Chapter 31. Paved with Good Intentions

It was with a strange sense of having been there before that Tolly sat, at that table, a pint of beer half-raised to his lips, Ferdi across the table from him, the latter staring into his own beer as if to find the solution to all the problems he might imagine.

Of course they had sat there, many a time. The Duck was a favourite gathering place for the hobbits of the Thain’s escort, during the hours when they were not required to be on the spot, as it were, awaiting a message to carry, or escorting to be done, or some other order of the Thain’s to carry out.

It seemed only a moment ago that they’d been sitting and licking their ruffian-inflicted wounds, trying for some semblance of normalcy, not talking about the imminent attack that Thain Paladin would announce on the morrow, that the Tooks and Tooklanders might prepare for Sharkey’s attempt to overrun the borders. It would happen soon, by the end of October, the Master of Buckland thought, or the middle of November at the latest...

...or not at all, Ferdi had said, as they sat there in their quiet corner, that it might be that this was just the latest rumour started with the intent of wearing on the nerves of the Tooks, making them jump at shadows, blunting the keen edge of caution with an eye towards the future. The rest of the Shire was a lost cause, the hobbits resigned to living quietly under the thumb of the Boss, whether Lotho or Sharkey, and it seemed nothing would stir them from their apathy and quiet despair.

But wait, Tolly thought, mentally shaking himself. That was years ago, now, and Peregrin, not Paladin, is Thain. The topic of the hour, at that quiet table, was still ruffians, only the scoundrels came in small numbers, now, or not at all, for the Shire belonged to hobbits again with the return of the King… no, not the King, Tolly thought, for he’d not seen hide nor hair of the Man, himself (though his brother Hilly would tell him a great deal after a visit to the Lake with Pippin--but that thought did not make sense to him, and he dismissed it and went on with his ruminations). Rather, after the return of Captains Merry and Pippin, and Sam--who later became Mayor Sam. O aye, and Frodo Baggins, that’s right, though his name came as an afterthought when it came at all--he was seldom spoken of and hardly remembered, these days, except perhaps by his closest cousins, and most noteworthy because he'd sailed away in a boat, somewhat of a disgraceful thing in the eyes of Shirefolk.

But all he said now, to Ferdi, was, ‘That’s your fourth... It’s not like you, cousin. Drowning your sorrows?’ Truly, Ferdi usually ordered a beer and nursed it through the evening, seldom finishing even one, much less three-and-starting-another.

Ferdi grunted in answer, and Tolly shook his head. ‘I’ve not heard more than two words from you, since we came back from the Bounds,’ he said. ‘Just what is it, those Ranger fellows told you, anyhow? What did they do to you, when you sent us on home without you, and you went back to their wood?’

‘S’not their wood,’ Ferdi said, slurring his words, and he punctuated the sentiment with another gulp of his beer.

‘It’s outside the Bounds, so it’s not ours, either,’ Tolly said, and went back to the point. ‘What did they do to you? You were riding as if Sharkey himself were after you, when you rejoined us, and then you said nary a word... except mayhap to the Thain, after we got back, and you came out of his study even more sour than you’d been before, if possible.’

Ferdi took another slurping gulp of his beer, nearly upsetting the mug as he set it down again. Not much of a drinker, he was nearly in his cups at the end of a fourth pint, and yet signalling for a fifth. As the serving lass took his empty mug away, he rubbed absently at the faded scars under his chin and then reached for the new, full mug--but Tolly intercepted his hand. ‘What is it, Ferdi, brings you here, to drink yourself into a stupor, when you have your own Nell warming the bed, waiting for you at home?’

‘Gi’ me that!’ Ferdi said truculently, grabbing at the mug, but Tolly held firm.

‘Not until you tell me what’s gnawing at your innards,’ he said. ‘I’ll drink it myself, before your face, if you like...’

‘I don’t!’ Ferdi growled.

‘Or I could pour it out... waste of good beer, but...’

‘Gi’ it here, I say!’

‘Or you could tell me what’s troubling you, and I could hand it over,’ Tolly said, maintaining a tone of pleasant reason though he’d really rather bash Ferdi over the head with the mug, throw the hobbit over his shoulder and carry him home.

Ferdi blinked at him. ‘You really wanna know?’ he said.

‘Really.’

‘You’re no’ serious,’ Ferdi said.

‘Try me,’ Tolly said, striving to keep his tone even, leaning forward in an inviting manner.

‘You know wha’ the Ran... Rang... what those ruffians do with ruffians?’ Ferdi slurred, reaching for the mug. Tolly easily eluded his fumbling grasp.

‘Ah-ah, not yet,’ he said. ‘You haven’t told me all, not quite.’

‘They hang ‘em,’ Ferdi said, dropping his voice to a whisper, nodding, eyes wide and solemn.

‘Hang them,’ Tolly said, thinking back to the Troubles, when Sharkey had decreed that Tooks be killed and hung from tree branches to provide food for carrion birds.

Ferdi lifted his chin, pointing to the scars that most hobbits were too polite to notice. ‘Put ropes ‘round their necks,’ he said, speaking slowly, the words clear and terrible. ‘Haul them into the air, or kick a log out from under to leave ‘em dangling...’

‘But...’ Tolly said, suddenly losing his appetite for beer and food and anything else, for that matter. He swallowed hard, hoping not to lose the contents of his stomach there and then.

In that moment, he understood why Ferdi had spoken in whispers, or a rasping voice, when he’d returned from his encounter with ruffians, in the time of Thain Paladin, and why he’d kept his throat wrapped up for months after, even when it was mild. He wasn’t guarding his voice after a particularly bad cold, but... he’d had a rope around his neck, had been hauled into the air... and been cut down, rescued before death had been able to claim him.

‘I... I see,’ Tolly said, when he was able to speak again.

But to his surprise, Ferdi began to laugh, albeit a harsh and horrid-sounding laugh, not at all jolly. ‘You don’t see,’ Ferdi said, shaking his head in ghastly drunken glee. ‘You don’t see at all! You didn’t see them...’

Tolly swallowed down his gorge once more, and when he had it firmly in place, he pushed the mug back to Ferdi, watched the drunken hobbit take a deep draught, and when the mug was safely resting on the table once more, he said in a soft and persuasive tone, ‘What was it, I didn’t see, Ferdi?’

‘Well I’ll tell you,’ Ferdi said, leaning forward, breathing beer-laden fumes into Tolly’s face. ‘They leave them there, old friend. Leave them for bird food, though of course they’re not minding it, them being dead of course.’

‘Leave them?’ Tolly said, not understanding.

‘Aye,’ Ferdi whispered, his eyes haunted. ‘Leave them, ‘til they rot enough to fall and moulder in piles of bones on the ground.’ He began to chuckle again, a dreadful sound, made more terrible for the tears that started from his eyes. ‘A warning, you see? That wood is the best cover a Man might find, trying to sneak across the Bounds of the Shire. The country is open to either side, until you come to the western wood, to the west of Harbottle and... and Longbottom,’ he said. ‘And there, where a ruffian might try to sneak through, they have another hanging wood. Ah, those Ranger-ruffians have been busy, they have, with their murdering ways.’

Tolly just sat, mouth half-open as he imagined.

Ferdi laughed on a moment more, and then said, ‘Well, how did you think they kept ruffians out of the Shire? How did you think they kept them from coming back again, once they’d been? Nicely asked them?’

Tolly wordlessly shook his head and signalled to the serving lass to bring them both more beer.

***

He’d almost dreaded encountering Men in the Shire, after that. He’d thought about what he ought to do. Best thing, he thought, would be to shoot them on sight, to throw their lifeless carcases over ponies’ backs and carry them to the Rangers outside the Bounds, to be hung up as warning flags.

The one Man he’d caught, after that conversation, he’d carried out his plan, though to shoot in cold blood, an unarmed fellow offering no harm, caused his guts to twist inside him, and left him sleepless for several days. He wasn’t innocent, he had to keep telling himself. He was deep inside the Shire, up to no good, and the King’s Edict... But it was little comfort.

And now report had come from the Shirriff in the Woody End, brought by an urgent messenger on a galloping pony, that skulking Men had been seen, and with Ferdi on an errand to the North Farthing, Pippin had sent Tolly out with Renilard, to try and pick up their tracks and bring them to justice.

They’d found the Men’s trail, all right, near Woodhall, making their way on foot through the thick tangle of woods, and because the Men were moving with extreme caution and the hobbits with as much haste as they could manage, they caught them up not long after.

Tolly motioned to the hunter to stand fast, while he, the Shirriff, and two other hunters worked their way around to surrounding positions. They’d catch the Men in a vise, make short work of them, and bring their bodies to the Bounds.

These Men were quieter than most, almost hobbitlike in their movement, surprising the Shirriff, who’d stumbled in a hole, before all the hobbits were set and causing Renilard to bark, ‘Hands where we can see them! Don’t try and run, we have you ringed in!’

‘Please, don’t shoot,’ one of the Men shouted, and Tolly hesitated in the act of drawing his bowstring, for there was something familiar...

‘Steady!’ he shouted, seeing the Shirriff’s peril. ‘Don’t let them get close to you! Robby, get out of there!’

But the ruffians made no move to grab hold of the lamed hobbit; they just stood with their hands spread out.

‘Please,’ repeated the ruffian who’d spoken. ‘Do what you wish with me, but let my brother go.’

‘You’re in the Shire, in violation of the King’s Edict, and up to no good,’ Tolly said, moving into sight, his bow taut, arrow ready. He sighted on the speaker’s heart and drew a steadying breath. He’d make it quick; that was all the mercy he could show them.

But the other ruffian stumbled forward, lowering his arms, before coming to an awkward halt and raising them again. ‘Tolly?’ he said incredulously. ‘Tolly, is it really you?’