The Lady of the Rings

By Anne Onymous

Fifteen-year-old hobbette Frieda Dräggynz has always lived in the Shire, a peaceful village where nothing exciting ever happens. Unlike the other inhabitants of her village, she wishes to travel the world and go on adventures. When her beloved Great-Aunt Betty mysteriously vanishes, leaving her a magical ring, Frieda discovers that the ring was forged by the shadowy Dark Lady, a tyrannical sorceress and avid taxidermist, and that it is one of a set of evil jewellery made to kill.

Together with eight companions and a lot of cursed jewellery, she sets off on a quest to destroy the ring in the volcano where it was forged, travelling through mountains, mines and shopping centres on the path to Mount Bloom. But in her way stand a wedding planner, nine bridesmaids, the creature Bubbles, and the Dark Lady with her armies of FORCS and goblins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Onymous
• Release date: Jan 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215869697

Anne Onymous

Anne Onymous is a spelunker of the unknown with a Bachelor of Dark Arts from the Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts. She has travelled the world and the seven seas since childhood, giving her plenty of inspiration for her books. When not writing, she can generally be found supporting the climate movement, hunting with bow and blade, or listening to spooky organ music while she continues her efforts to free a mythological beast from its long imprisonment in an alternate universe.

Book preview

Part I. The Fellowship of the Rings (and other various bits and pieces of cursed jewellery)

Prologue.

The world has changed considerably in the six thousand, four hundred and one years that I have been alive, and I am still very young for an elf.

I can feel it in the earth beneath my boots.

I can taste it in the water.

And I can smell it in the air. Yeeecchhh!

The change can be seen and felt everywhere, but in the last three and a half thousand years it has become far more noticeable.

Much that once was is now no more, because if it still was, it would be is instead of was.

After the oil wells dried up, humans returned to a simpler lifestyle, and farmed and made what they needed. They still retained some of the modern conveniences that were commonplace in the 21st century of the Third Age, such as electricity, lightbulbs, internet, smartphones, air conditioning, cinema and television.

But this tale begins, like most things do, at the beginning. Specifically, in the 27th century (still in the Third Age), and for several months before that as well, when some very pricy jewellery was forged.

Three rings were given to the elves, immortal, beautiful, intelligent and extremely deadly.

Seven to the dwarf-ladies, the most skilled metalworkers in Mediocre Earth. They were rather annoyed that they had not been hired to make the Rings, but were placated somewhat by free jewellery.

And nine were given to a group of mortal women, all of whom were the only members of their respective families to have unfortunate features. As such, the seeds of jealousy were sown inside their hearts.

Within each of these rings is the power to do immense deeds, whether good or evil. It also brings the wearer uncommonly luxuriant hair. This did not do much for the elves, who already had long, thick, healthy locks, or the dwarves, who obsessively brushed their hair and treated it with exotic oils, but pleased the mortal women to no end.

But that was the only good thing that it did for them, because we were all tricked. Another ring was forged, which the maker kept for herself.

In the land of Mudfloor (yes, you read that right), inside the gorgeous but poisonous volcano Mount Bloom, the Dark Lady Sharon forged another ring, with intentions of using it to control the others. And into it she put half a bottle of romantic cologne, a working remote control for a broken black-and-white television, and her tendency to taxidermy anyone and everyone who even slightly disagreed with her.

The One Ring was a plain ring that did not look like much. If anything, it resembled a wedding band with an Elvish inscription etched into it. But appearances are deceiving. It was the most powerful ring of all, and it held the power to influence the minds of any who wore the other rings.

It was one ring that quite literally ruled them all.

The next part of the Dark Lady’s plan was to take over Mediocre Earth. She proceeded to do so, and in very quick succession the various countries in Mediocre Earth fell under her power.

But there were a few who resisted. They had no intentions of going down without a fierce fight. My cousin Bob, for instance, was taxidermied into a lovely lampshade.

A vast alliance that was composed of humans and the three types of elf (Riverdale, Sylvan and Mothmórien) fought against the vaster armies of creatures from Mudfloor.

All war is unpleasant, but this battle was particularly brutal. Neither side wanted to lose, for various reasons, but each and every member of the alliance was aware that they were fighting for the very freedom of Mediocre Earth.

As the armies of Mudfloor advanced upon the alliance, the Dark Lady herself appeared on the battlefield to challenge the leader of the humans, a thirty-something woman named Isadora. Said woman’s last name was quite long and nobody was able to pronounce it, so it might as well be left out. But I’ll give it to you anyway, just in case. Isadora Prudziakawalanochianawcikovaic.

The two females were duelling to the death, but the Ring brought extraordinary strength to Sharon. She had one boot on Isadora’s throat, about to end her life, when she was momentarily distracted. Isadora seized the opportunity and severed the finger of Sharon, taking the Ring with it.

The Dark Lady was defeated.

Isadora kept the Ring. She rather liked it, and wore it on a chain around her neck to keep it safe. She was greeted as a hero wherever she went on her return home, and one day on her victory tour she spotted a beautiful lake. She adored swimming. The temptation was too strong.

In the middle of the night, whilst her surviving army slept, Isadora crept out of her tent and waded into the lake for a midnight swim. She was unaware that the lake was infested with piranhas, and she paid the price. She was eaten alive, and it was not pretty. In fact, it was quite bloody and gruesome.

The Ring fell to the bottom of the lake, and was forgotten.

Mistakes from the past that should have been remembered were not.

What was once taught in schools as history was taken off the curriculum. From history classes, it passed to legendary status in bedtime stories, and as time passed and the people who had been present died off (or, in the case of elves, went into the West), fewer and fewer people believed that the stories were true. They became myths.

For two thousand, seven hundred years, both the Ring and the Dark Lady were forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.

And then, three weeks later, the Ring found another victim. It was picked up by a young man who was diving for seafood, and he gave it as an engagement ring to his girlfriend, who was named Suzanne. She quickly fell under the Ring’s spell and ran away with it, hiding in a cave in the Mouldy Mountains. The Ring gave Suzanne unnaturally long life and, as I believe I have already mentioned, unnaturally lovely hair.

In the cave, the Ring set to work. It infected Suzanne’s mind, turning it from the brain of a normal young woman into a disease-ridden, gangrenous, twisted, evil brain. And for four hundred and ten years, the Ring waited.

Meanwhile, something else that was both dark and strange occurred. Monarchs and nobles all over Mediocre Earth received presents of beautiful jewellery from a mysterious, red-haired woman, who made it herself. As soon as the recipient put the jewellery on, the curse that was inside the piece took hold.

The list of victims grew and grew. Some were killed outright by the curse, while others were severely maimed mentally. My mother was one of those victims, and she has never recovered.

As rumours swirled around the appearance of a beautiful sorceress inside an abandoned theatre, fears mounted and animals hastily vacated the southern part of the Crystal Forest, the Ring of Power put its plan into action.

It left Suzanne, who had morphed into a creature now known as Bubbles, but it had not planned for what happened next.

The One Ring was found by a rather unlikely creature. Not a powerful elf, a fierce human or an intimidating dwarf, but by a peace-loving hobbette, Betty Dräggynz, of the Shire. She was later known as Bloodthirsty Betty.

You would be wise to remember that name, for the time of heroic hobbettes has come. More changes are coming for everybody in Mediocre Earth, whether they like it or not.

But for now, all that is left of times gone by is a poem, provided below. 

Gale Greenelf.

Three rings for the elven-monarchs under the sky

Seven for the dwarf-ladies in their halls of stone

Nine for mortal women doomed to die

One for the Dark Lady on her dark throne

Two crowns for king and queen

Made them melt. How unclean!

Their daughter went with a large sack

To find the Dark Lady and get payback.

The queen of the Dwarves was obsessed by her wealth

She’d buy jewels or get them by stealth

She reclaimed her gold

But a tragic end has this tale of old.

A bracelet for the queen of forest elves

Who liked to sit upon some high shelves

She put it on and went round the bend

Her children tried her mind to mend

Another ring for dwarven-king

He withered, shrank and felt a sting

The cat ate him for a tasty brunch

The other dwarves heard quite the crunch

The countess of Gumdrop had a necklace

She disappeared without a trace-

She burned completely, with a clear blue flame

The others thought it such a shame.

One ring to rule them all,

One ring to find them

One ring to bring them all

And in the darkness bind them

In the land of Mudfloor where the shadows lie

The Dark Lady, with her cursed jewels

Lies in wait

To catch the fools.

Chapter 1. The Shire.

At some point in the future.

The inhabitants of the Shire were quite satisfied to call themselves normal, and were pleasant, content folk. They lived simply, but happily, in a series of picturesque cottages, built in a beautiful, hilly meadow filled with flowers and lush green grass.

There was a large noticeboard in the middle of town that generally had personal advertisements and announcements tacked to it. A sample of the contents included:

Thirsty? Try our dehydrated water powder!

Free samples of new, improved nothing.

Cruise the Bermuda Triangle. One way.

Found: Money. Not giving it back.

Jewellery sale! Ask me no questions.

Governess wanted. Experience with chloroform preferred.

Secret society recruiting! Tell your friends.

Do NOT attempt this. Free tutorial.

Wanted: Knife-thrower’s assistant. No haemophiliacs!

Lost: Ring. If found contact Sharon.

The cottages in the Shire were grouped closely together, all except for one, which was built much farther apart, as if to distinguish itself from its neighbours.

The inhabitants of said cottage were quite different from the other Shire folk, too. There was a young-seeming hobbette, who was the black sheep of her (now rather dead) family. A strange streak of fire ran through her that rarely occurred in the inhabitants of the Shire. She lived with her fifteen-year-old great-niece, who had an unusual name.

Francesca? Felicity? No, wait. Frieda.

Frieda Dräggynz was a hobbette. She lived with her great-aunt Betty in a small house, in the Shire. The cottage was called Bad End, and she had lived there since she was very small, when her parents had died of mushroom poisoning. She liked sour or bitter food and disliked sweet.

Great-aunt Betty looked about twenty, but was one hundred and ten years old. She had once had adventures in far-off lands, ninety years ago, and told wonderful stories about dragons, dwarves and mountains. She would also bake things and give them out as presents to people in town, for no reason at all.

Everybody adored her. Nearly.

Except for some distant relatives who were jealous of the fact that Betty was still as beautiful as she had been ninety years ago. Her hair was still dark and glossy, the same shade of black as a raven’s wing, whilst her skin was smooth and flawless, giving her the appearance of a twenty-year-old.

Said distant relatives were also somewhat annoyed about the fact that Betty was showing no signs whatsoever of popping her clogs, shuffling off her perch, kicking her bucket (or dying, for that matter), although she was rather elderly by mortal standards.

The inhabitants of the Shire were puzzled by the fact that Betty still looked like a young woman just out of her teens, but thought it must be that she had uncommonly good luck, or else that her good deeds had somehow granted her eternal youth by the Supreme Witch (who was a Shire myth and was based on a witch who occasionally came visiting, named Gabrielle the Gorgeous (more on her later)).

Frieda, who had heard these stories all her life, never doubted that her great-aunt had actually had these adventures, and she wished that she could have done something interesting as well. She would daydream quite frequently that something interesting happened and that her life was filled with danger and excitement. This led to some unfortunate mishaps when she was distractedly mopping the floor or peeling vegetables.

On this particular day, she was daydreaming about climbing up a snow-covered mountain with elves, when Aunt Betty called her name a few times to get her attention.

Frieda? she said. Could you go to the Hamkeys and get some more potatoes, please?

Certainly, said Frieda, trying to sound neutral but secretly delighted. She had been desperate to get out of the house and down to her friend Samantha Hamkey to plan the surprise 111th birthday party they would hold for Great-Aunt Betty.

When she arrived, Samantha Hamkey was sitting at the family’s greengrocer stall in front of their home. Her family grew and sold all the fruit and vegetables in the Shire.

She was a year older than Frieda, but they shared the same class in school, Frieda having been moved up a year.

Business was fairly brisk, but the two hobbettes were able to chat whilst setting up for the day. Frieda often came to help out, as Mr and Mrs. Hamkey were quite busy looking after their youngest children and the rest of the Hamkey offspring were still of school age.

Miss Frieda, said Samantha, sorting potatoes by size, weight and colour, Have you given any thought to your own birthday? You’ll be sixteen in a week.

Sixteen already? said Frieda, trimming the tough, woody stalks off a bunch of greens. Where are the years going? It seems like only yesterday we were playing hide and seek together in Aunt Betty’s back garden.

I don’t know. Up the chimney, I guess, replied Samantha, lowering her voice. But there’s a lot of rumours going around that your Aunt Betty has found a way to stop time. I’d be cautious in case somebody decided to see for themselves, without asking your permission, Miss Frieda, if you know what I mean.

Frieda laughed, not heeding the warning. Stop time? That’s impossible!

Old Mrs. Twofoot says that Betty hasn’t aged since she came back from those adventures with the dwarves! She thinks it’s because Betty is basking in the glow of all the gold she brought back.

Mrs. Twofoot was about the same age as Betty. She was one hundred and twelve, and rarely left the house anymore, but had about five hundred grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren who did all her errands for her and told her the gossip in town. Hardly anyone in the Shire was not related to her in some way or other.

Perhaps Mrs. Twofoot is onto something, said Frieda thoughtfully. Aunt Betty’s certainly rich, and she has a seemingly endless supply of jewellery. In fact, I have never seen her wear the same pieces twice, but there’s certainly no mountains of gold in the house. But she had no more time to think it over, as a customer had come up.

Still, said Samantha, when the customer was out of earshot, I’d like to think that those tales she told us were true. I’d love to see elves. I’d ask them how they manage to get so many presents wrapped despite being so tiny.

And perhaps you will, one day, said Frieda, trying not to laugh. But Samantha, these elves are about twice as tall as us, have nothing to do with Christmas and are well-trained, highly coordinated killing machines. Especially the females.

Oh, said Samantha. She shrugged. Still, I’d like to see them.

Frieda smiled. So would I. Aunt Betty talks about one elf in particular. The one that slew the mighty dragon Smug with a single arrow that was very, very, very well-placed.

He must be a very good shot.

She is a very good shot, confirmed Frieda. Aunt Betty says she’s quite remarkable for one so young.

Is she a friend of your aunt’s? said Samantha.

Yes, but she’s never come to the house. She can’t get through the door, said Frieda. She abruptly changed the subject, unsure whether to bring up the topic of their recent graduation, but she decided not to. I wonder if something exciting will happen today.

I hope so. The Shire is nice, but at the same time nothing really earth-shatteringly exciting happens here. Often I feel that something unusual would do us good, like an attack of wolves or snow in summer, or something interesting like that.

Things will change with Aunt Betty’s birthday party, said Frieda enigmatically. I don’t know why or how, but something will.

She had no way of knowing just how right she was.

When Frieda returned home with the potatoes, her aunt was talking to one of her friends, and talking about something that interested Frieda greatly. So against her better judgement, she did not immediately announce her presence, but stood and listened. She was wondering what was going on and why her aunt had been behaving strangely lately.

...I must go with my friends again. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen them, and the infamous Captain You-Know-Who wants to meet up again, said Aunt Betty, Besides, I must get away from here. It’s too quiet. But I don’t know what to do about Frieda.

Do about me? Frieda thought. What does she mean by that? I’d love to go with her, but it’d be a bit difficult telling her now.

Where is Frieda? asked Mrs. Boffin. "I haven’t seen her for a while. She is still alive, isn’t she?"

I’m not sure, said Aunt Betty, pouring herself a second cup of coffee and adding a splash of cream. "I keep leaving out food overnight and it’s gone in the morning, leaving only the crumbs, so I presume she is."

Mrs. Boffin looked utterly horrified. What?

Just teasing, said Aunt Betty. I sent her out to get some more potatoes, as I wanted to plan leaving the Shire. I know she wants to come with me, but I’d be afraid she’d be bored with thirteen dwarf-ladies, who don’t have table manners at the best of times.

How could you be bored with dwarves around? Frieda thought. She had fond memories of some particularly rowdy gatherings which nearly always culminated in a large mess and even larger amounts of broken crockery. 

Please, Mrs. Boffin, don’t tell anyone else in the Shire about me leaving. I will tell Frieda when the moment is right, said Aunt Betty. She added: However, I have no idea what we will do with so many potatoes, but that was the only thing I could think of. 

You could try making soup, suggested Mrs. Boffin, delicately biting off seven-eighths of an emerald-iced biscuit.

Frieda had heard enough. She crept back to the front door and went out. She came in noisily, pretending she hadn’t just heard her aunt.

Ah, hello, Frieda, said Mrs. Boffin. Your aunt and I were just talking about you.

You’re back, said Aunt Betty. Many people out?

Good evening, Mrs. Boffin, said Frieda, trying not to add that she knew. Yes, Auntie, Samantha Hamkey says hi and thank you for the lemon meringue pie you made for her little sister’s birthday the other day.

Aunt Betty smiled. It was nice to be appreciated.

Here are the potatoes, Auntie, said Frieda, ceremoniously plonking a brown paper bag on the counter. But the oddest thing was, I found the potatoes stuffed into the cutlery drawer this morning when I was drying the dishes. I didn’t put them there, so I wonder who did…?

Aunt Betty knew that Frieda knew. And Frieda knew that her aunt knew. It was a little game of theirs. They looked at each other for a long moment.

Aunt Betty looked slightly guilty. An old mind, dear, misplaces things.

Six days passed with heavy rain, and Frieda was watching her aunt very closely. Nothing interesting happened, however, but Frieda noticed that her aunt spent most of her time with her hand in her pocket, and she wondered what she was doing. She also caught her looking at old maps.

Frieda? said her aunt on one of the occasions that Frieda caught her packing a bag. Did I ever tell you why I adopted you?

Er-no, said Frieda. Why?

Because you have the same glint in the eyes as I do. You yearn for adventures. I saw a kindred spirit in you. Aunt Betty reached up and straightened her great-niece’s blouse. Your time will come soon.

Aunt Betty refused to say any more on the subject, leaving Frieda wondering and fizzing with excitement that her daydreams might actually come true.

On the evening of the sixth day, it cleared somewhat, and Frieda went out to the woods with a sketchbook and a pencil, aiming to draw some of the woodland life. She was quite skilled with a pencil, and could produce extremely lifelike drawings that almost looked as if they would leap out of the page.

Suddenly, she heard snatches of what sounded like strange chanting in a language she did not know, but wanted to learn.

It was the language of the elves, once spoken by everybody in Mediocre Earth, but now only by the elves and a few others, including Aunt Betty. Frieda realized this as she crawled forward in the long wet grass for a few hundred metres, as she did when she was trying to get close enough to a wild animal to draw it.

She saw that a fire had been lit in the clearing, and there was a cloak-wearing old lady standing there. Said cloak-wearing old lady was emptying mysterious bundles of this and that into a steaming cauldron, stirring it with a large tree branch, and muttering to herself about frog eyes, newt tails, and the shockingly bad quality cauldrons available for sale these days.

Suddenly she turned to pick up a bowl that was filled with what looked like frogspawn, and Frieda, recognizing her face, gave a shout of surprise and delight, which was somewhat muffled by the fact that she was holding the sketchbook and pencil in her mouth.

The old lady jumped and dropped the bowl, flinging frogspawn everywhere. And then she melted away. All that was left was a grey misty fog.

Gabrielle? said Frieda, removing the sketchbook and pencil from her mouth. Gabrielle, don’t go, it’s me!

A shadow appeared in the fog, and as Frieda watched, fascinated, it turned into a tall, beautiful young woman, who was wearing a rather fetching dark blue dress and a matching hat with a lacy trim. She carried a magic parasol that in turn matched her dress and hat.

The woman removed her pointy, cone-shaped hat, revealing a pointy, cone-shaped hairdo that was bright red, which may (or may not) have been sitting on a pointy, cone-shaped skull. Speculation was rife but inconclusive; because any time someone tried to poke at her glowing locks, Gabrielle would turn them into a mosquito and threaten to swat them.

The hairdo was quite unusual; it looked like her head was on fire. And that wasn’t all. It added an extra three feet to her already quite considerable height of six feet and then some.

The woman stepped forward. It’s been a long time, Frieda Dräggynz.

Frieda ran forwards and hugged the woman, who had to bend down to reach her. With her mouth pressed in the woman’s skirt, she said: It’s been three years, seven months and twenty-one days, not that I’ve been counting, mind you. I have missed you terribly.

Gabrielle laughed. You are still the same as when I left, Frieda. How are you? And how is Betty?

I’m actually kind of worried about Betty, said Frieda. She’s been acting strange, and I know that she wants to leave the Shire.

Gabrielle arched an eyebrow, surprised and worried. Leave the Shire? Oh, good gracious. I’d better have a talk with her.

When Frieda and Gabrielle arrived back at the house after cleaning up the potion-making equipment, Betty and Gabrielle (who made a rather ungraceful entrance; she had to crawl through the doorway on her hands and knees) began talking about village life, a subject which made Frieda nearly faint with boredom as absolutely nothing had changed in those three years, seven months and twenty-one days, and the conversation went like this:

And how are Mr and Mrs. Gryndtusk? enquired the witch, adding a slice of lemon to her tea and stirring it three times with a spoon. She lifted it up and stared at it in some confusion. Half the spoon was eaten away, leaving some rather odd-looking bite-marks.

But then she remembered it’d been that way since Aunt Betty had fed the neighbour’s piranhas while they were on holiday in New Zealand (the neighbours, that is, not the piranhas. The fish preferred to holiday in Paris). Somewhat relieved, the witch relaxed and drank her tea.

Aunt Betty took a sandwich off the tray and bit into it thoughtfully. "They’re fine; Mrs. Gryndtusk had me over to morning coffee last week to show me her collection of dust mice. Her sister, who married some nobleman from Roll-up had sent her some new specimens from under the bed of Queen Theodora herself!"

Frieda was keen to ask Gabrielle about her travels, but also needed to finish baking Aunt Betty’s cake. She came to a decision.

I’m just going to the Sandylucks’ house, I’ll be back in half an hour, said Frieda. See you later, Aunt Betty, Gabrielle.

Goodbye, have fun, said the two ladies, before recommencing their chat.

I secretly yearn to explore again, said Aunt Betty. "But I fear I have left it a bit too late, now that I’ll be a hundred and eleven tomorrow. Still, I’m going with the dwarves to Riverdale tomorrow, and perhaps some sort of adventure will come out of that." She grinned impishly as she said ‘perhaps’, and Gabrielle, who knew her well, could see that Betty was planning some sort of mischief.

Betty, said Gabrielle gently. I have something I need to tell you.

Frieda’s really grown, hasn’t she? said Aunt Betty suddenly, changing the subject at the speed of light. She’s taller than half the boys in town. She’s three foot seven, but unbelievably thin. I have to get all of her clothes specially made.

Yes, said Gabrielle. She’d grown a foot since I saw her last.

*

Over at the Sandyluck house, Frieda was busily baking an eight-tiered cake with one hundred and eleven candles. She would have preferred to do it in the comforts of her own home, but it would have been rather difficult to conceal from Aunt Betty until the party.

Merida Sandyluck, who was Frieda’s cousin, although the two were nothing alike, swiped a finger around the edge of the bowl of batter and tasted it. I think it needs a bit more sugar, she said. There’s a slightly bitter aftertaste. But it’s nice with a bit of diced butter mixed in.

Perhaps it does, said Frieda, who preferred her cakes after they had been baked and had not tasted the batter. Perhaps there is a little bit of a bitter aftertaste in the batter after it has been bitten with butter to make it taste better.

Merida giggled at the tongue-twister.

Does your aunt bathe in molten gold? she asked suddenly after a few minutes’ silence, broken only by the sounds of Frieda cracking about two hundred eggs into a bowl big enough she could probably have taken a bath in it.

Molten gold?! said Frieda in some surprise, nearly dropping a fresh carton of eggs, which she had just gotten out of the refrigerator, but she quickly recovered. Er-not that I know of. Why?

Well, there must be something, said Merida, She looks so young, but what did you say she was? A hundred and nine?

A hundred and eleven tomorrow, said Frieda. There must be some sort of explanation.

I’m back! called Pippa Schnook, who lived up to her last name. She was generally acknowledged as one of the two mischief-makers in the town, alongside Merida, and was a good friend of Frieda’s. She had a Scottish accent. There weren’t any candles to be found anywhere.

Oh, said Frieda. Then I guess we’ll just have to do without.

Merida, meanwhile, had climbed up on a chair to reach the top cabinet. Catch! she said, and dropped a lumpy parcel wrapped in brown paper that she had just taken off the shelf. Pippa darted forward and caught it.

What’s that? asked Frieda, slightly suspiciously.

Merida brushed off the dust she had accumulated onto the floor, seized a broom and began promptly to sweep it rather vigorously under the carpet, which at this point was looking rather lumpy. Candles. I just remembered we had them.

She tried rather unsuccessfully to hide a grin at the thought of what would happen next. The other two hobbettes, however, didn’t notice.

Frieda opened the box, which, since the walls had been decorated with batter due to some rather vigorous mixing on her part, had a large splotch of batter on the label, which said: ‘Best quality (splotch) candles.’ Unfortunately, it covered the part that said: ‘firework’.

Mrs. Fairfax thinks that Betty has a fountain of youth in her house, and that for a present on Betty’s birthday, she’s going to give us all a bottle of elixir, said Merida, resuming the conversation she had been having with Frieda before Pippa came in.

I’ve heard that humans receive presents on their birthdays and they don’t give them, said Pippa thoughtfully. What an odd custom!

When the cake came out of the oven, Frieda iced it and stuck the candles in, before arranging to have it brought over the next day. She also put a few security measures in place, as Merida and Pippa both liked cake.

The next day was pleasantly warm, and Frieda was feeling quite satisfied that everything was going well when her aunt accepted the excuse to get her out of the house (an invitation to lunch with the Butterbeans, who were friends of hers) and waltzed off, not having any idea as to what was going on.

As soon as Aunt Betty had gone out of sight, wearing her best dress, Samantha, Merida and Pippa leapt out of the shrubbery (where they had been hiding, camouflaged) to help set up.

Tables were set, food was cooked, and the inhabitants of the Shire finished preparing for the surprise. So when Aunt Betty came in the gate, quite late in the afternoon, she was surprised to see Frieda, who was sitting on the garden wall like a cat and trying to act like she had been there for hours, not thirty seconds.

Come out the back for a moment, Auntie, she said. There’s something you need to see.

Aunt Betty’s eyes gleamed. Is it Lily, Millie, Emma, Gemma, Elise, Clarice, Stella, Bella, Mirella, Elly, Kelly, Genevieve and Captain Tina Balsashield? Oh no, wait, it couldn’t be Tina, Elly and Kelly. They’re-you know.

Frieda helped her aunt through the back door, blindfolded her and spun her around three times. Surprise! she said, removing the blindfold with a dramatic gesture. Happy birthday, Auntie!

Aunt Betty stared at the party in shock. For me? she managed to choke out after a few moments.

Yes, said Frieda with a smile. I hope you’re still hungry.

I am, said Aunt Betty. Surprises make me hungry.

Before the feast, a stream of residents of the Shire queued to wish Aunt Betty happy birthday and congratulate her upon reaching the venerable age of 111.

The air was then filled with happy chatter as everybody enjoyed the delicious food. Meanwhile, Frieda was trying to encourage Samantha to ask Reginald Prendergast for a dance after the meal. Go on! she said. I know he likes you.

And I like him, said Samantha, blushing. But Frieda, I’m too scared to walk up and ask him.

I’ll ask him for you, offered Frieda, passing the potato salad to Gabrielle. As soon as Auntie Betty gives her speech.

Thanks, Frieda, said Samantha, squeezing her friend’s hand.

However, all thoughts of speeches, dances, dates and anything else went out of the heads of everybody present during the dessert course.

All was proceeding as normal until Aunt Betty reached for a third helping of chocolate cake, but tripped in her high heels, teetered for a moment and fell sideways, holding an empty plate in one hand.

As she hit the ground, something glittering shot out of her pocket. It appeared to be small and golden, but that was all that could be seen of it, as Aunt Betty reached out one hand for it and the ring fell neatly on her left index finger (which was quite convenient). The small, glittering band circled once, twice, three times, before settling on the base of Betty’s finger…

…and she vanished.

Chapter 2. A mysterious disappearance.

All that was left on the ground was an empty plate and a fork.

It took a few moments for the guests to process what had just happened. Then pandemonium and puzzlement reigned.

Assorted shouts of panic, hysteria, confusion and surprise went up. A small sampling included:

How can a fully-grown hobbette disappear into thin air?

"She must be around here somewhere; I can still smell her perfume!"

Why did it have to be Betty? She was so nice!

I think I’m having a hallucination after eating those red mushrooms with the white spots.

This has got to be a dream.

"Are these my feet?" This came from old Mrs. Twofoot, who had been trundled down to the party in a wheelbarrow by half a dozen of her great-grandchildren. She had missed the disappearance, though she had been enjoying a lovely dream about marshmallows, woken up with a start when the pandemonium began, and was still a little confused.

Auntie! said Frieda in horror, patting the space that had previously been occupied by her aunt. Auntie?! Are you there?

Everybody was wondering whether what they had just seen was the result of having eaten too much and fallen asleep. Gabrielle, however, had an ‘I knew it!’ look on her face. She excused herself and quietly left.

Frieda was shocked. Pippa Schnook had told her once that eating cake was a good remedy for shock, so she lit the candles on Auntie Betty’s birthday cake and looked around for a knife to cut it.

The candles burned normally for a few seconds, and then started producing smoke. Fountains of coloured sparks erupted from each candle for perhaps ten seconds, before they exploded, splattering everybody in the Shire with cake chunks and icing.

Frieda, standing right next to it, was plastered from head to toe in a thick layer of icing that had eleven different flavours. When she tried to breathe she inhaled icing, and the smell of the sugar surrounding her was nauseating. She started frantically clawing the icing away from her nose and mouth.

Pippa Schnook let out a piercing shriek. My dress is dry-clean only!

Merida Sandyluck licked the cake off herself like a cat. Too good to wash off! she said.

Samantha was looking for Reginald Prendergast; who was not easy to identify due to everybody being splattered to the point of being unrecognizable.

If Frieda had not been covered in cake, she would have heard the unmistakeable sounds of an invisible creature laughing. Aunt Betty turned on her heel and walked into the house, closing the door behind her. She pulled the ring from her finger and rematerialized, laughing her head off.

Poor girl, she thought as she changed into a well-worn dress and folded up her best outfit, dropping the ring into her pocket. Getting coated with cake crumbs can’t be pleasant. Still, it was funny!

It wasn’t funny, Betty, said Gabrielle sternly, materializing in the room. "Poor Frieda’s worried about you. I could see it in her eyes. And covering her with cake was really going too far."

I didn’t! protested Betty. The candles were some of your fireworks! I really don’t know how they got there.

So that’s where that box went to! said Gabrielle. I though as much, seeing Merida Sandyluck hanging around my supplies.

Righto, said Aunt Betty. Glad to have been of assistance. Cheerio! She seized a pre-packed bag and made for the door with a cheerful smile.

Wait, Betty, said Gabrielle quietly. You have the Ring of Power, don’t you?

Betty paused, wilting visibly. Wha-what-whatever made you think of that?

People only disappear like that when they put on the One Ring.

Betty flopped into an armchair and started to fan herself with a nearby newspaper. She looked rather unwell suddenly. Yes. I have it. I’ve had it for ninety years since I found it in the cave of that little creature Bubbles.

Gabrielle was leaning against the mantelpiece when she said: I think it would be best if it did not remain in your possession.

I think so too, said Betty. Time to pass it on to someone else, what? Now, I need to leave.

Who will have the Ring? enquired the witch.

Frieda. She gets the house too. Actually, she gets everything.

Good.

Well, goodbye, Gabrielle, said Betty cheerily. See you in a while.

Wait, said Gabrielle gently. You still have the Ring in your pocket.

I do? said Betty in surprise. She pulled the Ring out and stroked it a few times. No! I can’t do it. My precious!

You can, Betty. You are capable of anything you choose to do. It does not want you to let go of it. Just open your hand and drop it on the floor. Gabrielle spoke in a calm, quiet voice, as though she was trying to soothe a frightened horse.

Reluctantly, Betty tilted her hand and dropped the Ring on the floor. It made a surprisingly large sound for such a small object. She stared at it for a moment, her expression indecipherable, then she ran out the door and slammed it, making the whole house tremble.

Goodbye, Betty, said Gabrielle quietly. Until we meet again.

Frieda came in almost immediately, through the back door. Gabrielle? she said. Have you seen Auntie Betty? I thought I heard her voice.

She was here, said Gabrielle. There was a pause. And now she’s not, Frieda. I’m sorry.

I wish she hadn’t, said Frieda. I would have liked to have said goodbye. Anyway, wishing won’t get our guests cleaned up.

I think you should take a bath, Frieda, said Gabrielle, eyeing the trail of sticky footprints Frieda had left. And I’ll see to cleaning the guests.

Oh, thanks, Gabrielle! I’ll be as quick as I can and then I’ll come help, said Frieda, who was trying to brush the icing off but only succeeded in making a worse mess.

After Frieda had washed and changed into clean clothes, she went outside. There was still a fair bit of mess. Sighing, she picked up a stack of dirty plates and carried them over to the sink.

*

Merida and Pippa were hiding in a bush, sitting with some cold drinks. They were laughing over what had happened when a cold breeze blew across their necks.

Merry, I get the feeling we’re being watched, said Pippa nervously.

Me too, replied Merida, her brown eyes darting from side to side.

They turned in unison and saw the silhouette of a very tall person wearing a ‘we are not amused’ expression, and holding a….

Merida and Pippa screamed and clutched each other.

…parasol.

Merida Sandyluck and Pippa Schnook, said Gabrielle sternly and disapprovingly. I thought so.

What are you going to do to us? said Merida. It was her turn to be nervous.

She’s going to do the best she can, said Pippa, giggling. I love that line.

You are going to clean up the mess you made, said Gabrielle firmly. Right now.

Merida and Pippa reluctantly started to collect the dishes for about five hundred people, before they got the fire hose out and sprayed the guests with jets of very high-pressured water, which was much more enjoyable. They got slightly carried away and old Mr. Dingle was held up in the air by the jet of water for about five minutes. He was very clean afterwards, however, and thoroughly enjoyed the experience, although his suit was slightly worse for wear afterwards.

When Frieda came out of the shower, the guests had all been cleaned, and Gabrielle was sitting with her feet up, sipping a glass of sherry and making Merida and Pippa hand-wash the linen napkins and tablecloths.

Some of the guests had been hysterical after Betty’s disappearance and had had to be given cups of hot, sweet tea, in several cases laced with a good splash of rum (Frieda had gotten her remedies mixed up, as she had never finished reading the first-aid manual). But after all of the clean-up and calming, Frieda went into the cottage, exhausted, and flopped into a chair by the fire. Gabrielle followed her.

Your aunt told me that she is leaving everything to you, she said.

Mm? said Frieda, nearly asleep.

Gabrielle patiently repeated what she had just said.

Frieda gasped. "She left Bad End to me?"

Gabrielle nodded. Yes. She also left you a ring. It’s over there, on the floor.

Frieda walked over and tried to pick it up. She touched it, let out a yelp and jumped back, having received a very painful shock. What is this? she said. I’ve never seen a ring like that before. She added: Gabrielle, is this a joke? April Fools’ isn’t for another nine months. It’s the first of July.

It is the Ring of Power, said Gabrielle. And no, unfortunately it is not.

Sorry, said Frieda. Never heard of it. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked it, then, sighing, she put it back in her pocket. I’ve tried Aunt Betty’s number eighteen times, Gabrielle, and she’s not answering. Do you think she doesn’t want to be found?

No, said Gabrielle. As I thought. It has begun.

What has begun?

The Dark Lady has knocked out all of our satellites, so that there are no communications. Phones are now useless.

Oh dear, said Frieda. That’ll be a right royal pain up the jack-

Indeed, interrupted Gabrielle hastily. Now, back to the Ring of Power….

Yes. It should be destroyed, said Frieda.

Yes, said Gabrielle. You’re right. It should. And she picked up the Ring (without receiving a shock) and flung it into the burning fireplace.

Frieda gasped, reaching for the Ring, horrified. Since she had first touched the Ring, she had the distinct feeling that it and her were meant for each other. Mistress of the Ring, she thought.

Gabrielle left the Ring there while she and Frieda had a cup of tea (each), and in Frieda’s case, some leftover sandwiches from the party.

See? said Gabrielle, manoeuvring the tongs and pulling the Ring out of the fireplace. Untouched. The only way it can be destroyed is by being thrown into the fiery depths of the volcano of Mount Bloom, where it was first forged many thousands of years ago. And do you see the fiery writing appearing on it?

Fiery letters appeared on the Ring, in a language Frieda was unable to read. Well, that’s not strictly true-she was able to read it, she just didn’t know what it said.

"That sounds like a lovely name for a volcano, commented Frieda, reaching unconsciously for the Ring. Tell me, is it named after the beautiful Orlan-"

Gabrielle interrupted her again, sounding quite serious. "Those fiery letters on the Ring are the language of Mudfloor, written in the style of the elves. It says: ‘One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.’

This is the One Ring that the Dark Lady has been searching for ever since Isadora took it and a