Chapter 6. Misery Loves Company

Renilard, chief hunter to the Thain, whose father and grandfather before him had been chiefs as well, stood creditably straight in the Thain’s study, though his head was pounding, his tongue felt fuzzy and swollen to twice its size, and his eyes seemed to have been pulled out of his head and put back not quite right.

He’d run half the length of Tookland, or so it seemed to him, following the trail of the ruffians that had taken the son of the Thain before the Shire-folk ran the wretches to ground. His legs were aching fiercely, and he’d looked forward to at least one day of rest, for surely the Thain wouldn’t send him out after game the morning after the muster returned. Surely they’d have a day to restore their energies.

It did not help that he’d drunk his fill at the Naming celebration for Ferdi’s new daughter the previous evening. That Buckland brandy was potent stuff, and it had flowed freely at the command of the Master of Buckland, who’d brought a waggonload of the stuff, in barrels no less, with him as a New Year’s present for the Thain.

The Thain had protested that he could not drink such a quantity, not if he had a whole year to do it in, and it seemed a waste to bathe in the stuff, and so he’d planned to serve it at the belated New Year’s feast, to welcome Yule in finest fashion with Mayor and Master... but then the news had come that Farry and Ferdi were missing, and after a small party went out and found traces of ruffians, the muster had been called, and things had rather precipitously proceeded from that point. No matter. Ferdi’s little lass had been in the world a month and a day on the day the emergency was officially ended, and so they’d rather rolled the two celebrations into one: the birth of a New Year, and the welcome of a new Took.

But it was indeed potent stuff, much stronger than the fine Tookish ale the hunter was used to quaffing. He felt like something the cat would sniff at, but not bother to drag in. It was difficult to concentrate, until he realised just what it was the Thain wanted him to do.

‘The head of escort?’ he said. ‘Tolly’s gone missing?’

Pippin sat back and eyed him narrowly. ‘Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?’

‘Beg pardon, Sir,’ Renilard said hastily, taking out his handkerchief to wipe at his face. ‘I made rather merry yester eve, and this morning I’m paying the price.’

Pippin was disarmed by this candid admission. He nodded. ‘All of us did, rather,’ he said. ‘We had a great deal to be thankful for.’

‘Still do,’ Renilard said stoutly, tucking away his handkerchief once more, and standing straight. ‘So, let me begin again, if you please, Sir. You said, about Tolibold...’

‘He arose before the dawning,’ Pippin said, repeating what Regi had said a few moments earlier. ‘He went to the stables without stopping in at the kitchens for a bite, or speaking to anyone, saddled his pony...’

‘Which one?’ Renilard said. ‘If you please, Sir.’

Pippin looked to Regi. ‘Wren,’ the steward said.

Pippin looked back to the hunter. ‘Aye, sir,’ Renilard said. ‘I know the look of his hoof. D’ye know which way he might’ve gone, at least starting off?’

‘He turned away from Tuckborough,’ Regi said, ‘or so two dairymaids said, when they were asked if they’d seen anything of his departure.’

‘Away from Tuckborough,’ Renilard said. ‘Well, at least there’s a chance his tracks ought to be somewhat clear... if he’d gone through the town they’d be all trampled over by this time o’ the day. I’ll get right on it.’

‘Very well,’ Pippin said in dismissal, and the hunter turned on his heel and left the study. He’d take his chief assistant along. Two pairs of eyes would be better than one. Of course, if Raolf had been celebrating as heartily as Renilard, last night—and he had a sinking feeling that the hobbit had—then between them they’d be lucky if they had one good eye, much less two.

***

‘What is it, auld hobbit?’ Aster said, hurrying from the smial. She’d been watching from the kitchen window for her husband’s return, ready to put the scones into the hot oven just as soon as she saw him trudging up the lane, so that they’d come out smoking as he walked in the door. She’d already laid out the sweet butter and cherry preserves, “a little taste of sunshine” as he liked to say, a promise of the warmer weather still some months away.

‘Where did you come by that pony? And what is it, lyin’ on him, under your cloak? And why in the world, in this bitter weather, are ye not wearing your cloak, I’d like to know? Tryin’ to catch your death, like as not!’

‘Nay, lass,’ the farmer said, handing the reins to her and turning to the pony’s burden.

Aster sucked in her breath as he eased the burden onto his shoulder. ‘A hobbit!’ she whispered. ‘Is he... is he dead? Was it... more ruffians?’

‘More ruffians?’ Ted said behind his mother, pulling his cloak from the row of pegs near the door. ‘Shall I ride for the Smials, to tell the Thain?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ the farmer said.

‘But Langred,’ his wife said, ‘how did you come upon this poor fellow...? Was he struck down, and left to die, like that other poor hobbit?’

‘Don’t know yet, how he come to be where I found ‘im,’ the farmer said. ‘All I know is this; I found him in the stream...’

‘I’ the stream!’ Aster and Ted exclaimed together.

The farmer nodded, continuing, ‘...and he’s half-frozen, and first thing we need to do is fill up the bath and pop him in...’

‘He was in the stream,’ Ted said, hurrying to get the tub down from its hook, ‘like that other fellow, some years back?’

‘Bobtail found ‘im,’ the farmer said, carrying Tolly into the smial. ‘Just like ‘e found that other fellow, aye.’

His wife had shut the door as he entered, for they’d already let in an awful lot of the cold, and now she stood with just a shawl thrown over her shoulders in the chill of the day and shivered, looking at the pony. ‘Well, you’re a little one,’ she said, and Wren snorted, nuzzling at the hand she held out to him.

‘Too cold to stand out here passing the time o’ day,’ she said, and so she led the pony to the barn and put him into an empty stall, kept for the convenience of visitors. She removed the bridle and hung it up on the nail outside the stall, and put a scoop of oats into the feed box. ‘Ned’ll be in, soon, to take that saddle off,’ she promised. ‘He’ll bring tha a bucket of water, as well, poor lad, though I s’pose you could’ve drunk your fill at the stream had you the mind to.’

It was a good thing for the unfortunate fellow that this was washday, for Aster already had the copper boiler full of water and the fire roaring. It didn’t take long to warm up the smial once more, and the water meant for the wash was hot already, and more than half-filled the tub that Ted had placed on the hearthrug.  By the time Aster returned from the barn her husband and sons had the hobbit undressed and soaking in the water, and more water heating, and by the time the teakettle boiled and the tea had brewed they’d topped off the tub, and the rescued hobbit was soaking in hot water up to his chin, and that would, as they hoped, thaw him enough to bring him around, that Aster might coax some of the fresh-brewed tea into him.

Ned went out to the stables to care for the pony, and Ted and his father hauled more water to fill the boiler once more, and then the farmer went to pluck the duck, for surely the aroma of roasting duck would bring the stranger to his senses if the warm water did not. 

***

The hunters had found the trail quickly once they left the stones of the yard. Not a lot of snow had fallen, but there was enough for them to find Wren’s tracks and follow, even with their bleary eyes.

The trail was clear enough for them to follow from pony-back, which was a mercy, for neither felt much like walking, even though the icy air was bracing, helping them to come more thoroughly awake than they had been before setting out.

‘What in the world d’you think Tolly was about, anyhow?’ Raolf asked.

His chief shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps he wanted a bit of a ride to clear his head,’ he said. ‘I know my head is clearer than it was.’

Raolf closed his eyes tight, and opened them again. His head wasn’t any clearer, at least. He swore under his breath, and determined that he’d never touch that liquid Buckland fire again in his life, not even if they held his nose and poured the stuff into his mouth. He felt worse this morning than he’d ever, before, in his life.

‘Why didn’t he come back, then?’ he said stupidly.

‘Now if I knew that, we wouldn’t be freezing our backsides off following his trail, now, would we?’ Renilard said bad-temperedly. Truth be told, he’d rather be in bed.

But the head of escort had gone and rode away and lost himself, and when the Thain was wanting him, and so the hunters had to go out and pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him. And what thanks would they have for all their trouble?

The way Renilard’s luck seemed to be going, this morning, the Thain would probably present him with a bottle of Buckland’s finest, in token of his gratitude.

‘No, but thank you very much, Sir,’ he said under his breath.

‘What was that?’ Raolf asked, rubbing at his pounding head as he blinked at the hoofprints in the snow ahead.

‘Naught,’ Renilard said. ‘Now keep your eyes peeled.’

Raolf winced at the image that rose in his mind’s eye. Peeled was just what his eyes felt like, at the moment, though he didn’t want to admit it.

‘Aye,’ he said, and nudged his pony into a faster walk.