Chapter 21. In which a Took takes breakfast

‘Farry?’ Isum echoed, looking at the archer as if he’d lost his wits.

‘Yes,’ Siggy said breezily, to put the hobbit at ease. He took another bite, saying through a full mouth, ‘Excellent jam, just like my mum used to make,’ and added after swallowing, ‘You know, the son of the Thain, small chap, about so high,’ and he measured with a nonchalant hand.

Pearl and Isum exchanged a perplexed glance and Pearl arose from the table, saying, ‘I don’t understand...’

But just then there was a sound of thundering hoofbeats outside the smial, and the clear call of a horn.

Isum pushed himself up from the table, leaning heavily on his well-muscled arms, while Perry his eldest son got up from his chair and stepped to his side to support him. ‘That’s a muster,’ he snapped. ‘Just what is going on?’

‘Ruffians in the Shire,’ Pearl said, throwing down her serviette and hurrying to throw open the kitchen door. ‘Halloo!’ The clatter of hoofs on the stones was loud, now: A number of ponies and riders could be seen through the shining windows.

‘What did you mean, about Farry just now?’ Isum said. ‘The Thain sent you here, in the night...’

‘I...’ Siggy said, at a loss. ‘Well, when I left the Thain there’d only been sign of ruffians,’ he said. ‘No indication of how many, or...’

‘What sort of sign?’ Isum said, and to himself he muttered, ‘I ought to have questioned him thoroughly, the moment I laid eyes on him.’

Siggy bristled at this, but he managed to reply in an even tone. ‘A rock-fall,’ he said, ‘with signs that the rocks had been helped along, and a boot-print, and Ferdibrand knocked cold...’

‘Struck down and dead of the blow, you mean,’ the leader of the newcomers said grimly, from the doorway. Pearl was at his side, her hands clasped tightly together, and at the sight of her face Isum knew that things were very wrong indeed.

‘Dead!’ Siggy said in consternation, and grief washed over him. ‘He died, then, Gerry, after they took him back to the Smials?’

‘He was dead on the spot,’ Gerry said, slapping his gloves restlessly against his leg, ‘but then they sent you off before they’d quite determined that, I think.’

The room fairly crackled with tension, and Pearl’s littlest began to wail, though the other children sat stiff and stunned, thinking of their laughing Uncle Ferdibrand, who’d breakfasted with them only the day before.

‘Dead on the spot,’ Siggy echoed faintly. There was a buzzing in his head, and he put a hand out, groping for the back of a chair to steady himself.

‘Aye, they’re likely burying him even now,’ Gerry said. ‘The Thain ordered full honours, but it’s well past dawn already.’

***

As the dream went on and on—Ferdi had decided that this had to be a dream, there was no other plausible explanation—and being one of those from which it was impossible to awaken, Ferdi forced himself to relax, mentally, and simply take in what sensations were allowed him.

His face was covered, but he wasn’t stifling, and light shone through the bleached cloth, and his eyes were open just enough to be reassured by that light. He’d recovered the ability to blink a little, and what a relief it was to his dry eyes, to be swept with moisture. He’d’ve sighed, except for the fact that he still had little if any control over his breathing. At least it continued, steady but shallow.

He had the sensation of being carried, a gentle swaying, rather like being on a litter, he thought, except that he could feel a number of hobbits clustered all around him. He could hear the sound of their clothes rubbing against him, and against each other, and an occasional soft comment from some distance, and he imagined the sight they must make: Ferdi, wrapped up like a moth in a cocoon, being carried along by a hodge-podge of hobbits. It was no wonder that they were garnering comments from passing Tooks and servants.

He wondered where the dream would lead him next?

***

‘Alas,’ Pearl whispered, her eyes brimming. ‘Poor Nell...’

‘But,’ little Periwinkle piped, ‘what about Farry?’

***

Farry dashed across the open space before the mouth of the cave, and was nearly to the gorse when he heard a shout, and then he was surrounded by grasping arms and carried to the ground with stunning force.

He thought for a moment he was dead, for he couldn’t draw breath, but he couldn’t be dead, could he, and still be hearing? He felt himself pinned to the ground beneath a heavy body. Had his father felt thus, under the hill troll?

‘Chief! Chief! He was getting away!’ The weight removed itself slowly from Farry, but the stars were dancing before his eyes, and he still couldn’t breathe.

‘Did you hurt him?’ came the voice of the fat man, and the answer, as Farry was picked up off the ground, and he saw the face of the youngest ruffian, was, ‘No, just got the breath knocked out, I think.’

And though it hurt to do so, Farry gasped, and then he tried to shout. ‘Help! Help me! Help...’

And Red was there in the next second, striking Farry hard upon his cheek, making the young hobbit’s head rock back on his neck, making the dancing stars shine brighter, and Farry tasted blood. ‘You little rat, I ought to...’

But the fat man pulled Red away, administering a blow of his own, but not to Farry. ‘You young fool!’ he snapped. ‘If you’ve killed him, I’ll...’ He took Farry then, from the youngest ruffian, holding him carefully in one arm, dabbing at the injury done to Farry’s cheek by the heavy ring his younger brother wore. ‘Steady, little fellow,’ he crooned. ‘Steady now.’ Gentle fingers touched Farry’s throbbing face, and the fat man sighed. ‘Bruised, but not broken, I think. You might’ve broken his skull with that blow, or his neck!’

‘But he...’ Red whined.

‘But you were supposed to be watching him,’ the fat man said coldly. ‘We sleep in turns, do you remember? If it hadn’t been for...’

The youngest ruffian grinned, but the grin faded as Red shot him a poisonous look and muttered, ‘I’ll fix him... wipe that grin right off his face...’

‘Well now,’ the fat man said, ignoring Red’s mutters. ‘You gave us quite a turn, young fellow. But there’s no use shouting. We’re deep in the Green Hills, and there’s no smial around for miles. Save your breath; you’ll be needing it eventually.’

This sounded ominous, and Farry’s eyelids fluttered as the stars faded and he tried to see his surroundings. Were they really deep in the Green Hills? If only he could have got more than a glimpse of their surroundings as he broke from the cave, he might have an idea of where he was, and which way was home. Now his vision was blocked by the bulk of the ruffians surrounding him.

He was wise enough to keep his mouth shut, seeing as he was being held by one of the ruffians, who’d have no trouble clapping a hand over his mouth, or even restoring the gag Farry’d abandoned when he’d relieved himself of the noose.

‘Come along,’ the fat man said. ‘Got to give you something to keep up your strength. We’ve a busy day ahead.’

And to Farry’s wonder, he was carried back into the cave and laid gently down, on a soft bed made up of the ruffians’ cloaks. But the noose was replaced around his neck, the rope fastened to one of the iron rings in the wall, and the fat man tied Farry’s ankles together with firm knots, “to keep you from wandering in your sleep” as he told Farry in a pleasant tone.

And while Red settled to his appointed nap, with much grumbling and glaring, and the youngest of the ruffians crouched nearby to keep watch, the fat man moved in the back of the cave, muttering softly to himself, and then he came back with two plates full of food!

‘Very nice, these Shire-folk, very thoughtful to the needs of stranded travellers,’ the fat man said. ‘Lots of provision left here, the kind that stores well in a cool cave. Dried meat and fruit, salt biscuits, even a round of cheese... with fresh water from the spring we’ll feast like the King himself.’

Farry’s mouth was watering, but he resigned himself to hungering while the ruffians stuffed themselves. Seeing his forlorn look, the fat man laughed, a jolly sound indeed, that made Farry’s heart ache for home.

‘But there’s plenty for all,’ the fat man said. ‘Yea, we can spare some for you, youngster. And a good thing. You need to keep up your strength!’

He laid a plate in Farry’s lap and a cup of water beside him, saying, ‘With that bruised jaw of yours, I took the trouble to mince everything fine. You don’t even need to chew it; just let it sit and soften in your mouth, and soak the biscuits soft in the water before you try to eat them.’ He gave the other plate to the young ruffian, whose food was not so nicely minced of course, and went back to prepare food for himself and a plate to wait for Red’s awakening.

When the fat man returned, settling heavily to the dusty ground with his plate, he frowned at Farry. ‘Eat!’ he said. ‘It’s not natural for a hobbit to have food in front of him, and not eat it!’

Farry wanted to ask him what he knew of hobbits, but his jaw and cheek hurt dreadfully, and he was afraid of what the ruffians might do, should he appear uncooperative, and besides, he really was hungry. He couldn’t remember his last meal. What had it been?

It was awkward to eat with his hands bound together, but he managed to take up some of the shredded dried meat and lift it to his lips, and then he sipped from the cup and let the meat soak, in the warmth of his mouth, until he could begin to taste that salty goodness of it as it made its own juices.

‘Good,’ the fat man said in satisfaction, and he wasn’t just talking about the food in his own mouth. He was watching Farry closely, and Farry thought, with a sinking feeling, that the ruffian would likely not take his eyes away again.

***

‘Eat, Pippin,’ Merry said again, holding out a sausage-roll. ‘You must eat something.’

‘Hey? What’s that?’ Pippin said, looking away from the hunters, who’d scattered to try to pick up a trace of the ruffians’ trail. They’d crossed a bare, rocky area and even the ponies had left no impression.

‘You have to eat,’ Merry said.

‘Why?’ Pippin answered, but Merry guessed it was merely a rhetorical question, for the younger cousin sighed, took the roll from his hand, bit into it, and chewed woodenly. When he’d swallowed, he added, ‘How can I eat, wondering if my little lad is going hungry at this moment...’

Merry had no reassurances for him. All he could do was repeat, ‘Eat, Pip. We’ll find them.’

‘We have to,’ Pippin said in agreement, but then he shoved the rest of the roll in his mouth and nudged his pony forward, and Merry, looking up, saw one of the hunters waving.

This way!