herring had the good grace to look ashamed. “Is Mirabella our primary suspect now?”

“Yes, I think so. But we need to find the actual Scuttle before anything else. Find the Scuttle, and we find the culprit behind all of this.”

“Should we go search the lake, then?” said Sgt. Herring. “That's still the only place we've found incriminating evidence, even if we can't be certain of it anymore.”

“I think we'll need to go back to the Banks Estate, in any event,” said DI Eldo.

It was not a long journey back to the Estate, so the policehobbits traveled on foot rather than trying to find their commandeered pony cart (which may well have been returned to Michel Delving by its shanghaied owner).

They were scarcely halfway there when they spied a strange figure on the side of the road. It would have been quite tall, but was hunched over as if life had suddenly unleashed all its challenges and adversities upon the poor soul at once. A massive growth of hair covered most of the front side of the figure, which began to walk from the bog on one side of the road to the woods on the other.

“Perhaps this one could be of some help if he saw anything,” Sgt. Herring muttered under his breath. The two investigators halted.

“Good afternoon, citizen!” called DI Eldo in as friendly a manner as any Forumshire police officer could manage while in uniform. The figure looked up at the sight and sound of the two policehobbits.

“Greetings,” repeated DI Eldo. “We're passing through the area in the course of an investigation. Did you happen to see anything strange in this area last night? Particularly in the bog, if you happened to be there earlier.”

The figure halted and stoop up a little bit straighter. It was now apparent that the hair was in fact a beard. A luxuriant beard it would have been, were it not so dirty and unkempt. The figure began to speak in a croaking voice that seemed not to have been used in a long while.

“I don't help Sheriffs, not since you lot arrested everyone at the Occupy Hobbiton protests!” he said with surprising fierceness. “Go away. We don't want your kind here.”

DI Eldo was about to react angrily, but Sgt. Herring but a cautioning hand on his shoulder and stepped forward slightly. “I am sorry that you are aggrieved, but I am new to this country. My name is Sgt. Ringo Herring, of Skattykatzenfjord, Mr …?”

“Beard. Gandalf's Beard, they call me.”

“Well, Mr Gandalf's Beard, I'm afraid I don't know about Occupy Hobbiton, but I do know that we were sent here to investigate the disappearance of one of the members of this community. We would greatly appreciate if you could tell us if you saw anything suspicious in the bog since the crime was committed in this area.”

Gandalf's Beard seemed to struggle internally for a moment before beginning to speak grudgingly. “There were a group of people, townsfolk I think, passing through the bog last night. I could tell they didn't live in the bog by the way they talked.”

“Could you tell anything about them? Age, gender, anything?” said Sgt. Herring eagerly.

“They were all women, not that there is anything wrong with a group of women being out together at night!” said Gandalf's Beard. He was a very politically correct Hobbit and was always sensitive to the concerns of women and minorities. “I couldn't tell for sure but I think they were younger. Two of them were, anyway.”

“Did you catch any names?”

“No,” said Gandalf's Beard. He grunted. “That's all I can tell you. This is a mighty uncomfortable business, helping you boys, but I do hope you find whatever poor sap's gone and disappeared. Now if you'll excuse me…” He resumed walking across the road before melting away into the trees on the other side.

“That was abrupt,” said DI Eldo.

Sgt. Herring smiled. “In my own country of Skattykatzenfjord, we have people who go off into the wilderness and live on their own when they need to take a break from life. Of course, that's easier in a place that is mostly wilderness, but I'm not surprised that this bog attracts the same sort.”

“Hippies,” DI Eldo said disapprovingly, as he shook his head.


“I think we should search the bog rather than the lake,” said DI Eldo after a moment of thought. “What the Beard told us is consistent with the idea that Mirabella and Pretty were responsible for last night's events. The bog would be a better hiding place for the scuttle than the lake, anyway. More remote.”

“Perhaps,” said Sgt. Herring. “But what about the marks at the lakeshore? And who would the third woman be?”

“I don't know,” admitted DI Eldo. “But I'm willing to bet that once we find the Scuttle it will be easy to figure out the rest.”

With that, the two crossed the road and jumped down the slight lip into the bog. “They don't call it a bog for nothing!” complained Sgt. Herring as he stood up to his knees in the mix of mud and stagnant water.”

“Gandalf's Beard came out of the bog, so there must be a path through on more or less solid ground,” said DI Eldo, attempting to retain his official dignity when he had just been splashed up to the unmentionables. “We need to find it and follow it.”

After a few minutes of splashing and searching, the policehobbits found a slightly raised bit of earth that appeared to continue further towards the heart of the bog. As they followed the path as quietly as possible, the road seemed very far behind, the trees and grass around them seemed very tall, and all life and sound seemed to be sucked away.

“I don't like it here,” said Sgt. Herring, more because he found the silence oppressive than because he thought the sentiment worth sharing.

“Me neither,” said DI Eldo in a hushed voice. “But I have a feeling we're going to find something important in here. Try not to be conspicuous. It's possible the third conspirator is in here too.”

It is said that the universe has a keen sense of irony, but perhaps it is more likely that there are simply people out there who delight in making it appear so. Whatever the case, it was at that exact moment that a small someone clad all in black, even to the feet, swung down from a platform in the trees and knocked DI Eldo to the ground with a double-kick to the chest. They might have been a Hobbit had there been any distinguishing features visible.

“Sweet Mother of Iluvatar!” yelped Sgt. Herring.

He pulled his pocket crossbow, since guns hadn't been invented yet but police need something with a trigger in order to seem truly badass. Drawing on his years of Fjordlandian military conditioning, the Sergeant planted his feet and took quick but careful aim at the black-clad figure. He let a bolt fly.

The assailant ducked, but not fast enough to escape Fjordlandian professionalism. It was struck in the shoulder and gave a brief, high-pitched cry of pain before apparently muzzling itself. With a final stare at the policehobbits, the stranger turned and fled into the swamp.

Sgt. Herring briefly considered giving chase, but instead he turned to his stricken companion. DI Eldo was gasping for air on the ground as the wind had been knocked out of him. Sgt. Herring tore open the DI's shirt in as apparently-heterosexual a manner as possible to see if he was injured. Apart from the beginnings of some nasty bruises, however, the DI seemed fine.

“Where did … that thing go?” rasped DI Eldo.

“I think she jumped into the trees. It seems like there are ropes and platforms up there for quick and quiet movement. Look.” Sgt. Herring pointed to the tree their attacker had leapt from and the rope now dangling from it.

“You said 'she'.” DI Eldo was starting to breathe normally again. “Why?”

“Well, the sound she made when I shot her certainly sounded female,” said Sgt. Herring. He grimaced, knowing that such a comment would have earned him several months of community in service in a progressive country like Skattykatzenfjord. “Plus you said the third conspirator, who we know is a female, was probably in here just before we were attacked,” he finished hastily.

“Makes sense,” said DI Eldo slowly. We must be close to something they don't want us to find. The scuttle must be here in the bog. There's no other explanation except for pure chance, but the odds of that are preposterous.”

“Do we press on then?” asked Sgt. Herring with some apprehension.

“No.” DI Eldo lowered his voice. “They can't have been expecting us to come stumbling around their secret so quickly. That person will need to warn Mirabella and Pretty. If we can get out of here fast enough, we might be able to catch them before they have a chance to slip away again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sgt. Herring. “Can you walk?”

“I have to,” said DI Eldo. He stood up and winced slightly but started to move forward. “We'll need to hurry. There isn't a second to lose.”

Thank you all for reading this far in the story! The seventh and final part of the The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle will be posted soon. That will not, however, be the end of DI Eldo and Sgt. Herring's story. Their adventures will continue in The Mystery of Mister Figg, which will immediately follow this one.

OOOh a mystery assailant! Keep em coming Eldo- this makes up for the fact there is nothing good on tv till August (when Who returns). I love a good mystery serial! (Does mean I expect you to be writing them till August of course- and with no dip in standards!)

I want to know who the mysterious black clad female is? is it Tauriel? is she wearing that new style of Stig-of- the-Dump coat from Top Shop?

I am deeply impressed, Eldo. I mean it.

Though I fear you have cheated a little. After all, any story with GB in it is automatically improved by at least 50% - and you know it!

{{One day He'll return. I just know it.. }}}

Cheers, guys! Part six was the longest yet but the final is shaping up to be even longer. I want to do the mystery justice, though I hope the story isn't getting too dark and serious and losing sight of its comedic origin. The most important thing for me is to continue improving though, so I hope I won't let you guys down (though August seems an awfully long time to go).

Orwell wrote:I am deeply impressed, Eldo. I mean it.

Thank you very much, Orwell! That means a lot coming from you. Or should I say, someone who knows the Anonymous Author of the Wholesome Tales.

Think nothing of it. And I like the 'darker' flavour. Makes it funnier for me. I'm there taking the story quite seriously, then you say something silly (or quite 'pointed' in a fun way), and I realize I've been sucked into the story and I laugh. That's a fine ability, Eldo. Follow your muse. My gawd... you seem so growed up nowadays... I remember the days when I baffled you at times. No more it seems! Oh I'm feeling so nostalgic just now... Where did I put those tissues...

The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle

Part 7


DI Eldo lowered his voice. “They can't have been expecting us to come stumbling around their secret so quickly. That person will need to warn Mirabella and Pretty. If we can get out of here fast enough, we might be able to catch them before they have a chance to slip away again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sgt. Herring. “Can you walk?”

“I have to,” said DI Eldo. He stood up and winced slightly but started to move forward. “We'll need to hurry. There isn't a second to lose.”

Dusk was falling as the wearied and muddied DI Eldo and Sgt. Herring made their way back to downtown Needlehole. The sun had slipped behind the trees lining the road as they walked as fast as they could (which wasn't terribly fast in DI Eldo's case) from the bog back to the town. Lengthy shadows covered the ground, and a distinct chill filled the air around them, swept along by the evening breeze.

“Do we check Mrs Figg's again?” said Sgt. Herring. “Mirabella and Pretty probably stayed there after we left. They did seem rather busy.”

It was a testament to DI Eldo's dedication either to his job or to revenge now that the case had become personal that he did not respond to Sgt. Herring's gibe. “I agree, they were probably still there when we were attacked, but as soon as their friend gets back all three of them are going to move. Mrs Figg's is too well-known for them now.”

“Where else could they go?”

“I have several ideas, none of which I can be entirely sure of. Unfortunately, we don't have much time to investigate. We'll have to hedge our bets and hope that someone saw them when they left Mrs Figg's. Maybe even Mrs Figg herself.”

“You really will take any excuse to go back to that place, won't you?” This time DI Eldo had an angry retort on his lips before he saw the playful grin on the Sergeant's face.

“Very funny,” he glowered. “This is urgent. It could take us weeks to find them if they have a chance to run.”

“I don't think they'll run,” said Sgt. Herring, ignoring the surprised look on his superior's face. “Think about it from their point of view. They're tabloid celebrities, they can't remain unnoticed, except maybe this third person. But it's much better for them to try to deal with us head-on, before we can spread the word about them. One of them is a Sheriff, after all. But they'll need to regroup and plan somewhere.”

“That's actually quite perceptive,” said DI Eldo with grudging respect. “But it also makes things considerably more dangerous. Are you carrying?”

“Only needed to use one bolt back in the bog, sir,” grinned Sgt. Herring.

“Good,” said DI Eldo. “How I wish we had something more convenient than crossbows.

“Give it time, sir. I hear that some wizard in Isengard is developing a newfangled explosive powder.”


The streets of Needlehole were mostly empty in the late twilight. Light poured out from many open windows and doors but the sound of Hobbits going about one of their several evening meals seemed distant as the wind picked up.

“Detective Inspector!” came a rather shrill voice. Looking around, the policehobbits saw that it came from a middle-aged Hobbit standing at the door to one of the nearby pubs. “Come quickly, I urgently need your help!”

Glancing at each other, the two officers hurried over to the door. Once they were closer, they could see from the light of the pub that the caller was none other than Odo R. Banks, Esq., who normally disdained the common, unrespectable pub crowd.

“What brings you out on the town so late at night?” asked DI Eldo with some suspicion.

“Oh, it's dreadful!” said Odo, shivering in the breeze. “Absolutely dreadful. That horrid Scotshobbit absolutely refused to leave on his own, saying he was so hungover he couldn't walk. I had to make Biffo bring him down here in a wheelbarrow, but Biffo was so hungover he could barely push the barrow. Have you seen how much alcohol that beast of a Hobbit can take before he gets drunk?”

DI Eldo fought the urge to roll his eyes and lost. “Look, Mr Banks, I'm very sorry that you're having trouble with drunks but we're on a very tight schedule so if you could just hire some of the lads here to push your wheelbarrow-”

“No, wait,” Sgt. Herring interrupted. “Are Biffo and Petty here with you, Mr Banks?”

“Yes, they're inside, drinking like fish again," whined Odo. “I can't stand it in there but I have no idea how to ever get them to leave now.”

“We'll see what we can do,” said Sgt. Herring. Turning to DI Eldo, he muttered “Biffo, at least, has to know something about what happened last night, even if he was too drunk or dumb to understand it.” The DI nodded and stepped inside after the other two.

Biffo and Petty were sitting at a table by themselves, all of the other patrons having given them a wide berth. They appeared to have made short work of most of a barrel of buckie already, and a frazzled looking barmaid was bringing what appeared to be several pounds of beer nuts.

Sgt. Herring approached the table and tapped Biffo on the shoulder cautiously. “Hello, Mr Banks, we met earlier today. I'm Sgt. Ringo Herring; do you remember me?”

“Yeff, yoo shaved Peetee frum da bed,” slurred the drunken Biffo.

“Ah, yes,” said Sgt. Herring gingerly. “I'm glad you remember. I need to ask you about last night again. Someone tried to do something very bad to Petty, and I think they might have visited you. Did anyone come by your place last night?”

“Oo triun too hurt mah fren?!” roared Biffo. “I crushfth dem!”

“Aye, who da fook is diss person?” agreed Petty.

“We're trying to find them right now,” said Sgt. Herring reassuringly. “But we need your help. Did anyone come to meet either of you last night?”

“Ah told ye, Ah cannae remember las' nigh',” said Petty in an annoyed tone. “Ah's shitefaced from doosk tae dawn.”

“Biffo,” said Sgt. Herring more urgently. “Do you know if anyone at all visited you last night aside from Petty?”

“Weel,” the Banks began. “I do thin' a cuzzin vistid, cuz shee wuz talkin' to unka Odoo.”

“Go on?”

“Mi-bella, shee n a fren. I wuz carrin' coal, all durty, but dey wannid me an' Peetee to take a big rock don too da lake. She sed dum' it in an' den...” Biffo trailed off and his ugly face changed to an expression of horror.

DI Eldo tapped his foot impatiently, but Sgt. Herring ignored him and put a comforting hand around Biffo's massive shoulders. “What is it, Biffo?”

“She wan' me too tie Peetee too da rock and fro him in too!” sobbed Bifffo. “Bu' I coodnt, soo we went to mah hut and drunk buckee.”

“Fookin' och the nelly noo!” cried the Scotshobbit. “Biffo, ya moron! Wah'd yoo even thunk a dat?”

“I dunnoo,” said Biffo, snivelling. “Mi-bellaz fren sed I had too or I'd bee a dispoin'men' to mah hol famlee!”

“Who was that friend, Biffo?” said DI Eldo, his notebook suddenly out. “A name, a description, anything!”

“Sumfin wit a 'ell',” said the still-distraught Biffo. “Ell-ee-ess, I dunnoo da res'.”

DI Eldo sighed in frustration. “Are you sure that's all you can remember, Biffo?” said Sgt. Herring, who was in truth almost as frustrated as the DI, but better at hiding it.

“Just a second!” cried Odo, who had been watching the whole exchange rather fretfully from a safe distnace. “I do believe I know exactly who Biffo is referring to. A most unrespectable Hobbit who my niece unfortunately keeps the company of. Undoubtedly sharing their perversions together,” he said with a dainty sniff that only those who have refined hypocrisy into an art form can manage.

“Who?!” demanded both policehobbits rather loudly, drawing the attention of several other patrons in the bar.

“Frankly, I'm amazed that Biffo knows any letters,” said Odo, caught up as always in his own self-importance. “But when he started to spell the name I know there could be no doubt. This mysterious friend you're looking for is Lesbo Proudfoot!”

“Who the hell names their child Lesbo?!” yelled a scandalized Sgt. Herring. “I know you Forumhobbits are different form us Fjordlandians, but for the love of all that is tolerant of social differences-”

“Yes, yes, moving on,” said DI Eldo. “Odo, just to be sure, you are referring to the same Lesbo Proudfoot who runs the The Archet Bugle, correct?”

“The one and only, I'm afraid,” said Odo with a tear in his eye. “What that horrid she-Hobbit has done to my beloved Bugle I don't like to say. It used to be so respectable, you know?”

“No, I don't know,” DI Eldo said bluntly. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr Banks. Try to keep Biffo and Petty from destroying this place.”

“But aren't you going to take care of them for me?!” wailed Odo.

“Nope.” Beckoning to Sgt. Herring, the DI walked towards the door. “Maybe if we survive I can come back and help later. I'd say call the Sheriff, but I suspect she's unavailable too.”


The door slammed behind the two Forumhobbits. “Lesbo Proudfoot?” repeated Sgt. Herring, who was still struggling to process the sheer amount of political incorrectness he had witnessed that day. “Do I even want to know if that surname is intended to be suggestive?”

“I doubt you do, given … you know, your preferences,” said DI Eldo with a smirk. “Hurry up. If Odo is right about Lesbo, then I bet we'll find our three conspirators at the offices of The Archet Bugle. It'll be closed at this hour, but Lesbo is in charge so no one will question her going there at any time. It's the perfect hiding place.

The two police officers drew their pocket crossbows and checked their ammunition as they hurried down a side-street. “That big warehouse just ahead and to the left,” whispered DI Eldo. “Those are the Bugle offices.”

“How are we getting in?” Sgt. Herring whispered back.

“There's a service entrance in the back alley that I hope no one will be watching. If we're quiet enough we should be able to make it in undetected.” Taking the lead, DI Eldo slipped from shadow to shadow into the alley. The night sky had darkened rapidly while they were in the pub, and behind the factory it was as dark as midnight. DI Eldo felt the wall as he inched along it until he came to the door. The knob wouldn't turn.

“Hold this for a second,” he hissed to Sgt. Herring, passing him his pocket crossbow. Taking the knob with both hands, DI Eldo twisted it with all his strength. It held for a second, and then with a satisfying snap the bolt broke and the door swung open. DI Eldo let go and gasped in pain, the bruises across his chest and stomach burning from his whole body tensing.

“I don't think anyone heard that,” whispered Sgt. Herring as quietly as he could. He handed the crossbow back, which the DI acknowledged with a silent nod. This way, he mouthed, pointing to a set of stairs not far inside.

Hunched over, the two climbed the stairs cautiously, listening for any creaks. Once they reached the top, DI Eldo motioned the way forward. Soon they came to an open door through which they could see firelight flickering. The fire appeared to be inside a metal barrel in a large, open room, full of printing presses and other machinery.

“I can't believe you!” yelled a voice that the policehobbits instantly recognized as Mirabella's. “You had them in the middle of the bog without a witness for miles and you just let them run off?”

“The foreign one shot me, okay?” responded an unfamiliar voice. “I didn't want to bleed to death in the middle of the bog without a single person to help for miles.”

“Girls, enough,” said a third voice. Pretty Tyrant. "All we need to do is find these two wannabe detectives and deal with them the same way we had Biffo deal with my brother. Another mysterious disappearance in Needlehole. Local Sheriff Mirabella Banks will be called in to head the investigation since the Central boys couldn't handle it, and then nobody will ever consider us as suspects again.”

There was silence for a minute. Then, “Every time I wonder if I made a mistake tossing old Odo to the curb to be with you, you just have to prove me wrong in spectacular fashion, don't you? Sweetie, you are magnificent!”

“I'm touched,” Lesbo Proudfoot said testily. “But we still have to actually find these two Central boys. How do you plan to do that?”

“Easy enough,” Pretty said smoothly. “They left in a hurry after talking to us earlier, but instead of going to Biffo's place like they should have, they ended up nearly finding the real Scuttle. That means they know we were lying, so they'll suspect us. The only place those boys have seen Mirabella or me is at Mrs Figg's. So where do you think they'll go?”

“So we just have to go back to Mrs Figg's, talk to them somewhere private inside, and then get the jump on them?” squealed Mirabella delightedly. “Ooh, I can't wait. I do hate it when my plans are messed up, especially by males.”

“You two have fun with that,” said Lesbo. “In the meantime, I will be making a real plan that doesn't involve leaving the fate of our entire operation down to the outcome of a fistfight in a brothel.”

“You think you've got something better?” asked Pretty angrily.

“Not yet, but I'm working on something,” said Lesbo in a smug voice. “You two need to stop hyperventilating. Once those policehobbits get to Mrs Figg's, which will take a while given the hit I landed, they'll have to search the whole place before realizing we're not there. You know how big it is.”

Outside in the darkness, DI Eldo turned to his companion and spoke as softly as he possibly could, barely audible over the sound of the wind outside. “We need to take them quickly. You aim for Mirabella, I'll aim for Pretty. Lesbo is already injured. After that, we subdue them and raise the alarm. It all depends on us landing a quick first strike.”

Sgt. Herring nodded grimly, his military training taking over. He raised three fingers and DI Eldo nodded back. Sgt. Herring lowered one finger and both of them lifted their weapons. Sgt. Herring lowered a second finger and they planted their feet and took deep breaths. Sgt. Herring lowered his third finger.

This has gotten so long that I'm pulling a Harry Potter and splitting the last part in two. I promise that part eight really will be the end though, however long it is. I hope the length does not make this boring; I'm just trying to tie up all the loose ends and character arcs in a satisfying way.