Chapter 17. Interlude: Some thoughts on practicality

Pippin drank the steaming tea that Merry poured for him; he even ate several of the flaky scones that were set before him, tender and slathered with melting butter and jam, but he took no enjoyment from these simple pleasures.

He stared at the fire on the hearth, ignoring the soft snores surrounding him from the carpet of hobbits who covered the floor, lying rolled in their cloaks, packed tight to fit as many in as possible.

The practical thing to do would be to close his eyes and rest, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ferdi, lying in his own blood, or Farry’s white and frightened countenance, staring at him with pleading eyes.

It was prudent to wait until near dawn, when the sky lightened enough to make the trail plain to the eye, that they’d not risk losing it, or covering it over with their following footprints even, and losing even more time in the long run.

Patience and prudence were not Pippin’s long suits, by any stretch of the imagination, and were it not for Merry’s steadying presence, he’d likely have been out at that moment, spoiling the trail with his impatience. Yes, it was the practical thing, to wait until the dawn, to rest and gather strength for the long chase ahead of them.

But his heart yearned for his son, and he didn’t know how he would face Diamond in the end.

***

It had been a difficult crawl over the rock-strewn fall, and a long, cold walk in the night until at last they reached a farm on the outskirts of Tookbank. And at that, the farmer had only three ponies, so the archers had to ride double, which slowed them on their way to Whitwell, and Whittacres Farm beyond, on the road to Waymoot.

But at last they reached the farm that belonged to Pippin's family, in the depths of the night, under stars that shone frostily upon them as the bloated moon set in the western sky. The smial was dark and still. Not even a dog barked.

Sigisnard, in charge of the group, thought perhaps it would be best to wait until the family and help began to stir, a few hours before the dawning. No need to disturb their sleep. All was quiet. There were no ruffians here to menace anyone, not even the son of the Thain.

On second thought, the urgency with which they’d been sent rankled. Why had they crawled over jagged, broken rocks, hiked half the night away through the bitter cold, borrowed ponies that they’d only have to return on the morrow, to come to this? It all boiled down to guard duty, likely not needed, but let the Thain take it into his head that they’d neglected their duty and it would be three days’ water rations.

Siggy sighed and set two of his hobbits where he and they could keep watch on all sides of the smial. The other three he sent to the barn, to put the ponies away and snuggle into the hay, to catch a few winks and then relieve himself and the other two on guard, part way to morning.

***

The ruffians made a steady progress, walking along the stream. They kept to the shallows, that their sturdy boots might keep their feet dry, and they were careful in their going. No one wanted to slip and fall into the icy water on such a bitter night, when no fire would be possible. A man might catch his death that way.

It was convenient that the stream would lead them nearly to their destination, curving around the base of the great hill they were seeking. They were able to keep walking after moonset, following the sound of the stream, following the water, with only the dim light of the stars.

The young hobbit was wakeful for several hours, after they went into the stream, but when he slumped at last in the saddle, the fat man was there beside him, ready to lay a steadying hand on the small back. It wouldn’t do for the lad to slip off, perhaps startle the pony into flight, and break his neck when they came to the end of the restraining rope. No, a living captive, even one that was damaged by the necessity of making ransom demands, would be better aid in leaving the Shire alive, should they have the misfortune to encounter those thrice-cursed Rangers.

The fat man wondered if there might be a way to claim the gold that would rest atop the Three-Farthing Stone, three hours after the sun rose. It was a temptation, indeed. But no, he decided with real regret. It would not do to be greedy. There was gold in plenty, where they were heading. Greed, now, that was all too often a man’s downfall. He was a temperate man, and it had kept him alive and even prospered him over the years. Yes, he was temperate, and patient, slow to anger, and ever ready to share his knowledge to the betterment of all that he watched over.

He turned his head to survey his companions. A wry twitch of his lips, good thing it was dark, so that none of them saw, when he looked to his younger brother. He’d promised their mother he’d look after the lad, back when they were orphaned. He’d tried to teach Red the trade, and Red really was gifted, at some of the tasks they must perform, and willing, even eager, when it came to some of the more distasteful duties. But Red was impulsive, and he needed to learn patience. Yes, he badly needed to learn patience.

The brawny man was steady, someone you could count on, and he had the skill of finding his way. He’d travelled the Shire as a youth in time past, before Sharkey’s time it was, had to have been, in point of fact, for he’d learned the lay of the Green Hills that long-ago summer. That was more than you could say of any man who’d been in the Shire when Sharkey ruled, for none had crossed the borders into Tookland then. The Tooks wouldn’t stand for Men in their country. The fat man had never been in the Green Hills before. He had to depend on the brawny man’s memory, and the map he’d stolen in Bree. It was a good thing the brawny man was dependable, for certain.

The club-wielder, now, he and Red didn’t get along. He seemed to take a dim view of Red tagging along, didn’t seem to understand an older brother’s obligation to look after a younger brother. He’d not stay with the band after this, the fat man decided. You wanted to labour with men who could work together in harmony, effective, working together without need for a great deal of conversation, as smoothly as a slim blade slipped between the ribs of an unwary victim and withdrawn again, efficient and economical.

And the youth, the latest addition to the band. He showed promise, though there was also a natural squeamishness that they’d have to work out of him.

The fat man nodded to himself. Yes, Red needed to learn patience, and the new lad needed experience, and opportunity to overcome his delicacy of feeling. Toughen him up, that was the thing to do. Red might be put out, but it would be an opportunity for him to practice forbearance, and it would be good for the new lad to get his hands dirty.

Yes, he thought, it would all work out to the best. Too bad about the young hobbit; he was rather an appealing little creature, but there was no point in letting one’s feelings have influence over one’s actions, or allow himself to be won over, or to form any sort of attachment. No, the leader of the ruffians was a practical man. Feelings had no part in business. Do good while you may, but don’t let it interfere with profit, that’s what the world had taught him. He’d treat the child gently, for children were frail little things, easily broken beyond remedy and he needed this one alive just a while longer. He’d treat the child as gently as he may, but only for the sake of good business.

He’d do what had to be done, because it was good business, and he’d make the best of the less pleasant necessities, to set a good example for the men. You did what you had to do, for the sake of profit, and if you could manage to enjoy it, well, that was gravy on your taters, as the hobbits were so fond of saying.

He’d break in the new lad, teach him some of the tricks of the trade, let him get his feet wet (and the fat man snorted a little at the thought, seeing as they were walking in a stream), and though Red might pout, he’d have his chance, the next time they were able to take a rich captive.

Though he hadn’t slept, he rested his mind on the thought of the gold that was waiting for them, and when that was gone, there was always a chance to earn ransom, especially now that the King had built a fine new city in the North, and divided his time between North and South. Nobles had come, and merchants. There’d be plenty of rich folk for the preying.

His mouth watered at the thought of a royal ransom. Now that was an ambition worth nurturing. The little princess... now there was a winsome creature, and the apple of her father’s eye.

But he was a practical man. It was said the King had one of those Seeing Stones. With it, he might be able to find a missing child. He might not think to use such a thing, if it were not his own child, but if the princess should go missing...? 

No, he thought to himself with a shake of his head. Too rich for his blood. This was the better plan. All the gold he could carry, and more, and better luck, two ponies to carry it all.

And perhaps, if he played his cards right, it would be just himself and Red, to share it out between themselves.

He was a practical man, after all.