Chapter 31. On Your Mark

After the semi-final race, Hilly turned Penny’s reins over to Tolly with a rueful expression. ‘Cool her out for me?’ he said. ‘And then turn her out in one of the pens to stretch her legs; throw her some hay to keep her happy.’

 ‘You’re done for the day?’ Tolly said in surprise.

 ‘I don’t know yet,’ Hilly admitted. ‘She only ran second, Tolly. That doesn’t bode well for the final race. I’m going to ask Ferdi what he wants me to do.’ He shook his head. ‘I was sure she’d go faster if I just laid on the whip a bit...’

 ‘And she ran slower instead,’ Tolly said in understanding. ‘Contrary, she is, just like her master.’ His own wagers were safely on the Thain’s pony, and Socks had handily won his section of the semi-final race. He could afford to be understanding.

 ‘Nearly dropped back to third place,’ Hilly said, shuddering. ‘What a fright she gave me!’

He gazed into the dark eye that stared back at him, and said, ‘What were ye thinking, dearie?’

The mare snorted and shook her head at him, and Tolly laughed. ‘You’d best go ask Ferdi how to get back on her sweet side,’ he said. ‘Seems to me she’s feeling a bit sour about that whip business.’

 ‘I’ll do that,’ Hilly replied. ‘Leave the saddle on the fence rail; if Ferdi has any good words for me I’ll saddle her up again myself.’ Tolly nodded and Hilly took himself off, slapping at the dust on his clothes as he walked slowly to the infirmary. There was no need of hurry. There was a two hour break between the last semi-final race and the final race that would determine the fastest pony in Tookland.

Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to go back to Ferdi at all until after the final race was run. Penny had gone well enough in the earlier races, and he felt uneasy about helping Ferdi sneak out of bed. The healers had kept him there a-purpose, after all... Tooks gave them enough troubles as it was; they’d release a Took from his sick bed just as soon as possible. Sooner, most times. The semi-final had shaken him, however. She’d been running even with the leader, and he’d used every trick he knew to turn her loose, resorting in the end to a few light slaps with the whip... and she’d quit on him.

Quit so bad, she’d dropped back and nearly been caught by the third-place runner. Afterwards, one of the hobbits having a bet on with Hilly came up to him as he walked away from the racecourse and slapped him on the back. ‘Quite an exciting race you ran, there, lad. Are you trying to up the odds, to win yourself a better packet?’

 ‘You’re on to my tricks, Agenard,’ Hilly said lightly. ‘There’s no slipping anything past you, I can see that clear as the stream that runs through the meadow.’

 ‘Join me for a bite to eat?’ Agenard said.

 ‘No, thank you, but I’ve got to go report to Ferdi on how his mare is doing,’ Hilly returned.

Agenard laughed. ‘How she’s following his strategy perfectly, no doubt. That Ferdi is a tricksy cousin, he is.’

 ‘He is that,’ Hilly said, thinking morosely to himself that Agenard didn’t know the half of it, and hopefully never would.

In the infirmary, Fescue listened with interest as Hilly regaled Ferdi with all the race news, before excusing herself to “stir up a bite to eat—racing sounds like exhausting work, and listening is nearly as bad!”

She brought two plates piled high with hearty sandwiches and teacakes, a pot of tea and two cups. ‘I’ve work to do,’ she answered when Hilly asked if she’d join them. ‘You two enjoy your tea, and I’ll be back in time for you to be in good time for the last race.’

Ferdi smiled and thanked her, and Hilly’s heart sank. It looked as if she were playing right into their plans. As she turned from the door, Ferdi gave Hilly a nudge and a meaningful look. With a sigh, Hilly rose.

He called softly to Fescue when she was halfway down the corridor. She stopped and turned, waiting politely to hear what he had to say.

 ‘Ferdi’s leg is paining him,’ he said. ‘Do you suppose you could stir up a draught for him? I’ll see to it he eats, and drinks the draught, and I’ll stay with him until he drops off, if you like.’

 ‘I had thought, from the way he looked just now,’ Fescue said, ‘but I wasn’t going to give him a draught until after you departed. If you’re sure you don’t mind...’

 ‘Not at all,’ Hilly said, feeling lower by the moment.

 ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Fescue said. ‘I’ll be back in three shakes.’

Hilly returned to Ferdi’s room and they enjoyed a hearty tea, though Hilly’s heart was not really in it.

 ‘Ferdi,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think it would be best...’

Ferdi fixed him with a firm gaze. ‘You’re not about to quit on me, are you?’ he said.

Hilly flushed. ‘I’m no quitter,’ he retorted.

Ferdi relaxed and popped the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. ‘I didn’t think so,’ he observed.

Fescue, smiling, brought the draught: an innocuous-appearing glass of brandy, it appeared, a treat for a hobbit who might manage a pint of ale on occasion, on an escort’s salary. The brandy was only a means, however, to get the hobbit to take the powders dissolved in it, potent stuff to take away his pain and send him off to sleep.

 ‘Ah, lovely,’ Ferdi said. ‘A bit of cheer to complete the meal.’ He cocked an eye at Fescue. ‘So will you explain to my da for me if I’m missing late supper with him?’

 ‘He’ll be here to take his late supper with you whether you’re awake or asleep,’ Fescue said. ‘He gave his minders no peace until they promised to carry him to your side every evening until you’re out and about again.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Ferdi said, taking the glass, and to Hilly’s surprise he sipped from it. Truth be told, Ferdi’s leg was hurting. He set the glass aside. ‘I’ll just finish this after tea,’ he said.

 ‘You do that,’ Fescue said, patting his shoulder and nodding at Hilly, who’d promised, after all, to stay with Ferdi until he dropped off. ‘I’ll be back later.’

When Fescue was well gone, and they’d allowed extra time for her to remember something and pop her head back into the room, Ferdi said, ‘Well, let’s get to it. The last race is less than an hour away.’

 ‘Right,’ Hilly said. From under his emerald shirt he took a roll of bandage. ‘You asked me to bring this.’

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi said. ‘Good enough for Penny’s legs; it must be good enough for mine.’ He pushed the covers back and Hilly peeled them down the rest of the way, exposing Ferdi’s loosely-bandaged leg. ‘Wrap it nice and firm,’ Ferdi directed. ‘It needs the extra support; I cannot count on the leg itself.’

Hilly nodded and complied. When the leg was wrapped, he helped Ferdi into breeches and then into one of the chairs by the bed. When Ferdi was comfortably settled, Hilly took off the emerald colours, revealing a plain shirt beneath. ‘Good thing you’re in the chair,’ he said, noting the dust sifting down. ‘She’d’ve noticed the dust on the bedclothes for sure.’

He rapidly arranged pillows and bolster in the bed to look like a sleeper and pulled the coverlet up, stepping back to properly view the final result. Yes, unless Fescue were to pull the covers back, it looked as if there were a hobbit in the bed, his covers pulled over his head to shut out the light, and since Ferdi often slept so, Fescue wouldn’t have a second thought about it. As long as the healer didn’t decide to check the leg, they’d be safe.

 ‘For true,’ Ferdi agreed, slipping his arms into the bright green shirt and pulling it over his head. ‘All I need now is the scarf...’

 ‘But they’d know at once, to see you wearing it walking across the yard,’ Hilly said. ‘We’ll have to chance it until we reach Penny. There oughtn’t to be anyone hanging about the stables at this time of day. They’ll all be at the racecourse, getting the ponies ready for the final run or vying for the best vantage point to watch the race.’

 ‘Then let us be off!’ Ferdi said gaily, though he winced as he rose, grabbing at the brandy that Hilly held, preparatory to dosing the potted plants in the large round window. ‘Just one more sip of that,’ he said.

 ‘You’re about to ride at breakneck speed in a jostling pack of ponies,’ Hilly warned. ‘Do you think you ought to be muddling your head?’

 ‘Just a sip,’ Ferdi repeated, though he took a good-sized gulp before handing the glass to Hilly and whispering to the plants, ‘Sweet dreams, my darlings!’

Hilly snorted, poured out the contents, placed the glass on the table by the bed, and moved to support Ferdi. Though the tightly-bound bandage helped to brace the leg, Ferdi still tried to put as little weight as possible on it as they made their way out of the Great Smials.

 ‘So far, so good,’ Ferdi panted as they reached the entry. They’d met no one along the way. ‘Once across the yard I can trust to Penny’s sound legs, and no more of this hoppity business until afters.’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly agreed dolefully. He half-wished Fescue had come upon them in the corridor, wager or no wager. His doubts about this mad scheme were growing by the moment.

They crossed the yard to the stables and the pens to the side, and Ferdi stopped to greet the stallion of Rohan. That pony met him with excited whickers, head-tossings and nudges; he’d not seen Ferdi for nearly a week, after all. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say he was worried about you,’ Hilly said in surprise.

 ‘Were you worried, old lad?’ Ferdi crooned, stroking the pony’s jaw. ‘Old friend, I wouldn’t be here if not for you.’ In more ways than one. He wouldn’t be doing this desperate thing if he hadn’t stolen the pony in the first place...

 ‘Well, you two have a nice chat whilst I saddle the lass,’ Hilly said.

When he returned, leading Penny, Ferdi was scratching under the stallion’s mane and that pony had stretched his neck as far as it would reach, lower lip hanging in bliss, eyes half closed. ‘He’ll roll over in a moment,’ Hilly said dryly, ‘so as you can give his belly a good scratch.’

 ‘Practically a pup, are you?’ Ferdi murmured fondly. He sighed and gave a final caress. ‘You have a nice nap,’ he said in parting.

The stallion jerked his head up, stood alert to watch Ferdi hobble to Penny’s side. Hilly held Ferdi up as he got his left foot into the stirrup, but when Ferdi was standing in the stirrup, he couldn’t get the injured leg over. Hilly carefully lifted the leg over Penny’s back and then settled the foot in the stirrup. ‘Will you be able to keep it there?’ he asked worriedly.

 ‘I’m not sure,’ Ferdi said. He blinked to clear his vision. The leg was paining him less, thanks to the sips of draught, but he was definitely having a problem finding his balance. ‘Best bind it,’ he added.

 ‘Bind it!’ Hilly hissed. ‘Are you completely mad?’

 ‘If I lose the stirrup I could fall,’ Ferdi said reasonably. ‘Fall in the pack and you might have to lay flowers on my grave every Remembering Day.’

 ‘You could fall anyhow,’ Hilly said. ‘Fall with your leg bound to the stirrup leathers and Penny’ll drag you to your death for sure, no “might” about it!’

 ‘There’s no other way,’ Ferdi argued. He bent over the leg. ‘I’ll do it myself if I have to,’ he muttered.

Hilly pushed his hand away, saying, ‘If it’s to be done, let it be done good and proper.’ He looked up at Ferdi. ‘Wait here,’ he said.

 ‘Best hurry,’ Ferdi said. ‘The horn for the ten-minute warning just sounded.’ He pulled up the scarf about his face, preparatory to riding to the racecourse.

 ‘I’ll be back in three shakes,’ Hilly promised, and jogged to the stables. He found a short leather strap in the tack room and hurried back before Ferdi could take it into his head to tie the leg to the stirrup with a pocket handkerchief or the like.

 ‘Here,’ he said grimly. ‘So long as you stay on her back, no one ought to notice this.’ He buckled Ferdi’s leg securely and stood back. ‘Comfy?’

 ‘Quite,’ Ferdi said. Hilly worried. His cousin’s eyes were not as sharp as usual; the draught was having some effect. ‘Ferdi,’ he began, ready to call off the whole mad plan.

 ‘Wish me luck,’ Ferdi said, and turned Penny’s head towards the racecourse. He leaned forward and she broke into an easy trot, which Ferdi sat like a sack of potatoes. He couldn’t rise to the trot, as it were...

Hilly stared after him in growing dismay. He started to run after Ferdi, but if anyone recognised him the game was up...

Ferdi pulled Penny down to a walk before reaching the racecourse, moving well with the pony, relaxed and easy. He ought to be. The draught was making him feel as if he hadn’t a bone in his body. The final horn blew, but he was in good time. As he went through the gate to line up for the final race, he nodded to Pippin on Socks, standing ready.

 ‘So, Hilly, you’ve decided to chance it after all!’ the Thain cried cheerily. His own scarf was firmly in place; thus far he’d been able to avoid breathing dust, which would spoil his riding at the least and threaten his very life at worst.

Ferdi gave a nonchalant wave and then leaned to pat Penny on the neck. He’d decided to chance it, all right.

The ponies were not as fresh as they’d been for their first heats, and so the starter’s assistants had much less trouble lining them up for the start. Penny, with a familiar hand on the reins, quivered with eagerness. Ferdi soothed her with a stroke and a whisper, took a firmer hold on the reins, and waited for the flag to fall.