Lake-town's plump Master was named Stephen. He had been troubled lately by frequent pain in his knees and toes, and he kept blaming Lake-town's cold, damp climate.
Someone had actually told him these were symptoms of gout, but he refused to admit he had the disease.
He had plenty of other troubles, too. For instance, the Woodland Elves had reduced his wine allotment several years ago, cutting away a substantial part of his income.
Then there was a man named Bard, another thorn in his side. As a descendant of the Lord of Dale, Bard enjoyed tremendous respect among the people, and that made him a threat to Stephen's rule.
But today brought something even more troubling. Braga told him that a noble visitor, possibly an Elf, had gone to see Bard.
The news sent the Master's heart into his throat. He even forgot about his favorite mutton and the whisky sitting before him.
He hastily threw on some clothes and, enduring the pain in his knees and toes, hurried toward Bard's house.
Meanwhile, Allen was heading toward the Master's residence with Thorin, Bilbo, and Balin.
Braga had escorted Allen through town earlier, and he had been exceptionally humble in Allen's presence.
As a result, all the guards along the way knew that this lord in lavish plate armor was not someone to provoke.
So no one with time on their hands stopped them to ask questions, even though Allen's party included an unfamiliar Dwarf and a halfling.
Allen chatted with Bilbo as they walked, asking how the Dwarves had escaped danger.
After hearing Bilbo's account, Allen felt that their company had been incredibly lucky.
Not only had the Elves failed to discover them in Mirkwood, but the Master's men had also failed to spot them after they arrived in