lord of the ringsThe Mathom-house in Michel Delving is Fascinating place, to be sure. I don’t go there often and after my last trip there, I doubt if I’ll return anytime soon. I have serious doubts as to the welcome I would receive.
It all began when Merry and Pippin turned up on my doorstep, the day before yesterday. After some very effective coaxing on their parts, and some swift and rather haphazard packing on mine, I found myself on the way to Michel Delving in the company of my two spirited cousins.
The excursion was Pippin’s idea, actually. He was quite keen to visit the Mathom-house. Oh, it wasn’t as if he’d never been before. But his past visits had always been under the watchful eyes of his parents, and for good reason. Pippin has a penchant for poking into things that should remain off limits. However, as he, himself explained, he, "hadn’t been to the Mathom-house in ages!" and, since he was now older and hopefully, less impulsive, I assumed that he could be trusted to keep his hands where they belonged. In making these assumptions about Pippin, however, I totally overlooked Merry’s tendency towards trouble.
Actually, before continuing any further with this narrative, I suppose I should add here and now, that it wasn’t only our visit to the Mathom-house that was marked for disaster, the entire Michel Delving sojourn was doomed from the outset. At least the trek to the village was relatively free of incident. It wasn’t until we arrived that things went amiss.
Being in dire need of refreshment and a base of operations for the duration of our stay in Michel Delving, we wasted no time in seeking out a satisfactory source. We found it in an inn called The Rose & Thorn. Michel Delving is fortunate enough to boast of more than one pubic house, but I remembered Bilbo remarking once that he had stayed at The Rose & Thorn on one occasion, and as his opinion had seemed highly favourable, I concluded that the inn had his stamp of approval, and that was good enough for me.
We secured a room and deposited our bags in it then headed for the common room in all haste for some food and drink. Much to my delight and surprise, the good mayor himself, Will Whitfoot, was holding court at a corner table with a group of his cronies.
As soon as he caught sight of me, he called to me in a voice full of welcome, "Frodo! What brings you to Michel Delving?"
I gave a nod in the direction of the bar, where Pippin and Merry were ordering up some ale and food for us in somewhat loud and self-important voices. "My cousins. They wanted to visit the Mathom-house."
"Ah yes, the Mathom-house," The mayor said, "one of our biggest draws. Well, you lads have come at the right time. They have some new mathoms on exhibit. Well worth the trip, I would venture."
About that time, Merry and Pip appeared at my side with half pints of the house lager. "Food is on the way!" Merry announced.
At Mayor Whitfoot’s invitation, we joined the company at his table, while he proceeded to fill us in about the new acquisitions of the Mathom-house. In almost no time at all, the food had arrived, and all too soon, we had polished off the last of the roast beef and pickled mushrooms. Then the mayor fished his pipe and a pouch of pipeweed out of his jacket and lit up, puffing away. One by one, full and content, the rest of us followed suit and very shortly, the mayor’s table was surrounded by a white blue haze and the delicious, mingled aromas of Old Toby and Longbottom Leaf.
Having exhausted the topic of the Mathom-house long before now, the conversation turned to other local topics. A somewhat, grizzled looking, old hobbit sitting next to Mayor Whitfoot, who went by the name of Tolman Goodbody, recounted a tale about an abandoned house that was located on the outskirts of the village.
"Built by Ol’ Hugo Brownlock." Tolman said. "He was a strange old bird. Had more money than ‘e knew what to do with."
"Married late in life, he did." Spoke up another old-timer at the table.
"That’s right." Tolman nodded. " A pretty, young thing, bout twenty years ‘is junior, she was. Ol’ Brownlock got it into his head that a regular hobbit hole weren’t good enough for his bride, so he determined that she should have somethin’ special."
"So, he built her a house?" Pippin piped up.
"Sure ‘nough." Tolman answered. "Oh, it didn’t ‘ave an upstairs, like them houses you hear tell of the Big Folk. But, twas the finest, grandest, longest, most ramblin’ monstrosity you’d ever want to see, or so they say. Hard to tell now, though. It were standin’ in ruins even when I was just a lad."
"What happened?" This, from Merry.
"Hugo just couldn’t make his young wife happy. Ya see, she was really in love with someone else, a poor lad from somewhere up in the North Farthing. Her parents didn’t approve, so, to make sure the two lovers stayed separated, they married ‘er off to Ol’ Hugo. So, the story goes, that despite all of Brownlock’s wealth and the big house he built for her, she grieved so for her lost love, that in a few short years she pined away and died. After that, Ol’ Brownlock became a bitter recluse, hardly venturin’ into the village, and chasin’ away anyone, even family members, who came near his place. He just let everything fall to ruin. Folks saw less and less of him. Finally, one day, after he hadn’t been seen or heard from in quite sometime, a few of the town officials figured they’d best check on him. There weren’t a sight nor sound of him when they set foot on ‘is property. And, there weren’t no answer when they rapped on the door. They figured that weren’t a good sign, ‘cause, if he’d been able, he would have run them off the place by then. They had to pry the door open to get inside, and when they did, they found a sight both pathetic and terrible. There was Ol’ Hugo, or, what was left of ‘im, sitting at his desk in his study, stiff as a board, with ‘is dead wife’s portrait, big as day, on the wall above his desk, a pile of gold coins and stacks of plates with the remains of stale, half-eaten food in front of ‘im, and the rats crawling over ‘im ."
Tolman paused just long enough to take a draw on his pipe and let the picture he’d painted take the full effect.
"Not too many will go near the ruins of Hugo Brownlock’s house. They say he’s still there, countin’ his gold. And, there’s some that say his young wife is there, too, waitin’ for her lost love to come take ‘er away."
As he finished his tale with a dramatic flourish, I happened to glance across the table to where Pippin sat, wide-eyed and still evidently still under the spell of Tolman’s ghost story. I was fairly certain that the old hobbit had embellished the legend more than a little for our benefits.
However, it was not until I heard Merry ask, "Where exactly is the house?" that a feeling of disquiet began to creep up on me.
I was relieved when the talk turned to other topics. And, as soon as we bid the mayor and his friends farewell, I leaned close to Merry and said, "Forget about the haunted house. We came to Michel Delving to see the Mathom-house. "
"Now, Frodo," Merry chided, "do you honestly think that seeing that house even entered my mind?"
I raised an eyebrow and replied, "At the risk of being called a stuffed shirt, again, yes, I do."
Merry insisted that I had done him an injustice as he flashed a carefully contrived innocent look my way. And with that we collected Pippin who had stolen to the bar for another half pint before heading to our room.....
It was really too late to go to the Mathom-house. It was already closed for the day.
"Frodo," Merry asked as we left the Thorn & Rose. "I believe it's time for a walk. You know... to stretch our legs before we go to bed."
Naturally, Pippin nodded enthusiastically, giving me the strong suspicion that Pippin would do whatever Merry could suggest. I held back, however. I still had reservations about Merry's motives for this sudden urge for exercise. At this time of day, his usual activity would have consisted mainly of moving a chair to a favourable position, lifting a mug to his lips with one hand, while using the other hand to take an occasional puff on his pipe.
But all I said was, "We've had quite a long day, I thought perhaps you might be ready to relax a bit until supper time."
Both denied that they were ready to relax, so with a bit more cajoling on their part, I soon found myself on a walking tour of Michel Delving. And as our rambling eventually ended up on the outskirts of the village, my misgivings proved to be right, for as the daylight began to fade to twilight, we found ourselves in the vicinity of Hugo Brownlocks's house.
"I should have known," I muttered.
"What'd you say?" Merry asked, as he scanned the area carefully. "Surely, you're not ready to return to the inn."
"Oh, no," I replied a bit sarcastically. "It was always my fondest desire to hike to an abandoned house and explore its nooks and crannies rather than to relax a while in front of the fire in my room."
My sarcasm was lost on Merry, who was rubbing his hands in anticipation. "Well then, it's a good thing we walked in this direction! Let’s see, where exactly shall we explore first?"
"What about over there?" Pippin answered as he pointed towards what looked to be a small outcropping of rock, but on closer look, it was obvious that the rock was what was left of a wall, covered with vines, moss and in some places, grass.
"Excellent, Pip!" Merry exclaimed, and my two cousins took off at a brisk pace.
I reluctantly followed them over to the rock pile, trying to gauge how much sunlight would be at our disposal, seeing as none of us had brought along lanterns on this walk. In my humble opinion this exploration could have waited until morning, but Merry and Pippin were never ones to let such a thing as too little light get in the way of their escapades.
We followed the rock wall for a little way. Its course ran along the perimeters of a long unused, overgrown road, bordered by a thicket of twisted, scrubby trees and brambles, with here and there a gnarled, old apple tree. It was obviously the remains of some forgotten, neglected orchard. The wall took a sudden turn and as we emerged around the bend in the road, there before us, in the fading light of late afternoon loomed what was left of Hugo Brownlock’s infamous house.
It was, as Tolman had declared, a rambling monstrosity of a structure even though a good portion of it’s once impressive hulk had fallen into ruin.
The three of us just stood there for a moment, speechless and staring in the silent clearing. I stole a sideways glance at my two adventurous cousins. Merry was wearing a look of unmistakable eagerness. But Pippin’s eyes were round as saucers. At first I thought he was getting the jitters, but I was profoundly mistaken. He, too, began to look about him in anticipation and in an instant the two of them were moving toward the house. I wasn’t about to let them do something foolish, so I pursued, hot on their heels.
Merry mounted the steps to the rickety porch, with Pippin tagging after. The steps creaked ominously and threatened to buckle under their combined weight. I half expected one of them to plunge a foot through the rotten wood of the porch, but miraculously the boards held. For the moment, I remained where I was, but I kept one hand on the dilapidated hand rail, ready to move swiftly onto the porch if necessary.
Pippin busied himself tugging at a thick tangle of vines that most likely concealed the spot where the windows were. "I wish we could see inside." He lamented.
"Why?" I asked, "It’s just an old abandoned house, nothing to see but a lot of dust and mold."
"And Hugo Brownlock’s ghost." Merry grinned.
I was pretty sure that he believed the ghost story about as much as I did, which was not at all. It was merely the embroidered fabrication resulting from years upon years of local story telling. I made a scoffing noise.
"Come on Frodo, you ‘re always saying that you’d like to experience an adventure...so, here’s your chance!" he continued, turning and twisting the door knob. When that didn’t yield any results, he leaned against the door and gave it a mighty shove. Thankfully, it didn’t move.
"Right Frodo," Pippin added, "where’s your sense of adventure?"
"My sense of adventure is just fine, right where it is, not poking around inside derelict houses, thank you very much."
"But, just think of what fun it would be." Pippin coaxed.
"The possibility of falling through rotten floorboards into a damp, foul cellar is not my idea of fun."
As I finished this declaration, the door gave way at Merry’s next push. No one made a move for a second or two, then, without a word Merry was inside the building.
"Hey! Wait for me!" Pippin exclaimed, and all too soon I was left standing alone outside, my hand still on the decaying railing.
"Merry! Pippin!" I called out in an annoyed tone of voice. "Can't we come back here later? Say, tomorrow, after Luncheon?"
There was no reply, so cautiously, I stepped onto the porch. I called their names again, to no avail. There was nothing for it but that I would have to go inside, as well. I stepped through the doorway, and into oppressive and utter gloom. I could see almost nothing, but I could definitely hear something--I assumed it was my cousins--making noises in front and to my left. I carefully and slowly, stepped toward the direction of the sounds.
"Come on, now, Merry! Pippin! I think we should go now. There's no light with which to see anything!"
"What's that? I can't hear you!" A voice reverberated throughout the emptiness, sounding as though it came from another room.
I whirled about attempting to home in on the voice. "Merry?" There was no answer right away, at least not from Merry, or Pip. Fortunately, my eyes were adjusting to the darkness, somewhat. It was not yet totally dark outside and traces of fading light wiggled into the murky darkness though the myriad cracks in the walls. So, although I could not make out details, I could at least make out dim shapes. Here and there, I recognised what must have been the remnants of various pieces of broken furniture.
"Frodo? Is that you?" Pippin’s voice, this time. I halted in my tracks.
I opened my mouth to respond, but another noise took my attention, a low mournful moaning. It fairly sent chills through me, until the rational part of me remembered that a cold breeze had been steadily whipping up while we had been walking, and it was nothing more than that, the wind whistling through the cracks and chinks in the outer walls of the old house.
The next noises were not so easily explained away. And, at first, I almost didn’t notice it right away, it had blended so well with the mournful sighing of the wind, then it separated itself and became a soft, but distinct sort of tremulous whistle. It grew insistently until it echoed in the gloom around me. All this time I had stood frozen, trying to place these strange, elusive sounds. Fear had not really taken me yet, although I must admit my alarm grew more rapidly by the minute. However, it nearly took full control of me, when from somewhere behind me came a loud bang, as of something, or someone, falling to the floor with a force.
Then I heard Pippin, yelling something unintelligible, and he was running as he yelled. Another startling sound unexpectedly materialized, practically at my ear. It came as a strange whirring noise, along with plaintive screeching. I spun around in time to find myself almost engulfed by a dark, sinister form that glowed in spots like so many golden embers. Then came the sensation of a breeze blowing all about me, and something soft and downy touched my face.
Before I could regain my balance, for I had nearly fallen, I found myself actually knocked to the ground. It was Pippin --I recognised his voice, and now I could make out the words he was spouting.
"Goblins!" he squeaked.
"Let go of me, Pip!" I cried out as I tried to untangle myself from him and stand up again. But as I finally broke free of Pippin's grasp, and gained my feet, I became aware of another figure bearing down on us.
"Frodo? Pippin? Where are you two?" It was Merry, who in the darkness, couldn't see either Pippin or I.
Before I could reply, I was run down again. This time I was knocked flat on my back, and Merry went sprawling on top of Pippin. All the while, the sound of something beating the air could be heard above us.
As I again, struggled to right myself, Merry and Pippin could be heard scrambling across the floor, yelling at the top of their lungs, attempting to find the quickest way possible, out of this mess. I gained my feet at last, and prepared to hot foot it after my cousins. I didn’t care to remain and find out just what it was that happened to reside in Old Hugo Brownlocks’s house. It was then, that I heard the whirring noise again, softer this time, and accompanied by a low warbling call. Oddly enough, a sense of recognition began to creep into my rattled brain. Curiosity replaced fear and I turned around. In the last glimmer of the setting sun, I saw not one, but several pairs of round, golden eyes staring unblinkingly at me from the rafters of the room. Owls! We had disturbed a family of Screech Owls. In the echoing gloom, their tremulous call and the beating of their wings had transformed them into something other than the inoffensive creatures they were....
Back at the Rose & Thorn, Merry and Pippin managed to gather a rather impressive crowd as they recounted the daring adventure inside Old Hugo’s house. I hadn’t the heart to spoil their fun. But later, that evening, in our room, as we were settling down for bed, they were still going on so, that at last I had to break the disappointing news to them that the "ghost of Old Hugo" had somehow sprouted wings and taken to eating mice.
Despite their initial let down, they recovered quickly enough as soon we they started to discuss the planned visit to the Mathom-house in the morning. As for me, I too looked forward to the visit and a relatively adventure-free day. After all, I didn’t suppose they could get into too much trouble there...
When I awoke the next morning, I found myself alone in the room. I washed and dressed hurriedly and headed to the Rose & Thorn’s common room, where before even setting foot through the doorway, I heard Merry’s voice gaily clipping away excitedly, then he was interrupted by Pippin, whose own voice was every bit as enthusiastic. This was followed by a round of loud laughter and I knew that my intrepid cousins were once again entertaining the patrons of the Rose & Thorn.
"Frodo!" Pippin sang out as soon as he caught sight of me.
The two were situated at a large table in the center of the room, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, who celebrated the brave exploits of the daring duo with hearty slaps on the back and raised glasses.
"Come join us!" Pippin called again as I paused in the doorway. "You’ve already missed first breakfast."
"But, you’re just in time for second breakfast. We saved you a place at the table." Merry added, indicating a vacant chair beside his own.
The cooks at the Rose & Thorn definitely knew how to serve up a delicious breakfast. The table groaned with the amount of hearty faire that was set upon it; bowls of steaming porridge, eggs prepared in a variety of ways, there were sausages, ham and bacon, potatoes sliced and fried to a crispy, golden brown, not to mention the choice of scones and muffins accompanied with sweet butter and thick cream.
Merry and Pippin were soon busy filling their mouths and stomachs. Fortunately, it left little time for yet another recounting of the ghost tale, which had seemed to become more embellished with every retelling.
After the meal was over, people soon disbursed, going to their own room or taking themselves off to their daily business. At any rate, we were left alone, so we headed to one of the inn’s back parlour rooms to let our breakfasts settle and have a smoke before striking out for the Mathom-house.
It seemed that we had picked a perfect day for our visit, for although there were others partonising the place, it was hardly crowded and we were able to linger at our leisure at the various exhibits.
It had been more than a few years since I had been inside the Mathom-house. The last time had been with Bilbo, who had proudly pointed out the suit of mithril-mail he had lent for display. Now, I was surprised to see many ‘new’ items added to number of mathoms gathered in the house. Another new development was the addition of heavy, thick ropes to the exhibit areas, that were obviously meant to discourage access, along with the usual signs, here and there, that stated politely, "Please don’t touch the Mathoms."
The first display we came to contained a collection of fragile-looking glass objects, mostly containers of various types and sizes. There was one in particular, a crystal bowl, large, rather deep and very round. The writing on the placard in front of it, proclaimed it to be a fish bowl, for the purpose of keeping pet fish.
"I’ve never known anyone to keep a fish as a pet." Was Pippin’s remark.
"I’m not sure why they’d want to." Merry commented. "Can’t imagine what good they’d be, except maybe as supper, or bait?"
Pippin laughed, "Couldn’t you just imagine someone, going out for a day’s fishing and toting their bait along in that fancy, crystal bowl?"
"And, once you’ve used up all your bait, you put your day’s catch in the same fancy bowl and tote it home." Merry added.
I leaned forward to read some smaller print on the placard. "Apparently, it was used to keep a small breed of ornamental minnow." I explained.
"Still sounds like just a fancy bait bucket to me." Merry said.
We moved on to the exhibit next to the glass display. It consisted of a collection of items used in the pursuit of hunting and trapping. The assortment of traps was surprising, ranging from roughly made, wooden cage affairs, to metal, spring operated devices of various sizes, some of which had some rather cruel-looking sharp iron teeth.
"You don’t suppose there are any of those ferocious contraptions left lying about in the woods of Buckland or Tuckborough, do you?" Pippin asked, a mixture of horror and awe on his face.
"I shouldn’t think so." Merry replied. "I don’t know of anyone using such means to trap animals."
"Besides, any left lying forgotten from days long ago, would probably have rusted away to nothing, or at least beyond use." I assured him.
Fortunately, these days, the vast majority of Shire folk would never resort to something so vicious. There is no need, at any rate, for hobbits nowadays no longer have to depend on wild creatures for food and clothing.
The next display was of weaponry and armour. The sword collection was interesting, simply for the age of some of the weapons, many had seen service in the Battle of Greenfields, when a band of hobbits, led by Bandobras Took, defeated a band of marauding orcs in 1147. Some of the swords showed signs of age and neglect, but others looked well cared for, highly polished and well oiled.
It was as I stood contemplating this exhibit that I suddenly became aware that my cousins were no longer at my side. I wondered where they could have disappeared to so quickly, so I went round the corner assuming they had gone on to the next display. But there was no sign of either of them. Neither were they at the next exhibit of mathoms. It was becoming quite likely that they had gone back to look at one of the earlier exhibits.
I heard them before I saw them. They were in the hunting and trapping mathoms display. And, when I say "in," I mean that in the literal sense, for they had either crawled under, or jumped over the ropes around the exhibit. I stopped dead in my tracks, dumbfounded at the astonishing spectacle in front of my eyes.
There was Pippin, foot held securely in the iron jaws of one of the larger spring operated traps. Thankfully, it was not one of those that sported cruel, cutting iron teeth. Still, it was apparent that it was none too pleasant for him, because he was vocalising his discomfort in a loud, insistent fashion. Merry was making nearly as much noise, as he tried to quiet Pippin, while at the same time, alternating between trying to force the trap jaws open, pulling vainly on Pips foot, and searching for a release lever.
"Be still, Pip! I can’t find a lever if you keep twistin’ about so!"
Pippin yelled something unintelligible, as it was distorted by his cry of distress, but I believe it was "Hurry up, please, Merry!"
Indeed, I too, hoped that he would hurry up, before all the commotion attracted a crowd, or worse, the Mathom-house caretaker. Without another moment’s hesitation, I hurried to their aid and fell to the task of frantically trying to free Pippin from the clutches of the iron beast. The jaws were clamped tight and no amount of our combined efforts could force them open. After a few minutes of pulling and twisting to no avail, I began to wish that the proprietor would show up, perhaps he would know how to trigger the release lever. I even suggested this option to Merry and Pippin, who both turned panic-stricken looks on me and voiced a resounding, synchronous, "NO!"
No matter, he turned up anyway, a dour, elderly fellow, looking not at all amused by our antics. Pushing us out of the way, he proceeded to fiddle with a little lever on the side of the trap, the same one that Merry had been pushing and turning.
"Oh dear." He said at last.
"Oh dear?" Pippin repeated. "What do you mean by, ‘Oh dear?’"
"I’m afraid the release is rusted. It won’t budge." The old hobbit announced.
"What do you mean it won’t budge? Of course it will. It did just a bit ago, when I was working on it." Merry said. "Look! See, I wiggled it just like this-Ooops!"
"Oops?!!" Pip repeated again, staring at the little lever that Merry now held up between thumb and forefinger. "You broke it! I can’t believe you broke it! Now what am I going to do? I’m losing the feelin’ in my foot!"
It was my turn to speak up. "I have an idea. Why don’t we try again to force open the jaws of the trap?"
"Force? Oh no," the proprietor, protested. "That mathom is an antique, it mustn’t come to harm."
"But what about my foot? I don’t want it to come to harm, either!" Pippin exclaimed.
The caretaker shot him a hostile glance and suggested in so many words that he should have thought of that before he trespassed past the ropes.
"Look," I interrupted, "I’m afraid this is the only way, we’ve tried every thing else, except sawing the thing off." The proprietor’s eyes filled with horror at the thought of that prospect. "If we could get it open just enough," I continued, "perhaps we could pull his foot free. Now, we need something to use for leverage..." I looked around, seeing nothing immediately at hand.
"Perhaps... one of the swords.." Merry suggested.
"Absolutely not!" The proprietor was adamant.
Pippin looked alarmed. "What if the sword should slip? I want my foot free, not cut off!"
"Wait a moment..." the old hobbit said and disappeared, returning promptly with an iron hearth poker.
Within moments, he was prying away desperately, while I applied all of my strength to the stubborn, rusty jaws. Little by little the trap began to give.
"Try to pull your foot out, Pip." I said between gritted teeth. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back.
" I can’t quite...Uh!..get it free..." Pip grunted. "Ouch, that hurt!" He informed Merry, who was busy twisting on the still captured appendage.
The elderly hobbit redoubled his efforts with the hearth poker and the steel jaws opened just a hair more.
"Here..." Merry said, shifting his position so that he was behind Pippin. He put his arms around Pippin’s chest and pulled with a mighty heave, mighty enough to send both himself and Pippin tumbling backwards, and smack into a table upon which were arranged, albeit rather precariously, a bunch of archaic traps and other paraphernalia. These went crashing into the neighboring exhibit, the one containing the collection of fragile glass objects, several of which, landed on the floor with the discordant tinkle of breaking glass. One of the display tables holding a porcelain vase, turned over and on its way to the ground, bumped into the table that held the crystal fish bowl, which in turn, toppled in what seemed a maddeningly slow rate, to the floor., taking it’s delicate passenger with it.
"Nooo!" The old caretaker yelled as he made a vain dive to save the treasure. It shattered into countless, tiny pieces before he had even made it under the ropes...
It was late in the afternoon when we got back to The Rose & Thorn, having helped clean up the wreckage at the Mathom-house. We, being mainly Merry and I. Pippin’s purple, swollen foot kept him from doing much of the actual physical work, although he was very helpful when it came to pointing out pieces of glass that we missed in the process of sweeping up.
As we settled our bill with the innkeeper the following morning in preparation for our return home, the proprietor of the Mathom-house had yet to finish tallying up just how much we owed in damages, there. Some of the mathoms had never had a value placed on them, so it was going to take some time to figure out their exact worth. When we informed him that we would be departing Michel Delving first thing in the morning, he assured us that he could and would, most definitely send us the bill.
Well...at any rate, it was lucky that we had chosen ponies as our method of travel on this particular trip. Although I was initially a little put out with my young cousin, to say the least, in truth, I can’t stay upset with Pippin for long. And I would have been sorry to see him hobble all the way home. (However, I suppose a few saddle sores never hurt anybody.)
