Chapter 3. News

The hobbits of Tuckborough stood on the banks of the stream that flowed past Tuckborough, watching the last light fade from the sky. Thain Paladin nodded, and Reginard stepped to his side to light the torch the Thain held. Eglantine stood next to her husband, and their three daughters stood on his other side. He lifted the torch high, and spoke.

'We gather together for remembering, as is our custom on this day. We remember those who have been lost to us since the last time we gathered so. We are here to celebrate their lives, their memory, our love which can never be lost, and the hope we share.'

Paladin handed the torch to Reginard, and held out his hands to his wife. Eglantine gently placed a cloth-wrapped bundle in his hands, undid the cloth to reveal an exquisitely carved tiny boat, the centre hollowed out and filled with wick and beeswax. The Thain dropped the cloth upon the ground and cradled the boat tenderly for a moment, before turning to Regi, to light the tall, stiffly-waxed wick.

His wife and daughters stepped forward to lay hands upon the boat, and the family stood in silence for a few breaths, before Paladin whispered the name of his son. He looked to his wife; 'Pippin,' sobbed Eglantine. Pearl, Pimpernel, and Pervinca each softly spoke their brother's name, and as their father turned to the stream, they embraced their mother and let their tears mingle. The Thain bent to the waters, gently launched the boat, and stood again to take the torch from Reginard.

One by one, hobbits stepped up to light a boat-candle, murmur a lost loved one's name, set the boat upon the flowing water, to be carried to the Brandywine and on down to the Sea.

When all had finished and most had started back to the Smials for the Remembering Day feast, Ferdibrand still stood, cradling his own boat. The Thain waited, holding the torch.

'Ferdi?' Regi said. 'Do you want me to light it for you?'

Ferdibrand shook his head, forced himself to step forward, to hold the boat out, teeth gritted. Paladin dipped the torch quickly, and the wick flared. Ferdi knelt in the mud by the stream, holding his boat a moment longer, reluctant to say this farewell, but finally, he whispered, 'Good-bye, Pip. You should have taken me with you; I'd have helped you fight those spooks.' He laid the little boat in the water and watched it float after the others.

A hand appeared before him and he looked up to see the face of Pippin's father. The Thain had heard the soft words. 'Come, lad,' he said, his own grief now plain on his face. 'We've done all we can for him.' Ferdi took the proffered hand and allowed Paladin to help him to his feet, nodded his thanks. Thain Paladin put an arm about Ferdi's shoulders and walked heavily up the path to the Smials.

***

A cloaked figure waited in a dark corner of the Crowing Cockerel, nursing a mug of the best beer on the Stock Road. He didn't look up as Regi and Ferdi slid into chairs at the table, but took a deep pull at his beer and waited in silence.

'What news from Buckland?' Regi muttered.

The other raised his head just enough for them to see his eyes peer from under the hood. 'More ruffians arriving each day, from up the Greenway, I hear tell. They're all over Bree, and if Bucklanders didn't already have locks on their doors they'd have stolen everything that wasn't nailed down. Word from the Marish says some are settling in Woody End, and they're moving West.'

Regi digested this news, and nodded. 'News from Southfarthing has them coming up from Sarn Ford. They're building sheds in Waymeet, from what I hear, and there are quite a few in Hobbiton and Bywater, at Pimple Baggin's invitation.'

'Any in Tuckborough yet?'

'We've managed to scare them off thus far, with bows and snares. They do not like stepping in our snares for some reason,' Regi said, and Ferdi snorted. He had become quite adept at laying traps and snares along the ruffians' accustomed paths, and not a few ruffians had spent some hours hanging downside-up from a tree limb before their fellows had come upon them.

'Keeping them out of Tookland completely?' the other said with respect. 'I wish we could say the same in Buckland.' He eyed the other two. 'Does the Thain have plans for dealing with Lotho and throwing his new friends out of the Shire?'

Regi shook his head. 'The Shire has lived in peace too long. Paladin knows that Tookland will follow his lead, but the rest? Only if the people unite will they be able to stand against Big Men. Things may be a bit uncomfortable at present, but I think they'll have to get a sight worse before the sparks can be coaxed into a flame. Hobbits are good at sitting tight and enduring, too good at it, mayhap.' He sipped at his own beer. 'How about the Master?'

The other shook his head. 'Did you hear about those farmsteads in the Marish? Saradoc is going carefully, he doesn't want to see anyone else hurt, and Buckland alone is not enough to banish all these ruffians from the Shire, and more coming every day...'

'Farmsteads?' Ferdi asked.

'A farmer stood up to some of Lotho's Men who'd come to carry off his livestock, his neighbors came to his aid, they drove the ruffians away, all right.' His voice was bitter. 'And that night, that farm and all its near neighbors burned. Five families, homeless, lost everything. Lucky they didn't lose their lives.'

There was a general shaking of heads all around. 'And how long is the Thain going to be able to hold off these thieving Men with threats and mischief? One of these days, someone's going to call your bluff, and it's either shoot, or let Tookland be overrun with these vermin.'

'Shoot,' Ferdi echoed, feeling sick.

Regi nodded. 'Neither alternative is all that appealing,' he said. 'We'll bake that bread when it's risen.'

The Bucklander took another sip of his beer. 'Word is, the Thain mourned his son's passing on Remembering Day.'

'Aye,' Regi said heavily. 'How's the Master dealing with his loss?'

'He refused to mourn,' the other answered. 'He says until he sees his son's body, he will consider him alive.'

'Hard knocks on the Bucklanders,' Ferdi said, 'if he refuses to name a successor.'

'Ah, well,' the other said softly. 'If need be, Bucklanders know who'll be Master should anything happen to Saradoc. And it won't be Pimple Baggins, either.'

'Who, then?' Ferdi asked. He didn't know how the Bucklanders ordered their affairs, but he knew some things were different. Had Meriadoc left a son, even an infant, the child would have become Master at thirty-three, with a regent holding the land for him until his coming of age. Not so amongst the Tooks. It didn't matter, anyhow, as Pippin had left no heir. Regi would be Thain in any event, and if anything happened to him, the succession would pass to his brother Everard. Ferdi was next in the succession after Everard, but his becoming Thain was about as likely as the coming of the King.

'Him,' Reginard answered shortly, and from his tone, Ferdi took warning. He saw the eyes in the face crinkle, and realised the other was smiling, but the answering voice was grim.

'Indeed, and with all the odd things happening, let us not spread the news that the successor is out and about, shall we?' Merimac took another gulp of his beer.

'Odd things?' Regi murmured low.

The other fixed him with a stern eye. 'Has it not struck you that the heir to Buckland, the heir to Tookland, and the heir to the richest hobbit in the Shire all disappeared on the same day? Never mind that the latter wasn't exactly an heir anymore, he'd inherited. I still have trouble believing he came to the end of Bilbo's money. Anyhow, he's gone, with the rest.' He let the thought sink in, then said, 'I'd watch my back, were I you, Reginard. You're in the same boat as myself.'

Regi shuddered at the thought of being in any boat at all. 'What are you getting at?'

'Keep your eyes open. If something happens to the Mayor, well, I figure it is only a matter of time before the Master and the Thain have some sort of mishap. But enough of such pleasant thoughts. What other news do you have?' Merimac asked.

'Lotho has continued to ship full waggons Southwards, even with winter coming on. The Thain could not buy his usual supply of pipe-weed in South Farthing, this year; it seems someone else has bought it all up and shipped it South.'

The Bucklander snorted softly. 'Yes, I've heard of waggons full of Men coming to the Shire, but they aren't going away empty; they're taking the life-blood of the Shire, not just pipe-weed, but food! Some parts are going short already, I hear, not Buckland, not yet, anyhow...'

'Nor Tookland, either, though the ruffians are getting bolder,' Regi said. He looked up sharply as another hobbit entered and walked softly to their dark corner, sitting down, waving away the mug the hobbit lass brought him. When they were alone again, Regi hissed, 'I thought I told you to keep watch outside, Tolly.'

Tolly bent forward, whispering. 'No Men in sight at present, and I left Hilly watching. News came in just now, one of our folk who'd ridden into Bywater for market day--' he snorted. Market day. A few scanty offerings, whatever the ruffians hadn't already stolen.

'What?' Regi said impatiently.

'They've taken old Will Flourdumpling. He went to Bag End to protest the way Pimple's Men caroused during Yuletide, drunken louts, breaking things and bringing ruination--they broke out all the windows in the Green Dragon, you know.'

'What about the Mayor, Tolly?' Regi said. 'He went to Bag End...'

'Aye,' Tolly said, 'started off, anyhow, but never arrived. Ruffians grabbed him, threw him into one of the storage holes over to Michel Delving. They're calling them "Lock-holes" now, and threatening to lock up anyone else who stands against them.'

'Locked up?' Ferdi felt sick. Certainly, hobbits lived in holes, but they didn't spend their lives there. To be trapped in a hole beneath the earth, unable to see the sky, smell the fresh breeze...

'Aye,' Tolly said grimly. 'Now there's no Mayor, and Pimple's declared himself Chief Shirriff or some such nonsense.'

'No Mayor...' Regi said, stunned.

'Watch your back, Regi,' Merimac said again, then drained his mug and stood up, tossing a coin on the table. 'And a very merry Yule to you, as well.'