Chapter Six

The next day was a rest day for Kira; market had truly worn her out.  She spent most of the day sitting in the kitchen reading, her right foot in a pail of tepid water.  After returning to her mother’s stand yesterday she had helped for a few more hours, then Mother had made her purchases of flour, meat, and produce and they had gone home with the Burrowses, whose shopping was also over.  On the way back Mother had asked her if she had enjoyed the market; Kira had smiled and nodded.  It was such a bustling, exciting place—how could one not enjoy it?

Even if it had made her want to collapse in bed when she got back.  She wondered how most hobbits managed to go to market every week.  Ah, but you are not like most hobbits, Kira, she reminded herself.  She returned to the book, which she had been falling behind in over the past few days.  At least she could do something, now, when she was tired.  How strange that a bit of paper and ink could make her well enough to go to market!

Daffodil came over for afternoon tea, bringing two cloth dolls so that they could have company.  “So, how’s that book coming along?” she asked, noticing it was carefully placed beside the table in its bag.

“Well enough,” said Kira.  “The Travellers are stuck in a barrow.”

“A what?”

“A barrow.”

“Where, all the way out on the Barrow-downs?”  Daffodil suppressed a shudder.  “How in the Shire did they get there?”

“Do you happen to remember the tale about the Old Forest?”

“Of course—it’s about how you shouldn’t venture off into the wild on your own.  Flora knows it by heart.”

“They go to the Barrow-downs after all that.”

“Why?  You’d think they’d have wised up after all that Willow business.”

Kira sighed and tried her best to put on a wry front.  “They were being chased by scary Men cloaked in black on horses all throughout the Shire, and they didn’t want it to get worse Outside.”

Daffodil laughed.  “In the Shire?”

Kira laughed, too.  “You can’t expect much else from Travellers’ Tales, I’m afraid.  And of course, they didn’t think they would get caught when they entered the Downs.  It’s a lot scarier than anything I ever heard when I was little.”

“Does this book of yours try to give a reason for it all?  It never made any sense to me, to have them leave the Shire on a lark.”

“Yes, but the reason’s as preposterous as the idea of horsemen in the Shire.  At least reading keeps me from getting bored all the time.”  Kira blew on her tea before taking a measured sip.  She added another drip of honey, then offered the bowl to Daffodil.

She shook her head.  “I’m all right.  I do believe Daisy Doll would like a little more, though.”  She pretended to put a spoonful into the doll’s cup.

“Is there anything else you’ll be needing, girls?” said Kira’s mother from the next room.

“I don’t think so, Mum,” Kira replied.

“I’ll be outdoors, then, at the garden.  Call if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

“Your mother certainly does a lot of work, Kira,” Daffodil whispered the moment Mother had left.

“Doesn’t yours?”

“Well, yes, but not that much.”

“I am starting to help her more, I’ll have you know.  But that reminds me, Daffy—you won’t believe what I saw in town.”

“What?”

“Mum has a room in the storage tunnels, you know—I thought it was just for the cart for market—but there were a lot of things in there.  I didn’t even know we had them.  I should like to have another look at them, but I don’t think Mum would let me, or even tell me what they were, if I asked.  Do you have any idea what they’re doing in there?”

“No.  What are they?”

“It’s as if there’s another smial in there—I could have sworn I saw I double bed, and a clothes press—maybe even a plough.”

“How strange!  Maybe we can have a look at it when the lads are playing Lockholes next Friday—well, you can, at least, if you have a mind.  I’m still not sure if I’m going.”

“The Lockholes next Friday?  Has Tom got another scheme?”  Tom only set dates down when he had a scheme.

Daffodil nodded.  “Didn’t I tell you on the way back from town?”

“No!”

“Well, apparently yesterday morning Tom ran into the Hornblower brothers at market, and they got into a bragging contest, and the Hornblowers made some sort of preposterous claim that they had been to one of the rooms where someone had actually been locked up—at midnight.  So Tom said that he could do the same if he wanted, and they said that he probably wouldn’t have the nerve for it, being from the country and all.”

“Oh, dear.”

“And he told Roly about the whole affair and Roly said he’d like to have another look at them, and they might as well go there at night, seeing as the honour of all good country scamps was at stake.  I’m half tempted to join along just to see they don’t get into any mischief.”

“But Daffy, you know that never works.  They’ll just get you into mischief as well, even if you don’t want to.  Isn’t sneaking out of bed at night mischievous as it is?”

Daffodil threw up her hands.  “I don’t know.  You always had more of a head for adventures, Miss Reader, than I did.”

“I don’t know,” said Kira.  “I’ll think about it.  Let’s wait to hear what Tom has to say.”

*  *  *

As Kira expected, Tom debriefed her on the whole matter next day.  The Lockholes had been scary enough at daytime; at night they would be terrifying.  Ah, but you’re older than you were the last time you were there, Kira, she thought.  And she remembered how horribly ill she had gotten the last time she had sneaked out of bed at night, though it had been winter then and she had been fool enough to try and sleep with icy air streaming into her room.  Now she would be going outdoors—in warmer weather, true, but at night—and walking into town, all because some stupid town boys had done something Tom hadn’t.

But she remembered, too, that sense of awe that had come over her the last time she had been at the Lockholes, the same awe that Kerry’s horn and to an extent the Red Book had instilled in her.  And she kept on thinking of that room with the morning sun coming in from behind and casting a shadow on the dust-caked objects of home life.

Kira decided to go with the lads.  So did Daffodil.

So Friday night after Mother had tucked her in bed, Kira dressed herself, and, remembering the way Tom had opened it, slipped out the window, dragging her crutch after her.  It was marvellously cool outside, it still being early night.  She decided that she may be a little tired the next day, but certainly not enough to fall ill and be discovered.  Mother would have her head if she did.

She knew the way to the old oak well enough to find it by night, and there was moonlight, too, hazing in through a thin layer of clouds.  She was the last to arrive.  Tom had procured some lanterns and was pacing by the tree; Daffodil and Roly were just beginning to nod not too far off.  In spite of herself a thrill ran up her spine.  The Lockholes… at night!  How dreadfully frightening!  She and Tom shook the others to wake them, and without a word the children set out towards town.

The Lockholes were on the same side of the road and the river as the hobbits’ homes, so they bypassed most of Michel Delving.  The little that they did see, glancing off to the right as they slipped by, looked like a ghost at this hour.  They could see, glowing through the windows of a few houses and holes, fires burning down; in the morning they would be revived again.  But there were no lights outside; everyone had checked in for the night.  The road leading to the storage tunnels was illuminated only by the haze of moon and the light from their lanterns, and the only sound Kira could hear was the thump of her crutch and the pounding of her heart.

Tom pushed the main door to the tunnels open and they filed inside.  Most of the rooms were in use, but she could still see the holes in the doors, long since painted over, where huge locks had been driven into them.  Only a few rooms had had locks on their doors to begin with; the contents would have had to be valuable indeed for anyone to think of stealing them.  But as Kira paced the main tunnel she imagined hobbits behind every one of the doors and the lantern in her hand a set of keys.  Instinctively she looked behind her, though she knew she would only see Roly bringing up the rear of their odd little procession.  How strange that her fancy ran so free during the night!

One of the tiniest rooms, far down at the left end of the tunnel and so inconspicuous that Kira would not have noticed it had Tom not pointed it out to them, was still empty.  This was where they had gone previously, but suddenly Kira did not want to enter, not now!  Tom was impervious to fear, however, and he led the other three hobbits within.

It was a tight squeeze for four children, so tight that Kira now doubted it had really been used as a prison cell—a full-grown hobbit could hardly stand within it!  But no, the same holes had been pounded in this door as the others, though she wondered who possibly could have been locked up in here.  They sat down on the cold stone floor, their backs to the wall, and set the lanterns in the middle like a campfire.  Kira shivered.

After a few minutes of uneasy silence they broke out into whispers.  “Now what?” said Daffodil.  “We’ve seen the Lockholes at night.  That’s all we have to do, right?”

“I don’t know,” said Tom.  “I’ll bet the Hornblowers haven’t spent the night here.”

“Are you mad?  Sleeping on stone?”

Tom shrugged.  “It was only an idea.  You were near snoring before we came here.”

“Snoring?  I don’t snore!”

“What’s that?” said Roly.  He pointed to the door, where the lantern light was playing with Tom’s shadow.  Tom turned around and looked, Kira looked as well.  There were other shadows there, formed by a few odd grooves in the wood.  Kira let out a shriek.

“What is it?” Tom said.

Kira looked again—they were faint, they were weathered, they had been painted over several times, but they were definitely there.  “Letters.  Someone carved his name in the door!  Someone was locked up in here!”

Daffodil screamed, too.  Roly covered her mouth.

“Well, they weren’t called the Lockholes for nothing,” said Tom, but Kira could see he was shaking.  Knowing that someone had been jailed in a storage room for several months was one thing; seeing direct evidence of it was something else entirely.  He got up and held the lantern to the door.  “Well, Kira, what does it say?”

Kira stood and peered at the shadows in the door; they were easier to read now that the light was at a better angle.  “Fr—Fredegar Bolger, 1419.”  She tried to back up and nearly knocked over one of the lanterns with her heel.

Daffodil rose and steadied her.  “What is it, Kira?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Kira, sounding very quiet, “only I read about him rather recently and it’s unnerving seeing his name here.”

“It really does say it’s Fatty?” said Roly.  Not all the children’s tales of the Shire were about the Travellers.

Kira nodded.  “There’s something above his name too:

Though what lies before you’s black,
Never let your spirits slack.
Even if the Sun should fail,
Still will Beauty e’er prevail.”

“How dreadful a thing to write!” said Daffodil.

“Well, he was locked up,” said Roly.

“Yes, but surely he knew the Troubles couldn’t last forever.  The Sun failing?  That’s… absurd!”

“I’m not so sure,” said Kira.  “If he believed the Travellers before they left…”

“He knew the Travellers?”

“Er… well, the book I’m reading says he did…  It says they thought the world might end, which maybe could explain the Sun…”  Kira broke off.  “Never mind.  I don’t quite understand it myself.”  Stupid book, she thought.

“I think I know what he meant about beauty, though,” said Tom, who was being unusually thoughtful and examining the stones surrounding the door.  “Look!”  He cast the light about the walls.

What had originally appeared to be rough stonework was now illuminated by the lamp, and the shadows revealed something that they never would have noticed by day.  Fredegar Bolger had not just carved his name; he had etched an entire outdoor scene into the walls of his prison!  They were faint, but the outlines of objects were there—the rolling landscape, the silhouettes of trees, even a few animals nosing among the rock.  They gazed upwards and saw curved lines for clouds, and a disc for the sun.  “I wonder why no one else has found this,” said Kira.

“Well, he was locked up,” said Roly.  “Couldn’t exactly have told the ruffians about it, could he?  I’ll bet he’d have done a real sculpture if he thought he could get away with it.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said.  She trailed her hand along one of the lines separating the sky from the land, and then sat down again.  She thought about that poem, and decided that whatever Fatty wanted to do with his art was up to him.  How awful it must have been, to be locked up like that!

They talked for a little while, but not long.  Kira felt a sudden drain of energy; somehow seeing the scene carved on the walls made the place less fearsome, even though at the same time it felt ten times as real.

Silence reigned throughout the cell.  Kira watched the candle in the lantern opposite her sink to half its original height.  Tom was still examining the rude carving, his hands tracing the strange signs on the door every now and then.  Daffodil had apparently found a stone floor bearable to sleep upon; Roly was already snoring.  Tom was too engrossed in his study to notice.  Kira got up again and took a lantern with her.  If Tom saw that she had left the room, he gave no sign.

The clouds had cleared outside, and she could now see the rising moon glimmering through the passage window.  As she had sat gazing into the lantern’s flame Kira had remembered her other reason for going out into Michel Delving late at night, and the excitement of the evening’s discovery now fuelled a curiosity so intense that she knew it could be up to no good.  She had to see what lay in her mother’s storage room.

While she was walking down the main tunnel she had to restrain herself from looking back, from seeing if she was being followed by her friends or by the ghost of some long-dead hobbit doomed to roam these halls.  She had never realized that she was this afraid of the dark before, and she wondered how long it would take people to notice if something horrible happened to her just then.  At one point she almost ran back to Fatty’s cell, where the glow of the other lanterns was issuing from under the door, calling her back to light and companionship.  A bird trilled outside and she jumped.

It did not help, either, that she did not quite remember where the room was, and thus had to turn aside each time she encountered a door, open it, and look in at the fanciful shadows the objects cast upon the wall.  At last she opened a door and was coherent enough to recognize the herb cart directly in front of her from among the visions of dragons and trolls and wights.  Letting out a pent-up sigh she set the lantern upon it, taking one last glance down the corridor before she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, gasping as if some great beast had been chasing her.

The stars were shining through the small window opposite her, and the light of the lantern let her look at the dust-covered things lying about.  Directly behind the cart was a small stack of tableware, the same kind of simple crockery that she ate from daily, and on top of that lay the wooden rack of spoons that she had noticed previously.  She picked one up off the rack and tried to rub off some of the blackish stuff that covered it with her fingernail.  After a minute she gave up with a slightly smudged finger to pay for her efforts, and held it before the light.  On the end of the spoon were engraved two letters, delineated by the pitch-black of the tarnish which Kira had been unable to rub off.  L.P., it read.  How very strange, thought Kira.  Why would you engrave something if no one could read it?

She picked up the lantern and moved on to survey one of the corners, and gave a cry of shock as she realised she recognised some of these things, from long ago.  Here were the toys she had outgrown—a wooden pony, a very old stuffed dog missing an ear, a knitted blanket whose colour had turned from cream to yellow.  It lay folded in a cradle that she now realised must have been hers, though she could not remember it.  She picked up the plush dog, holding it under her arm, and moved along.

Against the back wall she saw the shadow of a pitchfork, looming before her, but since she could now see the fork itself it did not seem so scary.  There was also a flail and a plough, and a scythe.  More peculiar was the presence of a saddle and halter.  They had never owned a pony, had they?  She moved towards the back of the room, intent on seeing the farming things better, but she got distracted along with way.

For one thing, there was the bed, a large, beautiful, unmovable thing with dust caking the coverlet and pillows.  Why would Mother have gotten rid of this?  The headboard was richly carved with branches and leaves of trees, and despite its years of disuse she could see the gloss on the wood.  What in the Shire was it doing here?  She dusted off a spot and sat down, dog on lap and head in hand.  What was any of this doing here?  She could understand some of her childhood things—she no longer used them, after all—but the other things, the spoons and the pottery, why?  And what about the plough and the saddle?

Opposite her was a side table, with a vase on it and a small clock that had stopped.  She lifted up the vase and saw a fine white plate beneath, with a slip of parchment underneath that.  She unfolded the parchment and held it before the light next to her.  It was a letter.  It read,

Dear Lagro,

I hope you enjoy this little plate that your darling sister has painted for you.  Perhaps it can rest on the mantel of your new home, so that every now and then you can look up and remember the love that your family has for you.  I know it is but a pale reflection of those two fine hobbits it attempts to depict, but since you two will always be together now I suppose it hardly matters!

Best of luck to you on your wedding.  You are always in our thoughts.  Anyone who looks at you and Rosemary together can tell that you will be very happy together.

                                                                                                                                                      Yours,
                                                                                                                                                      Foxglove

Kira set down the letter and picked up the plate.  Painted on it were, as the letter had said, the faces of two hobbits, looking at each other and encircled in a border of roses.  On the left was clearly Mother, though her cheeks were rosier and her eyes brighter than Kira had seen them.  The face on the right she did not recognise, though there was something about his features that was disconcertingly familiar.

She reread the letter, and all at once the meaning of this room came crashing down on her.  She stood up, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that she should leave, but she turned back and picked up the plate again, staring at her dead father’s features.  Her hands began to shake, so badly that they lost their grip.

The plate shattered on the floor.  Panic gripped Kira’s heart.  She clenched the handle to her crutch and set it on the floor, preparing to run out of the room and never look back until she was safe with her friends.  But rather than the floor, the crutch landed on one of the shards, and Kira in her terror fell forward.  As she fell her right foot came into contact with something, and pain shot up her leg.  She screamed as the stone floor rushed up to meet her, and all went black.

*  *  *

The scream woke Daffodil.  “What’s wrong?” she said.  Tom was fumbling with the doorknob.  “Where’s Kira?”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I think she left a few minutes ago.”

“You let her leave?  Alone?”

“I didn’t know she was up to anything!”

“You idiot,” Daffodil muttered.  She kicked Roly into wakefulness.

“Wha—?” he said.

“Wake up.  Something’s happened to Kira.”  Daffodil grabbed a lantern and led the boys out of the cell.

Down the hall Tom was vying with her for the lead.  “Honestly, how was I supposed to know?  It’s not as if she said anything!”

Daffodil elbowed him out of the way.  “It’s the middle of the night, it’s near pitch-black, and in case you hadn’t noticed, Kira’s not the most sensible of hobbits!”

“All right, then!  You tell me what she was up to!”

“I’m not entirely sure—her mum showed her this storage room, and there were lots of things in it that Kira wanted to see.  I said that if I went to the Lockholes I’d go along with her, but then I fell asleep.  I thought she’d wake me up if she still wanted to look.”  They reached the room, easily identified because of the light pooling out from under the door.  Daffodil opened it.

At first they saw nothing out of place.  Then they moved farther back in the room, near the dusty old bed, and found Kira, lying face-first on the floor.  Daffodil knelt beside her and turned her over, calling her name.  She made no response.  Blood was leaking out of a small cut on her head.

“What happened?” said Tom, who was examining the ceramic shards on the floor.

“I’m sure she can tell us that when she wakes up.  Roly, do you know where the town doctor’s house is?”

“No,” said Roly.

“I do,” said Tom.

“Give Roly directions so he can find it.”  Tom looked ready to protest, but Daffodil cut him off with a glare.  “You,” she said, “are going to Kira’s smial so that you can find her mother and explain to her exactly what kind of scrape you’ve gotten us all into.”  Tom gave her a mutinous look.  “Do you want to help Kira or not?”

“Fine,” he said.  “Just make sure Roly tells the doctor to bring a lot of cloth.”

“Why?”

Tom pulled back the edge of the bedskirt, which had been covering most of Kira’s legs.  Its hem was touched with blood, blood which was flowing out of a gash in her crippled foot.  Daffodil blanched and turned away.  “Somebody, please get the doctor—quickly!”

Roly ran out of the room, glancing behind at Tom to see if he would help show him the way.  Tom nodded, but before he left he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and tied it over the wound.  Daffodil settled herself on the floor and took Kira’s hand in hers, keeping vigil over her friend until help arrived.

In fifteen minutes Roly returned with Dr. Grimwig.  “Tom went off to tell her mother,” he said, panting for air.

Daffodil nodded.  The doctor knelt down next to her and looked Kira over.  “Is she all right?” said Daffodil.

“She should be.  The cut on her foot isn’t too deep, though it’ll hurt a lot since it’s on her bad foot.  I’m more concerned about her head, actually; though judging from the bump she didn’t hit it as hard as she could have.  I will have to sew her up, though.”

“Sew?”  Daffodil felt a little ill again.

Dr. Grimwig smiled.  “You won’t have to watch it, dear.  Just help me get her up on this bed and tell me if she wakes up.”  He cleared off the scattered objects lying on the bed, placed some clean cloths upon it, and then all three of them lifted Kira and set her atop it all.

He turned to Roly.  “Can you stand the sight of blood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”  He handed a few more cloths to Roly.  “If you could please clean up the floor, then.”

As Roly complied he turned to the task of washing Kira’s head and foot.  “Do you know why she fell?” he asked Daffodil.

“No,” she replied, “none of us was here when it happened.  Tom found something on the floor, but I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Meanwhile Roly had finished cleaning the floor.  All the pieces of pottery were in a neat little pile beside the bed.  “Now what?”

“Hold this lantern here,” said the doctor, but Daffodil was looking at Kira’s face, which had been going steadily paler since they had first found her.  Her eyes flicked open.

“Doctor,” said Daffodil, “she’s awake.”

Dr. Grimwig got up and walked to the head of the bed.  “Are you feeling well, Kira?  How much does it hurt?”

Tears started in the girl’s eyes.  “A lot.”

He held out his hand before her.  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“Good.”  He walked back over to his bag and poured something from a flask into a thimble.  “Drink this, it’ll help with the pain.  You’re a very brave lass.”

Kira took the thimble, stared a moment at its contents, and downed it in one gulp.  Almost immediately the strain disappeared from her face and she laid her head back down on the pillow.  Within a minute she was asleep.

The doctor had in the meantime prepared to sew the cut closed.  Daffodil watched while he threaded a needle and passed it through the flame of the lantern before turning to the work before him.  Then she had to turn her head away, ostensibly to watch for any reaction on Kira’s part.  There was none, and she was surprised, when it was over, at how short a time it had taken.

The rest of the night passed in a blur for Daffodil.  When the operation was done she felt all the excitement and nervousness leave her, and she passed into a light doze.  Then Kira’s mother arrived, and she and Roly and Tom were issued out of the room while she talked with the doctor.  Then Kira woke up again but Daffodil was not allowed to see her, for her mother was talking with her.  They must have spoken for a long time, though, because Daffodil had drifted off again in the interval, and when she woke up the morning light was streaming in from under the door of the Proudfoot storage room.  Then she finally was permitted to see Kira, but she, too, had fallen asleep again, her arm curled around her old stuffed dog, and the doctor said it was best not to wake her.  When Daffodil finally got home her mother called her a wise, responsible young lass, and though she beamed with pride at this all she could think of was bed.

*  *  *

Daffodil did not get to see Kira for another week, though she tried numerous times.  Kira was recovering from her wounding, and her mother kept her under lock and key whenever she was ill.  What she was doing in her room no one could say, not even Tom.  His part in the injury had not been forgotten, and he was not allowed within sight of the Proudfoot smial.

“I’ll bet she’s tucked up with that precious book of hers,” he said one of the few times Daffodil saw him.  Poor Tom, she thought, he never did take failure that easily.  And poor Kira.

But then on Tuesday she saw Mrs. Proudfoot buying four plump hens at the market, and knew that Kira had to at least be improving.  Then on Thursday Mrs. Proudfoot called on them, requesting her and Roly’s presence at a special dinner celebrating Kira’s recovery and intended to honour those that had both found and helped her.  So Daffodil put on her nice frock Saturday afternoon and walked with her brother over to Kira’s home.

And oh! it was a feast.  For here were the hens she had seen, all trussed up and stuffed with sage and onion, and potatoes roasted in the oven, and the freshest vegetables one could wish for.  And the doctor and his wife were there, and Tom was asking to see Kira’s stitches (which exposure Kira righteously refused), and there was Kira sitting by the kitchen fire, looking wan but quite happy, and when supper was ready her mother served the food with a smile spread across her face.  And the food was excellent, even for hobbit fare, and the children were even allowed to try the tiniest sip of wine for the festive occasion.  Daffodil tried her best not to make a face at the tartness, and either Tom was a marvellous actor or he had gotten more from his father’s stores than pipeweed.

The Proudfoots were not used to so much company, so the tea table was squashed in next to the dining room table, where the children sat.  It was a most peculiar arrangement, but the nicer table seated more people and that was that.  At any rate it allowed conversation to flourish among them as they compared their activities from the week.

It was not as exciting as Daffodil had expected, however.  Kira said she was recovering and would say nothing more on that subject.  Tom had apparently gotten in trouble back at home because of the previous week’s incident, and thus had had no new escapades to brag about.  And for Roly and herself it was much of the same work as every other week.  So the talk swiftly turned to the muddled events at the Lockholes.

“So, what exactly happened, Kira?” said Tom.  “You did say you were going to tell us when we were all seated.”

“Nothing much that you don’t already know.  I had wanted to see this room of Mum’s, I dropped a plate that was in there, and then I tripped when my crutch landed on it and I fell.  That’s really all I can say about it.  What I want to know is how you found me—I know you were there, Daffy, but that’s about it.”

“You screamed awfully loud, Kira,” said Daffodil.  “And there was light in the room you were in.  It wasn’t that hard.”

“Tom and I went off to find the doctor,” said Roly, “and then I came back with him and Tom went and found your mum.”

“I’d heard that part,” said Kira.  “I still wish I could’ve seen the look on your face when you explained to Mother what happened,” she added to Tom.

“Probably tried to blame the whole idea on me,” said Roly through a mouthful of chicken.

“As a matter of fact I didn’t, thank you very much,” Tom muttered.

“Really?  Are you saying you owned up to a mistake?”

Tom stared at his plate.  Daffodil kicked Roly from under the table.

“Ouch!  What was that for?”

Soon after dinner, Kira professed a great weariness and asked if she could retire for the night.  Daffodil asked to accompany her to her room and she assented.

“You’ve been doing all right, then?” Daffodil asked as Kira leaned on her for a little more support.

Kira nodded.  “A lot better than I would have if this had happened a year ago.”

“I did want to apologise for helping you get in this mess.  If I hadn’t fallen asleep maybe I would’ve come with you and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Thanks.”  They walked on for a few more steps before Kira spoke again.  “There wasn’t anything terribly important in there, anyway.  Just a few old memories that should’ve been kept in the Lockholes where they belonged.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Mathoms.  Things from before I was born.  Mum and I talked about them a little.”

“Oh,” said Daffodil.

“It’s all right; I’m just a little tired.  Busiest day I’ve had in a week.”  Kira quirked a smile at her, and together they entered her room.  “I should probably go to sleep now.  Thanks for staying with me.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” said Daffodil, wondering at Kira’s quiet mood, and she left.  But when the dinner was finally over and everyone was leaving for home, she stole back into her room to see if she was all right.

Kira lay on her bed in her shift, covers half cast over her, sleeping.  That was not what was odd.  What was odd was that her old stuffed dog that had been rescued from the storage room was on the floor, and in its place under Kira’s arm was the Red Book of Westmarch.