Chapter 34. Thain: The Right Place at the Right Time, part 2

Pippin could scarcely refrain from whistling as he walked away from the stables, across the larger pony field. The ponies paid him no heed, grazing greedily as they were, tails a-switch, for he neither called to them nor held out his hand in bribery.

It felt a bit like the old days, before he’d learnt responsibility of the old shepherd, when he’d shirk his duties and wander away from the farm for a little fishing, or just lying in the meadow grass to watch the clouds sail over him, wondering about the lands they’d be crossing over, once they passed the Bounds of the Shire.

Of course, he wasn’t shirking any duties this day, if one didn’t count Baragrim’s insistence on some sort of escort, if only cousins. Glorious freedom!

He ducked through the fence at the far side of the field and made his way down into the bottomland, where a small stream flowed to join the larger Tuckborne just beyond Tuckborough. He wouldn’t be going through the town, of course, lest someone should recognise him and let slip to his pursuers which way he’d gone.

He eased a foot into the trickling water and shuddered happily. Icy cold! It would be refreshing, when he’d run a way, and it would hide his footprints, and he rather doubted his Tookish cousins, who’d not had the benefit of lazy days in and on the Brandywine with Merry to accustom them to water, would try this way. He could make his way quite a good distance before he’d have to emerge and cross a road, on his way to the finishing point.

He skirted Tuckborough proper, past a field of mildly astonished cows who were lying down to chew the cud, and quite surprised to see a hobbit at this unexpected hour, long before milking time. As he reached the Tuckborne he heard baying break out behind him, and started, but chided himself at once. It wasn’t that they’d found him, or his trail, which he hadn’t left in any event, but the exuberance of youth, excitement of the chase, and desire to flush him from cover, if he were anywhere near.

Still, he doubted that all of them would stay in the lane. Doubtless they’d be criss-crossing the fields, looking for him, or hunting in the hedgerows.

He hurried across a ploughed field, nearly turning his ankle leaping the furrows, hoping they wouldn’t see him. It would be a little faster to go along the road, and so long as they were behind him he could jog along and make up a little distance, and then dive through the hedgerow to find some cover. There were copses between here and the pub, which would also afford good hiding—but also draw searching hobbits.

What a grand game of “I hide and you seek me”! ...suitable for tweens, that is, not the simple game of faunts and youngsters, but hiding and seeking on a grand scale.

He vowed not to leave tracks for them to find, though it would make the game trickier. He’d have to stick to the road, or streambeds, or rocky ground, for the most part.

He came upon a road-mender, a Took performing his yearly stint on the roads, as the Thain and custom demanded, though Ferumbras generously paid a silver penny for each of the ten days’ required work. This custom dated from the time of the Kings, for even long after the North Kingdom fell the Thain of the Shire kept the roads in good repair, to speed the messengers of the King on their way, should the King ever return, that was.

‘Hullo!’ he said cheerily. ‘Nice day for it!’

‘Nice day for what, ah ask ye?’ the road mender said, straightening wearily from his task of shovelling small rocks into a hole that marred the roadway’s surface. His eyes were very red and bleary, perhaps from the dust of his occupation, though from the redness of his bulbous nose there might well have been another cause.

‘Why, for whatever one might be doing,’ Pippin said.

The road mender regarded him, blinking, and recognising by the cut of his clothing that Pippin was a gentlehobbit, belatedly fingered his cap. ‘Blessings on ye, young master,’ he mumbled.

‘At your service, and your family’s,’ Pippin replied promptly, with a proper bow.

The road-hobbit sighed gustily. ‘Aye, and how ah wish t’were truth,’ he said, with a protracted belch. ‘The road work would fall over the days of ma daughter’s wedding, it would, and not next month as was due... Ah made rather merry yestidday, ah did, and th’ head’s a-poundin’ ill enough to brich some o’ them rocks as ah mus’ pound to pulp, ta fill them holes as the coaches of ma betters punch i’ the road...’ He winced at the end of this long-winded speech, pulled a soiled red handkerchief from the back pocket of his dusty breeches, and wiped at the back of his neck.

At that moment the baying broke out, nearer than he might have expected. Pippin looked about himself in sudden alarm. Beyond the hedgerows lining the road, the fields were inconveniently open. He thought he could see not-so-distant figures on a nearby hillside, combing the sheep-meadow, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d worked their way across the field to the road.

There was a little smial in the hillside, not far away, but his cousins would be knocking at the door to ask if he’d been there, so that was no good. They’d look in the nearby byre, as well, so there was no use hiding in the straw.

‘Here now,’ Pippin said rapidly. ‘Is that your smial, there?’

‘Wud ah be workin’ at the road here if ah didn’t live near?’ the hobbit said, rather sullenly. ‘Ah’d ruther be weedin’, t’ tell the truth,’ he added.

‘You’re a gardener, then?’ Pippin said. ‘Ah, I see, and of course you’d not be weeding, the day after your daughter’s wedding, now, for you’re a hobbit of great sense. I can tell by looking at you.’

‘Ar,’ said the road hobbit, his tone a little more pleasant. But then his face darkened. ‘But the Thain’s fellow will be a-coomin’ along, any time now, to check on my work, and if ah’m not hard at it, ‘twill go hard with me. He’ll take ma silver pennies awa’, Himself will, and charge me a fine into the bargain. As if ah had coin to spare!’ he finished bitterly.

‘Well, then,’ Pippin said. ‘I said “at your service” and “at your service” I meant, or what would be the use of saying such? Here now, you give me your cap and your jacket, o and your gloves that I might spare my hands, and I’ll do your work for you whilst you lie yoursel’ doon for a wink or two...’

The hobbit peered at him, sodden suspicion turning to blinking bewilderment at Pippin’s earnest, good-natured expression. ‘Ya don’ mean it...’ he said thickly.

‘O but I do!’ Pippin said. ‘Please, try me! I live to be helpful to my fellow Shirefolk!’

‘Ah’m sure that yer da brought ye up to be quite a fine hobbit,’ the road-worker said, pulling off his cap and holding it out.

With a bright smile and the most helpful expression he could garner, Pippin took the cap and placed it on his head, then took off his fine deerhide jacket so that he could assume the dusty, patched garment of his benefactor. ‘Thankee,’ he said, folding his jacket over and placing it by the side of the road, hurriedly covering it with dirt and stones from the verge.

The road-hobbit looked at him in amazement. ‘What’re ye doin’?’ he said. ‘That fine jacket...’

‘Wouldn’t want it to get dirty or blow away,’ Pippin said, and happily the road-hobbit was too muddled to do more than nod his head in a bemused way as he handed over the work-roughened gloves, and, at Pippin’s further request, the large red handkerchief.

‘Thanks, awfully,’ Pippin said, turning the old fellow towards the little smial and giving him a push to send him on his way. ‘You get yourself a good lie down and when you’re feeling better, you can take up your wheelbarrow again.’

‘Ah thankee,’ the hobbit said, and stumbled away. It wasn’t long before he was inside his smial, and the door shut behind him.

Pippin didn’t stand there watching him go; he had preparations to make. He stuck the handkerchief in his back pocket, and he took off the cap long enough to rub a handful of dust through his hair and over his face and neck. Another handful of silvery dust in his hair would age him, he hoped. A little dust rubbed into his eyes left them red and watering, suited to his station, and he made sure the fur on his feet was well-coated in dust as well. He sat down in the dust for good measure, and with a bit of work he soon had his breeches looking as rumpled, dirty and disreputable as his borrowed jacket.

Then he wheeled the barrow along to the next hole, took up the shovel and filled the hole, tamped and smoothed the surface, and stomped upon it for good measure. He nodded with satisfaction and trundled along to the next marring of the road’s surface. It was no wonder the Thain had ordered this stretch of road repaired now rather than waiting another month for the hobbit’s scheduled service. The spring rains and heavy traffic of farm waggons had done a fair amount of damage.

The first hobbit to come along was not one of Pippin’s cousins, but Elberard, one of the hobbits of the escort, apparently detailed this day to check on road repairs, for want of messages to carry or escorting duties to perform.

Pippin bent his back to his work, pushing the wheelbarrow along, and pretended not to notice that he was being scrutinised, until he was hailed. ‘Hoi, there!’

Pippin straightened painfully, a hand to his back, and growled. ‘Wha’ d’ye?’

‘I see you’re paying good attention to your duty, good fellow,’ Elberard said, looking down his nose at the commoner from his high seat in the saddle. He pointed with his riding crop. ‘Be sure not to miss that spot there, where the verge is crumbling and showing signs of washing away in a rain.’

‘Ar,’ Pippin growled, fingering his cap with proper sullen servility. ‘At yer service, sor,’ he added.

‘And at yours,’ Elberard said haughtily, though he didn’t really mean it. ‘Well, then, cheerio, my good fellow, and keep up the good work. I’ll give you a satisfactory report to the Thain, at least for this day. See that you do the whole stretch as well as you've done this first part, and I’ll ask him to reward you with an extra silver penny... or two!’

Pippin was underwhelmed. ‘Ar,’ he said noncommittally. ‘Very good, sor, ah’m thet obliged t’ye.’

Elberard smiled, gratified, touched his pony with his heel, and trotted away in the direction of Tuckborough.

Pippin’s lips tightened in a mirthless smile. Sure and it would be a pleasure to slip the escort when that one was on duty. Elberard could stand being taken down a pin or two, to his way of thinking. Too proud by half, that one was, and a day or three of water rations seemed just the thing.

He kept on working, glad for the gloves, and as the afternoon wore on he began to wonder if his cousins had kept to the fields and missed the road entirely. Still, he’d promised to keep at the task until the old hobbit returned. It wouldn’t do for Elberard to decide he wanted to check on the road-work one more time, and not find anyone working.

And so he wheeled the barrow along, stopping to fill holes, and repairing the verge where it was worn or washed away. The wheelbarrow was nearly empty, and he was wondering where he’d go to fill it up again, as he trundled along, head down, when there was a sudden tap on his shoulder.

Just in time, he remembered that he was a weary road-worker, and so he shrugged himself slowly upright and turned, shoulders slumped. As he turned, he fished the large red kerchief from his back pocket and wiped at his brow. ‘Ar?’ he said, making his voice low and husky. ‘Was there somethin’ er other tha were wantin’, young sor?’

‘I say, fine day for it!’ Hilly Took said cheerily from the front of a small group of tweens, looking not quite at Pippin but rather dismissing him as nearly beneath their notice.

‘Fine day for what, ah ask ye?’ Pippin growled, arrested in the act of wiping at his face. The cloth was something of a diversion, he thought, seeing several lips curl in disgust at its state.

‘Why, for... for what ever one might be doing on such a day,’ Hilly said, immediately adding, ‘Have you seen a tween come through here?’

Pippin wanted to invent any number of tweens, on the spot, or give an elaborate description of himself, headed in the opposite direction from the one he intended, but he caught himself in time. The more he talked, the more chance someone would recognise his voice, or his person, and so he merely ducked his head in a shy manner, plying the filthy handkerchief to the other side of his face and neck while taking care not to wipe away any grime. ‘Ar,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’ Hilly said brightly. He had evidently been elected to speak for the group.

‘If thaselves dinna mind,’ Pippin growled, tucking the kerchief back in its repose and bending over to take up the wheelbarrow’s handles once more. ‘Ah’m a working hobbit, ah am, and ah’ve a fair bit o’ workin’ to be doin’ before the day’s end...’

‘Too stupid to notice if a whole pack of tweens passed by him, not to mention one Pip,’ Hilly said to the others, not caring if the road hobbit heard.

Pippin grunted, cleared his throat and turned his head to one side. He spat mightily, and that might have been his undoing, as he ranked high in the tweens’ spitting contests, but happily the lads had been taken in by his disguise and thought the spitting a fitting part of his lowborn state.

‘Come along,’ one of the younger hobbits said. ‘Perhaps he’s at the Brat already!’

‘Let’s run!’ said another, and they were off, Hilly shouting after them to stay together, and that they needed to spread out over the fields if they were to catch Pippin.

Not long after, the group of older tweens happened by. These, led by Tolly, were civil at least, for Tolly tolerated nothing less, even from cheeky Everard. In point of fact, Tolly, seeing Pippin's sweaty, grimy state, offered Pippin to drink from his own water bottle, and Pippin was grateful to accept. Road-mending was thirsty work! He managed, however, not to give himself away, though it was more difficult than with the younger tweens. He had a hard time keeping his face straight when he heard one of the tweens grumble about Ferdi's inability to find a trail to follow, but at that moment Tolly saved him, for he looked up to see Hilly's group upon a hillside, and called his hounds to order, to resume their search in the fields and hillside on the other side of the road.

It was another hour before the old hobbit came to reclaim his wheelbarrow. He looked in surprise to see how little gravel remained. ‘Tha hast been a busy one, hast tha?’ he said appreciatively.

‘That I have been,’ Pippin said, gladly surrendering cap, jacket, gloves and kerchief. ‘I trust your head is in a better state than it was?’

‘Far better,’ the old hobbit said, displaying a gap-toothed grin. ‘Here na,’ he said, tendering a battered flask. ‘A little celebratory sip, ta thankee,’ he said, and Pippin took it. He was thirsty after his long labours, but his hearty gulp of the fiery stuff in the flask turned his ears red and left him gasping.

‘Ah, thankee,’ he said when he could manage to speak again. ‘Fine stuff, it is.’

‘Ar,’ said the old hobbit. ‘Looks as if ah need to fill’p this barrow, for all the holes ye’ve filled, young hobbit! Blessings on ye, and ah’ll be happy to offer ye food an’ drink, should ye rap upon ma door in future!’

‘I’ll remember!’ Pippin promised. He had better not smoke his pipe this evening, for the fumes on his breath were enough to set him alight, he thought. But the drink was cheering, and he was ready to finish the race. He could see some of his cousins far ahead, halfway up one of the great hills where the sheep were grazing, and not likely to see him if he made his way along in the ditch on the other side of the hedgerow.

He raised his hand in farewell, trotting along the road lest the road hobbit think him peculiar, and when the road turned enough to put him out of the old fellow’s sight, he plunged through the hedgerow and into the ditch, trotting along, fatigue forgotten on the strength of the draught he’d drunk.

He was quite a sight when he reached the Falcon and Faunt, but he put his own handkerchief to good use, dipping it in the trough in the yard, where a spring ensured a continual flow of fresh water, to wash away the grime, and he slapped at his clothes to dislodge the worst of the dust. He ended by dipping each foot in turn into the trough, scrubbing at the fur, and he put his whole head under the flow of icy water, to wash the grit from his hair. At last, damp but presentable, he entered the pub and found a comfortable chair, facing the door.

When his cousins arrived not long after he did, he was sitting back in his chair, feet up, the picture of comfort.

‘Well now,’ he said, lifting his mug in greeting. ‘What’s taken you so long? I’ve been waiting so long I thought I’d grow old and grey before you happened along!’

***

A/N: The "road" incident was inspired by a scene from John Buchan's 39 Steps. Suspenseful, gripping reading material. This incident, BTW, becomes an anecdote in several of the stories set during Pippin's first days as Thain.