Food poisoning- This falls outside of what housekeeping staff are trained for

"Sméagol's quarters, milady?"

"Yes." The forewoman's tone was sharp; she did not look up. "He is not contagious, and does not have fleas or lice. You won't need to handle his clothing- someone else does that."

Dolthadis said nothing in reply. In her mind's eye she was seeing again the creature's trial before the King and hearing the accounts of his crimes. She had not had a very good view- she only knew that Sméagol was small, and when he had been commanded to remove the hood that covered his face, those who had been close enough to see him clearly had drawn sharp breaths. She had heard rumors of what they had seen, but the rumors did not sound credible.

"Eredhil and Helethel will work with you. Do as they say and don't wake him. And don't wear any perfumes when you go to his room."

Don't wake him? she thought, but it was clear that further questions were to be addressed to Eredhil and Helethel. She bowed her head stiffly, and tried to listen to the rest of the schedule without letting her thoughts stray back to the figure lying on his face at the King's feet…

Eredhil and Helethel allayed her fears somewhat, for she saw at once that they were young and rather silly, and would not have been trusted near Sméagol if he were dangerous.

"Are you married?" Eredhil asked.

"Yes."

"He had better be careful. Sméagol is quite handsome."

Dolthadis let the poor jest pass without comment, and said: "I have heard I must not wake him?"

"I wouldn't like to be woken by a housekeeper while I was sleeping."

"Then he will be present?"

"Not always," Helethel interjected. "He is taken away on trips, but most days he is present while we clean. He sleeps during the day and sleeps deeply. I have never seen him wake. He is not always in the bed- many times he will have hidden himself away somewhere in the room."

"So if you cannot see him," said Eredhil, "there is no telling where he might be."

Dolthadis said nothing. That night she slept restlessly and dreamed of improbable creatures with glowing eyes and large fangs.

The upper level of Sméagol's quarters was a recently vacated storage room, desolate and dusty. It was soon dealt with, and then they descended. The musty, fishy odor that could be faintly smelled upstairs now became quite strong, and Helethel covered her mouth and nose with her scarf.

Dolthadis had been told that they might speak to each other in low voices but could have no more light than might be had from candles. The window could be opened if the day was overcast.

While scrubbing what was plainly a handprint away from the wall at an improbable height, she was startled by a cry of "Eredhil!"

Eredhil was leaning over Sméagol's bed and peering into it, wide-eyed. She drew back with a flush, and crossed the room to the point that was farthest from the bed.

Dolthadis first thought that the wisest course of action was to stay far away, herself- but as she worked, some imperceptible change of mind took place, and she found herself at the bedside, scrubbing the spot where it appeared that Sméagol pulled himself up by the bedpost.

A small head lay on the pillow. Dolthadis looked fully at it. Sméagol's face was burrowed into the blankets and could not be seen- she saw the back and side of his head, which displayed thin hair with white scalp showing through it, and one exposed ear. His breathing was audible. He whistled through his nose a little.

When she turned away, Eredhil and Helethel were huddled against the wall opposite her.

"What?" Eredhil whispered. "You looked startled. What has he done?"

Dolthadis paused before replying. "Nothing. He is quite asleep. I was surprised to see that his ear is pointed, though it ought not surprise me, as he is a Halfling."

The girls looked at her as if she had just exchanged pleasantries with an orc.

As days went on, Sméagol never woke while she was in the room, and often was sleeping in some hidden place. It grew easy to forget his presence and to be startled if he should happen to make some audible snorting or whimpering sound in his sleep.

Helethel had ailing family she must often see to and Eredhil frequently claimed illness when something exciting was happening in the city or when her betrothed had a day off from guard duty. It was not uncommon for Dolthadis to come to Sméagol's quarters without a companion. The work was light-  the odd residue was not difficult to clean if addressed daily and not allowed to build up, and his laundry was collected by someone else before she arrived. She did not need to make the bed.

There were times when she felt she was being watched. Sméagol's presence had become so unobtrusive that on these occasions it often did not occur to her that she really was not alone in the room.

On one of these occasions, she happened to notice, while cleaning the bedpost, that there was no head lying on the pillow or small form huddled under the blankets, which were thrown back.

Often, of course, he was not in the bed. But it seemed that she recalled seeing him there when she had entered the room.

She looked under the bed, and saw more blankets. Perhaps he was somewhere in amongst them. She straightened up and turned away, and saw a crouching form investigating her cleaning supplies.

She gasped, at first taking the creeping thing with its rounded back for a dog or a rat that had somehow gotten in, and snatching up the rag she'd been using as if it might somehow defend her.

The shape emitted a hoarse cry of alarm, and half-stood. It had a human shape. "It is only Sméagol," he implored, "don't throw things at us!"

She lowered the rag at once, her heart in her throat. She had been cautioned that Sméagol could nip if he were bothered, and would wake in anger if too much light were let into the room; she had not been told he might speak to her or how she should reply.

She found her tongue when, with sniffing nose and peering eyes, he began to reach his long pale hand into the cleaning bucket. "No, Sméagol!" she scolded, as if he were a puppy trying its teeth on the leg of a chair, or a tottering child about to pull down a tablecloth, and she stepped forward to pull away the bucket.

Sméagol drew back and sat on his hands. He laughed nervously. "Sorry, sorry! Always making trouble, we are. We was just curious, wasn’t we?"

"It is only my washing water. I am cleaning your room," she said. 

"Is she? She makes it nice while we sleeps?"

"Yes, I do my best to make it nice." She kept her voice even as he blinked his eyes up at her out of a gaunt face. "Have I made too much noise and waked you?"

"No, no. Sméagol can't sleep. Poor Sméagol."

"I see." The pleading face and whispering voice did not seem to fit with the horrors he had been accused of- not accused of, she remembered; confessed to. "If I am disturbing you I shall leave at once."

"O no, not disturbing, not at all." He shuffled towards the small writing-table, and she saw how he moved, and had to caution any look of shock or pity off of her face. "We are in the way, yes. She is working!"

He pulled himself into a chair by clutching the table's edge at a point where she had often before cleaned away the mark of his hand. 

She returned to her work, as she had been all but told to do, willing herself not to turn and stare when he shuffled papers or made odd sounds in his throat. But mere minutes passed before he called: "The nice lady might pour us a cup of water, perhaps?"

"Of course," she said stiffly, and turned. He was indicating a pitcher that stood on the table, with a cup next to it- it was a small cup with two large handles and when she picked it up, she found that his hands had made it slick and sticky to the touch. Thus the handles, she judged- without them the cup might be prone to slip from his grasp.

He did not take the cup from her hand but waited for her to set it before him. "Thanks her," he said, and began to sip water. She went back to her work.

"What's her name?" he asked a moment later as she was cleaning a spot on the wall, where she now suspected he had been leaning.

"I am Dolthadis."

"Dolthadis. My name is Sméagol," he said a little self-consciously. "You knows it already, but they tells us I ought to introduce myself even if someone knows us- knows me already."

"Well done," she said, "for remembering to do as you were taught and introducing yourself so politely." Privately she did not see the point of making him do it.

Sméagol watched her work with curious round eyes. "What's wrong there?" he asked when she scrubbed at a spot on the floor. 

"There's been a spill."

"Wasn't us." He took her lack of reply as disbelief, and asserted: "They brings my food to the table, or the bed if we're ill. I'm never over there with it. No! Never. Wasn't us."

"It is no matter to me how it came to be spilled- I only clean it."

"Wasn't us."

"I believe you." She was not really certain of this, but it did no harm to reassure him.

Sméagol nibbled at the nail of his thumb. "Where's she going after this?"

"I go to clean other quarters."

"She never goes past the hound-master, does she?"

"No."

"Anyone who works in the gardens?"

"I do not. Why do you wish to know?"

"I- it is nothing, only, perhaps- we thought she could take a message if it was no trouble."

"What message? If it is urgent I can take it for you."

"No, not urgent, only- my stomach hurts. That's why I can't sleep. Yes- and we are tired." His voice had a whine in it, and he looked forlorn. He looked, also, quite frail, and she before had heard vague suggestions that he was in ill health.

"I will speak to the guard outside," she decided, "and he will know who to message."

"O no, I am used to it…"

She was already halfway up the stairs.

As soon as she stepped out the door, she wondered if Sméagol ought not be left alone, unwell, and unsupervised with her cleaning supplies. But she had already left him and may as well finish the errand.

She walked up to the guard, who glanced at her and asked: "Has Sméagol been making introductions?"

"Yes. He says he has a pain in his stomach and was inquiring after the… houndmaster." As the word left her mouth it seemed odd.

"The houndmaster manages his care," said the guard. "He had to approve me. I will let someone know."

She nodded, and turned back towards the cellar.

"You do not need to remain with him unless you choose to," the guard said.

"I would like to finish my work."

"Very well."

When she returned she found Sméagol shivering and leaning over a basin. He had taken it from her basket of supplies, but under the circumstances he was welcome to it.

He was turned aside slightly and did not address her. For a moment, she considered going back to her work without speaking- then she shook her head at herself, and went to sit beside the creature in one of the low chairs at his table.

Sméagol raised his head a little, gave her a dull, appraising look, and pointed at a chair that stood in the corner. "That is nicer for Big People. For their long legses."

She hesitated a moment, wondering if he meant she was not welcome at his table.

"They always says they doesn't mind and sits there with their knees up to their chins," said Sméagol. "That chair was brought special! Two Men had to carry it!"

"It is more sociable to sit beside you."

"I suppose. Well, she must do as she likes."

"Someone will be coming to see to you," she said.

He nodded, looks of relief and distaste chasing each other across his face.

He did not look like a murderer. Few tried in the King's court did, of course, even those whose guilt was not in question- but they were not usually so small in stature.

He was sniffing in her direction. "She's been here before, hasn't she?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, trying not to tense visibly.

"Lots of times, eh? Don't mind us, don't mind us! It is only our habit. Men do not use their noses very much. There is much to learn if you do, yes. What's that smell she wears?" At this last, he suddenly turned back to the basin.

"Lavender." She had been warned about scents. "I apologize."

As her scent appeared to trouble him, and his scent most certainly troubled her, she got up and once more returned to the rag and bucket, half expecting that he would call her back- he showed signs of having the kind of capricious nature that is often unable to think of a use for one's attention but does not like seeing that attention paid elsewhere.

Instead he started talking to himself under his breath, quickly, with agitation. Much of his speak was too swift to understand but she heard - "-begging for Men to come and hold Sméagol's hand," and a derisive "Ach!"

It seemed improper for her to address this.

She was nearly finished with her work- the last thing to do was clean the windowsill. It was always marked with handprints and sometimes footprints. Having seen the way Sméagol perched in his chair, and having seen that he would fit comfortably in the windowsill, she now suspected that he sat in the window to take the air. This thought gave her a curious melancholy.

"Sméagol," she said, "I know you dislike the light, but perhaps you would feel better if I let in some fresh air. I could open the window."

"What's that? No. No window jusst now. Thanks ye, I don't want to smell the- grass and the dirt." He coughed queasily.

"Very well." She had never heard of anyone's stomach being turned by the smell of fresh grass, but apparently he'd managed it.

She worked in silence briefly- very briefly.

"What's she doing all of it for?" Sméagol sounded fretful and cross. "I'll just touch everything again and it will become foul and dirty. Why bother cleaning it? Ach!"

"It is the way of the world for things to become dirty and need cleaning," she said. "Do you prefer things to be clean?"

"Yes," he sulked.

"Then I shall return to do the work again, until I am told not to. I am paid to do the work. It is not a hardship for me." She reflected that things would not become as dirty as quickly if he would not touch and climb everything, but plainly that was how he wished to use his things.

"It's my own fault," was the next mutter. "Foolish. Eating bread."

"I beg pardon, Sméagol?"

He looked startled and a little annoyed. It seemed he had not meant to be heard. "Bread," he said reluctantly. "It was so dry! Ach! Gollum!"

"When was it brought to you?" Dolthadis asked, thinking that the kitchen staff would need to know if something had made him ill.

"Wasn't brought. Found it."

"You found it, Sméagol?"

"Yes, yes- in rubbish. Thrown away. No one wanted it. I, I didn't want it. I wish I hadn't tried it."

Dolthadis collected her thoughts while she finished cleaning the windowsill. Then she discreetly pretended not to notice the sounds of the little creature vomiting into the basin.

She took a clean cloth from her supplies, dampened it with a little of Sméagol's drinking water and offered it to him. He took it and pressed it to his face.

"Sméagol," she said gently, "it is not healthful to eat food that has been thrown away, regardless of its kind."

"O, we have had lots of nice foods that was thrown away," he reassured her. "Never made us sick. No, it is the bread. I know I can't eat it."

"If that is so, why did you try?"

He seethed under his breath for a few moments. “Silly,” he muttered, and she decided not to pry further.

She sat with him a few minutes longer, without further conversation, until a Man arrived whom she recognized as a worker from the gardens. She stood and bowed respectfully.

"Good afternoon," he said, polite but distressed. "Is Sméagol-"

"Here, I am here," he croaked.

"A complaint of the stomach," she said. "He told me he ate bread."

"Ah, I see. He's rather delicate, I'm afraid. Thank you for having me called."

He crouched at Sméagol's side to address him at eye level. “What’s the trouble?” 

Sméagol repeated his tale as Dolthadis gathered her supplies, with the exception of her basin. For the sake of politeness she tried not to look like she was in a rush to leave, though she was anxious to be out in the fresh air.

“Was anything strange about the bread?” Faelon asked.

“It was moldy,” Sméagol said carelessly.

“Ah- in the future, perhaps you shouldn’t eat things that have mold on them,” Faelon said rather desperately. “Then too it is possible that food that’s been left out has been poisoned, to bait rats and such…”

“O, no! We can smell rat poison,” Sméagol said, almost chiding. “We knows rat poison.” The last thing Dolthadis heard as she hurried up the stairs was: “We’ve eaten poisoned rats.”

She never got her basin back.