Chapter 30. A Sight for Sore Eyes

As Pippin watched, he saw Elessar’s head droop lower, until his forehead was nearly to Tolly’s, though his hand remained in place. The Man was quiet, now, as if listening intently.

Pippin listened as well, though for what he strained to hear, he did not know. It was much too soon for them to bring the steaming water, he thought, unless the teakettle was already on the boil in the kitchen. More likely, however, that it had boiled, and been steeped into tea for the workers, and the kettle wouldn’t be put on again until the first yawning guest appeared in the common room. On such a dark, foggy winter morn there’d be little reason to be up aforetimes, if one was travelling. One wanted good eyes and a clear head, driving the Stock Road in this part of the Woody End, and not many cared to drive that road in darkness, much less darkness and thick mist.

So quiet was it, that he could hear the King’s soft breathing, to his ears loud as an Oliphaunt’s, in that silent room. He could not hear Tolly breathing, and stared once more at the blanketed chest, willing its rise and fall, and not relaxing until rewarded with the sight.

And always his ear strained to hear footsteps in the corridor...

***

Tolly slept that night in a hidey-hole not far from the blackened ruin of the Crowing Cockerel. It had been slow, cautious going, with his nerves on edge. Thankfully he could hear a ruffian blundering through the woods loud enough to give him enough warning to go to ground in good time, but there seemed to be a fair number of the Big Men skulking about the borderland, just outside the land the Tooks called their own. They were wise in that, for enough of them had stepped over the bounds and been caught in one of the many traps the Tooks had laid to catch intruders, to make them cautious.

He made better time once he’d safely crossed the no-Man’s-land guarding the Tookland. Perhaps an army of ruffians might break through and continue on to the Great Smials, but the traps would cut down their numbers, and the arrows of the Tooks would damage more of them, and knowing that, Lotho’s wretches had not yet tried to take the Tookland by brute force.

But Tolly had a sense of urgency he couldn’t explain, as of some greater evil that had entered the Shire with the advent of the mysterious Sharkey. The Thain must be informed, and so soon as possible!

He came to the outlying broken-down smial where he’d left his pony, and thanked the hobbit placed there by the Thain to receive and speed messengers on their way. He was an old shepherd, not worried by isolation by reason of his occupation, but under his commonplace and rather ramshackle appearance beat a courageous heart, for if the ruffians broke through, he’d be the first to fall.

‘Any signs of ruffians?’ Tolly asked.

‘Not this side o’ the borderland,’ the old hobbit answered, his faded eyes taking note of the healing injury to Tolly’s head--he’d taken off the white handkerchief and tucked it away in a pocket upon abandoning the hollow log. ‘Did ye ha’ a spot o’ trouble, in the outlands?’

‘Nothing to write home about,’ Tolly said, though doubtless the old shepherd didn’t know how to write.

‘Aye,’ the old hobbit said. He patted the neck of Tolly’s pony as Tolly mounted. ‘Well, now, don’t fall on that head o’ yours on yer way back t’ the Thain. May the wind fly a’ yer back!’

‘Keep safe, yourself,’ Tolly said, taking up the reins and turning his pony to the road, clear of traps from this point, open and beckoning him homeward.

They flew over the road, galloping and trotting by turns, and it was a relief to be driving ever deeper into the Tookish homeland, where the trees in the copses rose high and living, not cut down for folly or fancy or spite, and the fields were stubble after a rich harvest gathered into barns and not into the waggons of Lotho’s ruffians and taken away. He fancied the air was fresher; he certainly breathed easier...

***

As Pippin watched, Tolly’s breaths, at first only the slightest stirring of the coverlet at intervals that were too long, became closer together, and more regular, and soon he was breathing almost as a sleeper would. Pippin felt a little dizzy, and clutching at the knob of the door he realised he’d been holding his own breath. Chiding himself for his foolishness, he took a deep breath of his own.

***

Tolly went from the yard, where he left his lathered pony, directly to the Thain without taking the time to change his clothes or even splash his face with water.

Paladin jumped up as he plunged through the door to the Thain’s study. ‘Tolly!’ he growled. ‘You come so very belated--we’d begun to fear you’d been taken...’

‘I was,’ he said, stunning the older hobbit to silence, the intended rebuke dying on Paladin’s lips. ‘I was taken--and woe to any Took taken by those rogues, from this day forward.’

‘What is it?’ the steward said quietly, rising from his own chair.

‘The Chief has given orders, that any Took they find is to be killed and hung up on a tree for the carrion birds,’ he said.

Paladin swore a dreadful oath. ‘They were taking them to the Lockholes,’ he said, ‘and now... Lotho would dare...?’

‘I don’t think Lotho’s the Chief any more,’ Tolly said. ‘There’s someone name of Sharkey come to the Shire, and I don’t like the sound of him at all, from what the ruffians said of him whilst I was in their clutches.’

He swayed, then, and put out a hand to catch himself on the Thain’s desk.

‘You’re filthy,’ Paladin said, though his tone was more of concern than reproach. ‘A bath is the thing, I think, and a bite to eat, and some rest. Adelard,’ he added, turning to the steward, ‘send for Healer Woodruff...’

‘I am well,’ Tolly protested, straightening again.

‘You can scarce keep your feet,’ Paladin snapped. ‘You were taken,’ he said, his eyes moving from the blood that matted Tolly’s hair to the filthy rags wrapping his hands, seeming to note every bruise and abrasion whether visible or covered by Tolly’s clothing. ‘And while you were taken, you were treated none too well, I warrant.’

He sat back in his chair once more, recalled to Tolly’s purpose in venturing into the outlying Shire. ‘Did you see or hear anything of Ferdibrand?’

‘He’s dead,’ Tolly said, and steward and Thain uttered stunned exclamations.

‘Dead!’ Paladin said, after a muttered oath. ‘How? What do you know?’

‘Betrayed to the ruffians by some hobbit or other for bounty, I don’t know exactly who it might have been,’ Tolly said. ‘They boasted of it, made coarse jests that he’d been hung up to feed the carrion birds, but hobbits cut him down again and buried him before the birds could have their proper feast.’

‘They’d’ve found me hard to swallow in any event,’ a husky voice, not sounding at all like Ferdi, said from the doorway.

Tolly spun, nearly falling in his surprise and sudden joy, for there stood Ferdibrand himself!

‘Ferdi!’

‘I bring you ill news, Thain Paladin,’ Ferdi husked, advancing to the desk. ‘There’s a new wind blowing in the Shire, an ill wind indeed, and it looks to be blowing nobody any good at all.’

‘Sharkey,’ Tolly said, and Ferdi nodded. And then Tolly seized Ferdi by the arm, to say, ‘But you were dead! The ruffians said...’

‘Tis true,’ Ferdi whispered, ‘they hanged me from a tree limb and laughed to see my dying dance, but then they suffered a sudden attack of heart trouble--sharp are the arrows of the Bucklander, and of those he gathered to cut me down from the tree.’

‘The Bucklander?’ Paladin said sharply, leaning forward.

‘Aye,’ Ferdi said, putting his hand inside his jacket and drawing out a folded paper. ‘Here is his message to you, Sir--he pressed it upon me at our parting, and bade you good hunting.’

Paladin took the paper and his eyes ran at first rapidly down the page, but slowed partway. He read the last part carefully, rubbing the back of his neck, and then nodded, laying the paper down gently, as if he controlled himself with difficulty.

‘Aye,’ he said, ‘an ill wind.’ And turning to the steward he said, ‘It looks as if they’ll be trying to overrun the Tookland by brute force, some time in near future. The Master of the Hall, from what his spies have overheard, sends word to say that he thinks they’ll force hobbits to march before them, to spring our traps, and that Men will follow, armed and in a killing mood.’

‘Burning and slaughtering as they come,’ Adelard whispered. ‘It is as we feared; the worst has come.’

‘Not yet, and not if the Tooks have anything to say about it,’ Paladin said. ‘We’ll go down fighting, and if worse comes to worst, we’ll retreat to the Smials, and they’ll pay a ruinous price to hunt us down in our tunnels...’ He smiled a wintry smile. ‘Even rats will fight, and fiercely too, when cornered.’

Tolly felt a surge of pride, and stood straighter. But Paladin looked at him keenly, and then looked to Ferdi. ‘Baths and a meal, the two of you, I deem,’ he said, ‘and then a rest, or a beer first, if that’s more to your liking. Take the rest of the day, unless there’s more to be told.’

Healer Woodruff came to inspect Tolly while he was still in the bath, annoying him with questions, inspecting the healing wound on his head, helping him to get the worst of the dirt and matted blood out of his hair, and leaving him with a jar of arnica balm to apply to his bruises. When he emerged, dressed and feeling refreshed and ravenous, he was held up by a healer’s assistant who insisted on dressing and bandaging his hands. ‘Mending nicely,’ was the unsolicited verdict. ‘You won’t need any bandages on the morrow, but have these on just to keep the palms clean and protected this evening.’

Tolly rolled his eyes at such solicitude, but knew better than to protest. They’d have him sleeping in a bed in the infirmary, should he give them any trouble, and he had no intentions of being cooped within the walls of the Great Smials at present. Time enough for that when the besieging ruffians arrived.

He drew on gloves, so that the white of the bandages would not draw comment or attention, and eschewing the evening meal in the crowded great room, he elected to take himself for a stroll, to enjoy the colours the Sun was painting in the sky on this fine autumnal evening.

He ventured out into the town of Tuckborough, looking deceptively peaceful with the dusk falling and lamps shining through the windows of the smials dug into the side of the great Hill, on the one side of the main street, and the houses on the other. He turned into the Spotted Duck, breathing in a fine smell of roasting meat, bubbling stew and baking bread, responding to the hails of the hobbits already gathered there. He was glad his brother Freddy was not in evidence--he'd probably gone home to take the eventide meal at his father's table, and so Tolly would not have to suffer his cheerful nattering.

The Bucklander thought they might have a week or two, before the invasion. On the morrow the Duck would be empty; Tooks and Tooklanders would be moving their goods into the Smials proper, and the Thain would be sorting the muster into companies, to march out in all directions to hold the borders, for who knew whence the worst of the incursion would come? There were settlements of Men on all sides. Bywater seemed a likely source of trouble, but there were Men to the South and West and yes, in the Woody End as well.

Ferdi’d had the same idea, Tolly saw--he was sitting at a shadowy table, away from the door, nursing a beer. A serving lass put down a plate of stew, then, and a fresh-baked loaf. Tolly caught her as he moved towards the table, gesturing to Ferdi’s serving. ‘Same for me, if you please.’

‘Blessings on you, sir,’ she said with a bob, and Tolly took the empty chair by Ferdi, who nodded, his mouth full.

Though a cheery fire was crackling on the hearth, Ferdi remained well-muffled, and when he cleared his mouth with a swig of beer, he greeted Tolly in a near-whisper.

Tolly found himself whispering in reply, though he wasn’t sure why. No one was paying them any heed. ‘I’m glad to see you in the life,’ he said.

‘You’re not the only one,’ Ferdi said. ‘What a shock it would have been, for you to see me feeding the birds, as the ruffians intended.’ He shuddered, and determinedly forked up a hearty portion, filled his mouth, and chewed with vigour, as if to defy the ruffians who’d tried to take his life. His sleeves pulled short of his wrists, and Tolly saw the fading marks of healing abrasions, rope marks, he thought.

‘Aye,’ he said, feeling queasy, but the smell of the good food on the plate that was soon put before him served to remedy that, and he fell to with a will. ‘I would have missed that sight, in any event, for they had their own plans for me.’

‘They found out you were a Took?’ Ferdi whispered, looking up sharply. ‘I must convince Paladin somehow that it’s too much risk to send anyone out again... we know the attack is coming within the month, and we know to prepare, and I doubt the riffraff stumbling about outside our borders know any more than that, themselves.’

‘No,’ Tolly said, ‘they didn’t mark me as a Took. But they had their sport, and they were supposed to march me off to the Lockholes...’

‘And you got away from them?’ Ferdi rasped. ‘Good show!’

‘I had a little help,’ Tolly said, thinking of the boys. He had tucked the bloodstained handkerchief away in an inner pocket--a sort of good-luck charm, that gave him a feeling of warmth whenever he thought of them. Not all Men were evil. Not every hand was turned against them.

There was little enough the woodcutters could do, to stand against Lotho’s--now Sharkey’s--ruffians, but their little had meant a great deal to Tolly. He vowed he would never forget them.