Chapter 38. Thain: Element of Surprise

Pippin awakened earlier than usual, not having to drag himself out of the bed to face the day, but fairly leaping into his morning routine, though he had to do it quietly, so as not to waken his minder. As a matter of fact, he was up earlier than any of the hobbitservants: the minder, the holekeeper, the body servant who would normally light the fires in his rooms, lay out a light repast, draw his bath, choose his clothing for the morning (depending on what sorts of lessons the day held), lay out his afternoon outfit after Pippin departed to breakfast with the Thain, and then tidy up the private rooms while Pippin was gone.

With Frodo for a companion, he wouldn’t need to keep the minder apprised of his whereabouts, nor suffer the attentions of the escort. The hour was early enough that it was likely no escort yet waited outside his door, to inquire of his plans for the day. It was shaping to be a wonderful holiday!

Of course, he’d not see the tutor this day, nor Isumbold, at least, not for lessons, though Frodo might want to take tea with Pearl’s family, an intimate tea, in the headmaster’s apartments, rather than the grand affair of the previous day. Pippin certainly did not have enough of his beloved oldest sister’s company!

Perhaps they’d all be able to take tea on the meadow… And thinking about all the possibilities of the day, he slipped on some randomly chosen clothes (his hobbitservant would have been fit to be tied – would be quite chagrined, as a matter of fact, when he saw his young charge later in the day). He grabbed an apple from the bowl of polished fruit (Pippin had the impression it was there for show, for it always looked perfectly arranged, even soon after he disarranged the fruit to pick a fruit for his delectation) and eased open the door to the suite. Too early for the escort. How fine!

Striding through the corridors on his way to the guest quarters, he barely refrained from whistling a cheery tune, mindful of the slumbering hobbits behind the closed doors on either side. He realised his first drawback to rising so early when he reached Frodo’s door. There was no answer to his soft tapping. He tapped again. No answer. What to do? He wasn’t going to go back to his own apartments – that way lay captivity.

He didn’t want to waken Frodo after his cousin’s long tramp across the fields from Bywater, with the addition of the previous late night’s sitting up with Thain Ferumbras until well after late supper, to discuss various family matters that were somewhat tiresome for Pippin – but the tween could at least look forward to the glorious morrow – today, actually! – with no business whatsoever, and no classes, and no social obligations. He’d see Frodo at breakfast, but what to do beforehand?

Suddenly a grin of pure mischief lit his face. He’d learnt the duty roster of the hobbits of escort, and today was Elberard’s day. He smirked at the thought of that haughty hobbit taking up his station outside Pippin’s door, well before everyone was stirring (perhaps half an hour before the hobbitservant roused himself to light the morning fires), not knowing that the quarry had already escaped the snare. Or, as Isum had put it, the hawk had broken the jesses. The hood was off, and he was free!

In that moment, he knew what he’d do… He slipped through the corridors like a ghost, keeping to the lesser-used byways, for in the early days of his stay he’d explored the entire Smials, in part from restlessness, but in other part, calculation. He’d known it would come in handy! Just like the old shepherd had taught him, know not just the paths the sheep prefer to take, but know the hills and the wild places, where a predator might lurk…

At last he came to a little-used door, opening to the outside. It opened onto a wild garden to the side of the main courtyard, and well away from the Great Door, as well as the lesser doors at ground level. Oddly enough, the hinges were well-oiled, but then, the hinges of all the doors in the Smials were well-oiled, dating from the time of old Lalia, who claimed to have sensitive nerves and couldn’t bear a creak or squeal. All to the good!

Pippin eased the door open, peering carefully from one side to the other, but he saw no one. The stars were still bright in the sky, so it was much earlier than he’d thought. The dairymaids and bakers might not yet be at their business, and the stable lads would be slumbering, even the one who had the duty of sleeping in an empty stall, that he might hear if any trouble broke out in the stables.

…which it would, if Pippin had his way. He was trouble, at least for Elberard this day, and he fully intended to break out!

He skirted the courtyard between Smials and stables, staying on the grassy verge where the lamplight didn’t quite reach, and he went into the stables by the side door, the one that opened onto the meadow. His own pony, that the Thain had selected him, was stabled near the main entrance, so that would not be a wise choice. No, if he were to go out riding for joy, he’d have to pick an unfamiliar beast near this side door, as distant as could be from the sleepy stable lad, sitting night watch nearer the main entrance.

A saddle would be a problem, as well, and a bridle, as these would be hanging in the tack rooms, and he didn’t want to venture any further into the stables than he had to. No, he’d take a pony from one of these outside stalls, an obliging beast, he hoped, and loop a lead from the head collar, around the pony’s neck and back to the chin strap, and fashion a bridle of sorts. He’d have reins, anyhow, though he’d have to use main strength to haul the pony’s head to one side or the other, rather than communicating with a bit in the beast’s mouth. He’d managed on the farm, with the plough ponies, so he wasn’t all that concerned.

The first stall was empty, but a finely bred head was sticking out of the next stall, looking at him with curious interest. He put out a hand, and the pony whuffled him. ‘Hullo,’ he whispered. ‘How would you like to go for a little outing? Shall we? We can ride to the top of one of the hills to watch the sun rise. Would you like that?’

The pony seemed to have no objections.

It was no trouble to lift the head collar from the hook beside the pony’s stall and slip it over the nose, behind the ears, fastening it properly, as he’d been taught to do from faunthood with the plough ponies on the farm. Getting the lead rope properly fixed to make reins was a bit trickier, but he managed. Then, peering towards the dim light coming from the duty hobbit’s lantern, in a stall far down the stable corridor towards the main entrance, he listened a long while, hearing nothing but the soft breathing of ponies.

As softly as he could, he undid the latch on the stall door, and slowly eased the door open, for he was not so certain of stable hinges as he was on the doors to the Smials. He doubted that old Lalia the Fat had ventured out to the stables, after all. He thought he remembered that she’d never bothered to learn to ride, considering any sort of exercise as unpleasant, and ponies themselves as smelly beasts, fit only for pulling a coach, where she could lounge in comfort.

He didn’t have to worry, as it turned out, for these hinges were in as good repair as any in the Smials, partly because the stable Master was a good one, and believed in keeping his facilities in tip-top condition. Well-oiled hinges made for a quick and efficient clearing of the stables in case of a fire. The doors were made so that, once the bolts were shot free, it would take the barest effort to swing a stall door open and drive the occupant toward the outer door.

Quietly, as quietly as may be, he led his chosen mount out of the stall, down the short way to the side door, and out of the stables. He had but a moment of trouble when his pony paused to call back to the companions they were leaving behind, and another pony or two answered, but he was already out of the stables, had pushed the door shut, and grabbed his pony’s nose and jaw between his hands, urgently soothing. Thus, when the duty hobbit, blinking sleepily, stuck his head into the corridor to look for the source of disturbance, he saw nothing. Pippin waited a few moments, holding his pony still, scarcely breathing, but no alarm was raised. At last, he turned the pony to walk along the outside wall, away from the Smials, and led the beast well away before mounting.

Ah, mounting was a problem without a saddle. He’d managed on the farm, by leading a plough pony next to a fence and climbing on. This was no placid plough beast, however, but a finely bred pony, meant for speed. It followed him quietly enough, when he led it through the far gate and out of the pasture. When he guided it to stand next to the fence, it seemed calm and patient. But when he eased himself from the fence onto the pony’s back, the beast threw up its head.

That was his first inkling of trouble.

He dismissed any unease, however, for he was young and confident, and he’d been excelling in Isum’s riding lessons. He remembered having to ride with no reins, and the stirrups crossed over the saddle before him, using only his weight to control the pony. This was no different!

He sat up properly, forcing his heels down, the key to balance, and the pony steadied under him. ‘There’s the lass,’ he said, stroking the glossy neck. ‘Now, let’s walk on, shall we?’

He turned the pony’s head in the direction of the wild Green Hills and squeezed ever so slightly with his legs. The response from the pony was breathtaking – the beast went from stand-still to full gallop in the space of a heartbeat, nearly leaving the lad behind. But Pippin had learnt his lessons well, and gripping with his legs and leaning into the wind, he soon caught the rhythm of the gallop, glorying in the sensation of speed and freedom. They were flying!