The Needlehole Mysteries

Table of Contents

The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

The Mystery of Mister Figg

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

The Treason of Forumshire

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Specials (semi-canon)

Nora's Birthday Surprise


Fan fiction (definitely not canon) (by Amarië and Norc)

Fjordian Fest (all in one)

Work-a-Hobbit (all in one)



DISCLAIMER: These stories are not intended to be entirely serious.  The characters within are mostly inspired by various characters of a different sort who post on this forum.  However, they have all been altered to varying degrees.  As such, nothing said about the characters should be taken to reflect on their inspirations seriously.  Thank you.


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The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle

Part 1

Detective Inspector Eldorion was having a bad case of the Mondays.  A storm front brooded over Scotshobbit Yard in Michel Delving.  Why the headquarters of the Forumshire Police Department was named for the country's most drunken and generally depraved population was above DI Eldo's pay grade.  Speaking of which, pay grades were part of the reason for Eldo's bad day.  But that requires us to back up.

Once upon a time, our DI had been a mere Sergeant in the Sheriffry, protecting old Forumshire from the occassional spammers and once-in-a-blue-moon troublemakers who wandered through.  After Dark Planet Day, both Forumshire and its police force rapidly expanded, and Eldo was promoted to Detective Inspector.

That would be his last promotion for a while, however, since he had lost out on the Superintendent spot to upstart DI Elthir, newly come to the police force, who had scored higher on the promotional exam than Eldo.  It still rankled.  On the best of days, Eldo could have kept to his office and pretended to push papers while secretly studying for the next exam, but today he had been called to the new Superintendent's office.

“So glad you could make it,” said Superintendent Elthir with what DI Eldo saw as a shit-eating smile.  “I have a very special mission for you.  As part of our glorious Admin's outreach to other forumcountries, we have begun a police exchange program.  It will be your responsibility to partner with our guest, Sergeant Ringo Herring of Skattykatzenfjord, and show him all you can of how Forumshire works.”

And with that, DI Eldo had to pretend to actually do work while he was around his foreign guest.  Which, as it turned out, was the entire work day.  And the day after that.  In fact, it appeared that this exchange program lasted several months.  DI Eldo would have known that earlier had he not stopped listening to the Superintendent and started imagining various creative to dismember him.

On the morning of the third day of their partnership, DI Eldo was pretending to read a report about a burglary in Erebor while actually reading through his promotional exam prep book.  Sgt. Herring was reading a copy of the award-winning The Scottish Daily Purist in the corner, bored upon having realized how uninteresting a country without a constant troll menace was.

“Say, did you see the cover story in today's Daily Purist?” asked Sgt. Herring.

“Seditious rubbish,” replied DI Eldo without looking up from his prep book.  When had the Admin first promulgated the Free Spirits policy?

“Apparently there's been a murder in Needlehole.  Or a disappearance, at any rate.  Something about an age-old family feud.  The Bankses and the Tyrants.  Do they often cause trouble for you boys here?”

DI Eldo seemed not to have heard the Sergeant's conversation.  His brow furrowed when he saw the next question: 'What is the typical Lockholes sentence for buckie-thieving?'  He knew he knew this one.  It was quite long.

“So, a suspected murder less than a day's cart ride from here,” said Sgt. Ringo Herring rather loudly.  “What say you we go and have a look?  This paper says that no officers have responded to the event yet.”

“What's that?  Oh yes, it's because we were told to head up there first thing this morning,” said DI Eldo, suddenly alert now that he had finished all the exercises for the current chapter of his book.  “I sent word when I got in that a cart should be made ready for us.”

“Really?”

“No, but we can make someone take us.”  The DI grinned and patted his shiny (polished that very morning!) police badge.  “Let's roll.”

Oh boy oh boy oh boy it's a good old brand new with a twist buddy cop mystery story!!
*cough* Pardon me for interrupting. Do go on.

The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle

Part 2

DI Eldo and Sgt. Herring sat side-by-side in the backseat of their commandeered pony cart. As they travelled northwest they felt the warm country sunshine beat down upon them like the billy clubs of a battalion of Forumshire's Finest.

“Say, Herring, what do you know of Needlehole?” asked DI Eldo.

“Not much, sir. Just that it's Forumshire's 13th largest district by size, 27th largest by population, and dead last in terms of productivity.”

“Right you are,” said the DI commendingly. “But there's more to it, stuff you can't get from training books or tourist brochures. The thing about Needlehole is that its right next to Rushock Bog, and that's made all the folks there a bit queer.”

“I see!” said Sgt. Herring, who was very accepting of all sorts, being raised in the progressive country of Skattykatzenfjord.

“Not like that!” said DI Eldo hastily, being a very conservative Forumhobbit. “They're just … strange.”

“I see,” said Sgt. Herring, who was very accepting of all sorts, but seemed a little less enthusiastic than a moment before.

Muttering about foreigners, DI Eldo slouched against the side of the cart and pulled his coat collar up, trying to get a bit of shut-eye. However, his rest was disturbed a few minutes later by a strange, strong scent wafting from the other side of the cart.

The DI was up in a flash, turning on poor Ringo with incredulity and anger. “Just what are you doing?!?” he yelled.

“Just smoking a little bit of morning weed, sir,” said the Fjordlanidan nonchalantly. “Isn't that something of a past time here? Weed?”

“PIPE-weed!” bellowed the DI. “I don't know how they do things in Skattykatzenfjord, but here the only substances we abuse are ones our glorious Administration has arbitrarily decreed we can abuse!”

With that, he pulled out a flask of 100% pure distilled miruvor and downed half of it in a single gulp before gasping for air. Sgt. Herring demurely put out his pipe. A strong sense of respect for authority had been drilled into him by his harsh years of compulsory Fjordlandian military service.

“Sooooo,” said Sgt. Herring, after DI Eldo recovered the ability to breathe and then a suitably long uncomfortable silence had passed. “What's our first stop once we reach Needlehole?”

“One that will no doubt appeal to your liberal foreign tastes,” said the DI, with a touch of xenophobic disgust. “Mrs Figg's House of Eels and Pleasure.”

O Boy! here we go with the eels again! will I ever live the eel wrangling down? I am now a respectable ex majorial intern, with a fat curriculum vitae full of respectable jobs. such as poultry prodder, or stud farm warmer upper, (bit like they do on comedy shows but you have to run faster).

Thank you for your support, Amarie! And I will try to make each chapter longer, I'm just trying to get things written down as fast as possible since I haven't tried this sort of thing much before.

Apologies for the eel thing, Mrs Figg, but fame sticks.

s.ok carry on I am enjoying this.

I have a very bad feeling about all this....

So long as he remembers that people can sue, Odo, so long as he remembers that!

The Mystery of the Coal Scuttle

Part 3

“Why are we going to a … place like that?” asked Sgt. Herring.

“Well, you know, a man gets lonely.” *ahem* “Also, Mrs Figg is the number one lady for news in Needlehole. You'd be amazed at what people hear when they work in such establishments.”

“Try me,” Sgt. Herring said suggestively. He had something of a smart-ass streak that the Fjordlandian drill sergeants had been unable to beat out of him.

In due time, the pony cart arrived at Needlehole and rolled down its sad, muddy main street. It seemed as respectable – and dreary – a place as could be imagined in the more conservative parts of Forumshire.

Then the pony cart turned down a side-street and the two Sheriffs inside were met with a blast of color and movement. A flashing neon sign announced that they had reached Mrs Figg's, and a long, hard animatronic eel wriggled scandalously overhead.

The two policemen clambered down from the cart and walked through the curiously shaped doors of the House into the lobby. DI Eldo approached a generously-clad woman standing near a water tank, stroking an eel inside.

“Mrs Figg! How good to see you again!” cried DI Eldo. “It's been too long. I love what you've done with this place.”

“Detective Inspector,” said Mrs Figg rather coldly. “For you to come here after sabotaging the political hopes of Needlehole's favorite son in those Mayoral elections must mean you've got some real steel in your sporran, as the Scotshobbits say when they've had a few too many drinks (which is to say always). Who's that with you?”

“Sergeant Ringo Herring, Criminal Investigation, Skattykatzenfjord Police,” the Fjordlandian replied smartly before bowing to kiss one of Mrs Figg's hands. “At your service, if I may say so.”

“Yes, yes,” said DI Eldo petulantly as he shoved Sgt. Herring to the side. “Mrs Figg, what can you tell us about the recent disappearance in Needlehole? I believe it is Mr Petty Tyrant who is missing, correct?”

Mrs Figg glowered at DI Eldo for a moment before he relented. “I can put in a good word for you at the vice unit, I hear they're already stretched thin and they might not be able to sent any officers out this far.”

Mrs Figg smiled for the first time since the policemen had entered. “All I can say is that last night, as I was passing one of the group rooms, I heard three voices inside. One of them was very hushed, but the others seem to have been drinking buckie and were rather loud. I couldn't help but notice that one of them seemed very concerned that something wasn't hidden well enough, and another quite bothered by the possibility that somebody might come back.”

“Mrs Figg, how good to see you!” came a sudden female voice behind them. Turning around, it became apparent that the voice belonged to none other than the infamous Pretty Tyrant, who rumor had it moonlighted as an employee at Mrs Figg's. But more shocking was who was standing next to her: none other than Sheriff Mirabella Banks

“Well this is fishy, and I don't mean because Mrs Figg was just feeding her pussies,” said DI Eldo. “What are you doing here, Mirabella? I was told that no other police officers had been dispatched here.”

“Oh, I'm not on duty, Eldo,” she replied smoothly. “I'm just visiting dear Pretty here. She's oh so distraught at the loss of her brother, aren't you, Pretty darling?”

“Oh, yes indeed! It's so tragic that old Petty is missing and was probably brutally murdered in the night,” said Pretty in a fair approximation of someone trying half-heartedly to appear sad. “Maybe you could comfort me, Officer, given where we are...” She sidled over.

DI Eldo, who had been single for some time, had a sudden vision of a closet overflowing with old shoes that he still needed to figure out what to do with. “Ah, perhaps some other time, Pretty. When's the last time you saw Petty?”

Pretty sighed and stepped back away from the DI. “Some other time, then, Eldo. Let's go Mirabella.”

“Just one moment, Officer!” said Sgt. Herring, who despite being the only stranger possessed a keen investigative mind when it wasn't clouded by weed. “Surely you, Sheriff Mirabella, as a policewoman familiar with this area, would be able to help us with the investigation. I know you're off-duty but since your, er, companion has lost her dear brother perhaps you could help us out of the goodness of your heart?”

Mirabella glowered at the Fjordlandian. “I'm afraid that I can help my companion better by consoling her in private. But if you must know what happened, go ask my uncle Odo. It involves a matter rather near and dear to his respectable old heart.”

With that, the two females left the way they had come, oblivious to the disapproving eye of DI Eldo. “Shall we go then, sir?” said Sgt. Herring.

“Yes, of course,” said DI Eldo, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “To the very heart of the Banks clan in Forumshire. I can hardly wait.”


It was with some trepidation that DI Eldo knocked on the door to the Banks family smial. There were no animatronic eels here. This residence was owned by the illustrious Odo R. Banks, Esq., a pillar of respectability, as the numerous and conspicuous signs lining the road reminded travellers.

In short order, the DI and Sgt. Herring were whisked into the parlor by an impeccably dressed Butler, where they sat and waited for Odo Banks. Then they sat and waited some more. After close to an hour, Sgt. Herring took out his weed and pipe again, but a withering glare from the DI had him hastily packing it away again.

Finally, there was a great commotion as the door was kicked open and the sound of hairy Hobbit feet running and thumping came through the hole. Suddenly, Odo Banks himself dashed into the room looking momentarily crazed, but upon seeing the officers he took several deep, gulping breaths and assumed his respectable demeanor.

“So good to see you, Detective Inspector,” he said with his best ingratiating smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, you know those Year Twelve Girls ... well, Jane Smith, so little understanding in her.... Where was I? Right. Anything I can help you with, anything at all, please let me know. And this is...?” he turned to the Fjordlandian.

“Sgt. Ringo Herring, of Skattykatzenfjord.” The Sergeant introduced himself.

“A foreigner.” A brief scowl came over Odo's respectable face. “But a Fjordlandian! My cousin, Orwell McOdo III, has made many travels to your fine country. The tales he can tell of the girls there, well, let's just say that if he can be believed, young Fjordlandian women are real suckers for pirates with tales of adventure.”

Odo gave a somewhat unsettling laugh. Sgt. Herring scowled, but since he was in truth far more respectable than Odo (the proof being that he didn't flaunt it), he kept his silence.

“Yes, well,” said DI Eldo, trying to break the ice. “Mr Banks, I need to ask you if you know anything about Petty's disappearance last night. Mirabella told us you had a personal interest in the matter.”

“Of course I do!” exclaimed Odo. “I don't know what happened to Petty, but that skulking, thieving Scotshobbit deserves anything that happens to him! He broke into my house last night, drunk as a skunk, and stole a prized family heirloom, passed down the Banks family line for generations. My Coal Scuttle is missing!”

Ooooh! Against my better judgment.... I want to know what happens next...

I am greatly encouraged by that! And I do hope that Orwell McOdo III can make another appearance at some point. But seriously, thank you, Orwell and everyone else. It means a lot to me to know people enjoy reading my stuff.

Enjoy! I'm totally offended! The funniest bits being the most offensive!

I'm missing? Presumed dead? Not again!

And this better be a true account of the coal scuttle Eldo and its theft by those dishonrouable sober McBankses- generations of McTyrants are watching!

Only an account that completely exonerates the Bankses will be acceptable! I've the history books out even as we speak! Let me see: "The Banksian Encyclopedia of Forumshire." Bound to find it here...

The Banksian Encyclopedia of Forumshire- or as we call it in Scotsdale toilet paper.

Take that back, you!

I can't- I already flushed it!

You b#$%^&d!

Come on you guys. You're messing up our beloved Admin's personal story thread! Give the the poor sap a break! {{{ }}}

Hey if our beloved Admin is going to have the audacity to tell the coal scuttle story he had better get it right!! Or there may be more interjections Orwell! (from both sides I am sure as those Bankses can't shut up about the coal scuttle- have you noticed that?-guilty concious that is )

You'll need documents and eye witnesses to prove it, though! Until then, I refute all your allegations, Mr Tyrant!

Well you know we Tyrants have never been record keepers as such, more associated buckie memories passed down through the family- but thats more than proof enough for any Tyrant Odo. More reliable at least than any Banks penned tome thats for sure. If a Banks wrote their own name down you'd need several witnesses and a priest of Eru to check it was true!

Oh come on. What's more important? Your feud or our beloved Leader's feelings?

Our feud! What sort of question is that?!

Hate to admit it, but the Scotshobbit does have a point, Orwell. And I thought only girls had feelings anyhow?