Chapter 45. And... They're... Off!

Several ponies broke from the rest, only to be called back by the sharp summons of a horn. The crowd relaxed with a sigh of disappointment; there would be a delay whilst the starter’s assistants got all the ponies lined up once more.

Pippin leaned back in his chair, and old Ferdinand, who’d been granted a seat in the box reserved for the Master, Mayor and Thain, heard Merry say sharply, ‘Pippin? Are you well?’

 ‘Never better,’ the Thain answered, but it seemed to cost him effort to force out the words.

Rosemary’s hand tightened on her father’s shoulder and they shared a look. Ferdinand knew of Pippin’s bad spells from his son, who did not engage in Talk as a rule, but often mulled over his thoughts in his father’s presence, knowing that any privileged information he might spill was safe with Ferdinand. Rosemary, on the other hand, had heard none of this... but her healer’s training alerted her to the faint wheeze still to be heard in the Thain’s breathing, and the odour of the balm was a familiar one.

Pippin straightened in his chair, and to distract Merry from his concern he said, ‘Let us double our wager.’

 ‘Pippin!’ Diamond said in shock.

 ‘Very well,’ Merry said. ‘If a Tookish pony wins, I’ll pay you two silver pennies, and if a pony of Buckland wins, you’ll pay me.’

Diamond relaxed and forced a chuckle. ‘O you two!’ she chided. ‘When you said “double” I thought my heart would stop!’

 ‘Not to worry, my dear,’ Pippin said breezily. ‘Of course a Tookish pony will win. Why, even if the South Farthing were to take the honours, the Bracegirdles bought that pony in Tookland a year or two ago...’

 ‘Pippin...’ Merry said, warning in his tone, even as his eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘You are as devious as our illustrious cousin Ferdi.’

 ‘Ferdi? Devious?’ Diamond said in astonishment. Really, the head of escort was so subdued as to make her think he wasn’t even present, most of the time.

 ‘Devious,’ Merry said firmly. ‘Uncle Merimac told me any number of stories about the traps Ferdi laid to keep ruffians out of Tookland...’ He looked back to the racecourse. ‘Ah,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘Just about ready.’

Ferdinand turned his attention to the ponies once more, three of ghostly grey sprinkled amongst darker and brighter hides. His breath came short as a coppery chestnut caught his eye... He had a flash of that odd insight that comes to some Tooks, where they catch a glimpse all unbidden of things to come. A chestnut pony and a silver-grey, battling for position at the head of a field of swift-running ponies—he saw Ferdi bending low over the grey’s neck, yes, it was Ferdi, riding to win! But then the two leaders bumped, tangled, went down to be overrun by the thundering racers that followed.

 ‘No,’ he moaned, and had he still had his hands he’d have covered his face, or perhaps had he still had feet he’d have jumped to them, run forward, called a halt before the race began.

 ‘Da?’ Rosemary said in concern.

Ferdinand’s eyes were closed but the awful vision remained: his son, gone down beneath the hoofs of the racing ponies. He thought back to the previous evening, the songs and laughter. Ferdi and Merry had sung together as in years past, when they were young and free of care, the old songs, including the wistful ballad traditionally heard when races were run in the Shire. In that song, a hobbit’s family begged him to stop his racing, and he promised to do so, after this one last race. ...But the “last” race was indeed his last, and the song ended in sorrow.

Pippin, seeing Diamond grow pale, had jumped to his feet, to begin a hearty clapping song, and soon the entire common room full of hobbits had joined in and were shouting out the choruses as they made thunder, pounding the tables, stomping their feet, and clapping their hands.

The innkeeper was quite pleased with the result, for though the song was noisy, the noise drew even more passers-by to the celebration, and the singers worked up a significant thirst with their endeavours. The room quieted considerably as the restorative mugs were being sipped, such that nearly everyone heard old Ferdinand ask his son to sing once more.

Cries of Ferdi! and Aye! Sing the Treasure Song! erupted from the Tooks in the room.

Ferdi stood to his feet and bowed, then struck a pose. Nodding to the musicians in the corner (a fiddler, a piper, and a hobbit with a harp were being provided with free drinks for as long as they were sober enough to play), he said, ‘The Treasure Song.’ The harp player raised a hand and struck a chord and then his fingers coaxed the plaintive melody from the instrument. The hobbits listened in silence, and then Ferdi began to sing.

I do not know my ending;
My beginning, I can’t recall.
But my life’s a golden treasure,
And I mean to spend it all...

 ‘Da?’ Rosemary said again, and Ferdinand was brought back to the present moment.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the starter’s flag descended and the ponies were off in a fair start.

Unlike the waking dream, flash of insight, whatever you’d call it, Ferdi, on the Rohan, was not running ahead of the field, Ferdinand saw to his relief, but somewhere in the middle of the bunched ponies. Buckland’s grey was running at the head, Socks half a length behind him.

As they rounded the first turn the ponies began to string out, Ferdibrand’s grey remaining somewhat forward of the middle of the field. Old Ferdinand’s heart leaped into his throat as he saw the bright chestnut, blue-and-silver-clad rider on his back, moving up.

 ‘Is that one of Jewel’s colts?’ Pippin asked conversationally. ‘He looks just like his sire.’

 ‘Runs like him too,’ Merry answered. ‘He may yet win this race.’

 ‘Not if Ferdi has anything to say about it,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Well, Ferdi beat me in enough races when we were younger,’ Merry said. He winked conspiratorially at old Ferdinand. ‘Even though you lectured us on “the proper use of ponies” until I thought my ears would fall off.’ His attention was called back to the race as Estella plucked his sleeve and he shouted, ‘Go, Rivermist! Get up, there!’ Socks had pulled even with the grey Bucklander and was beginning to forge ahead.

Pippin slapped his thigh and crowed. ‘I told you the old pony still had it in him!’ he shouted.

Ferdinand remembered to breathe as Ferdi’s pony began to move steadily forward, the chestnut on his tail. In the flash of vision, the riders had been knee-to-knee when the ponies went down. The racers rounded the final turn, Socks and the grey Bucklander battling for the lead, Ferdi third, a black pony with yellow-clad rider fourth, and the chestnut in fifth. The watching hobbits roared their favourites’ names and rose to their feet to see the finish.

Pippin was sitting stiffly, hands fisted on his knees, whispering to his riders; Diamond’s arm was about his shoulders as if in support. Merry was shouting encouragement; Estella sat looking from Merry to Pippin and back again, and old Ferdinand was able to breathe, just as long as that chestnut stayed well back of Ferdi’s pony.

Ferdi was bent over the pony’s neck, nearly lost in the flowing mane, seemingly motionless, but suddenly the pony seemed to grow wings, overtaking the leaders. Pippin jumped to his feet, shouting in excitement as they swept past the stands, the Rohan in first, Buckland’s grey in second, Socks fallen back to third place but still fighting gamely as they flashed across the finish line. 

 ‘We did it! We did it!’ Pippin shouted, jumping up and down in his excitement, as energetic as any tween. It took some time before Diamond was able to convince him to sit down once more, to await the call to the winner’s circle, where he’d stand by the pony as the garland of wildflowers was presented, he would give a short speech expressing his thanks to Ferdi as the rider, and then, almost as an afterthought, he'd accept the heavy purse of gold.

 ‘Did you see? Ferdi won!’ Rosemary cried, hugging her father. Hally beside her was all grins, but his look turned to concern as did Rosemary’s at old Ferdinand’s lack of expression.

 ‘Da?’ Rosemary said.

 ‘I’m well,’ Ferdinand said weakly. ‘Never been better.’ The warning still resonated within, Ferdi going down beneath the thundering hoofs, but it was fading in the celebration that surrounded him. He forced a grin. ‘We won!’

 ‘We certainly did!’ Hally said. He clapped old Ferdinand on the shoulder. ‘Now all we have to hope for is that Mayor Sam won his own race!’

***

Author’s Notes:
The race that Ferdinand is foreseeing is detailed in “Flames”, also on SoA.
The midi file for the Racing Song can be found by clicking here.
The midi file for the Golden Treasure song can be found by clicking here.