Chapter 43. Of Travellers and Trouble

Merry pushed the pony hard, learning into the streaming mane and, when the beast's speed slackened over a rough spot of road, he spoke encouragement into the laid-back ears. Soon the road ran smooth again, and they galloped at break-neck pace. He blessed Pippin's attention to the road-maintenance scheme that he'd inherited from a long line of Thains before him, all the way to the first Thain who swore to keep the roads for the King until the King should return.

He let the pony have its head, slowing the pace only to rest the beast before pressing forward again at speed. An hour along the way, just as the pony started to lag in earnest, they reached an inn—perhaps not an “inn” in the same manner after the Green Dragon, but the home of a woodcarver who loved company, and so built onto his smial a large common room where neighbouring hobbits could gather of an evening to hoist a mug. As his wife loved to cook, they welcomed hungry travellers; the menu of the day was whatever Buttercup wanted to cook that day. And if any traveller was benighted, they might always use one of the guest rooms the woodcarver kept for relatives and visitors, and pay him a little something for his trouble. But there was no sign hanging in welcome. The place was really not an inn, after all.

Still, the woodcarver pocketed a little extra coin from appreciative guests, and also from stabling a few ponies for Thain and Master, changes for those bearing urgent messages between Smials and Hall. His establishment was just one in a string that stretched from Tuckborough to the Ferry landing near Stock, speeding messages along the distance in a few hours, that would take the usual traveller two days, stopping overnight half-way, or one very long day of steady travel.

Hearing Merry's silver horn, the woodcarver's middle son laid his pitchfork safely aside and moved quickly to saddle and bridle one of the Thain's ponies. The youngest son skidded into the little stable, stopping when he saw his brother's progress. 'Good,' he said. 'Post rider coming,' he added, unnecessarily.

'Right,' his older brother said, turning the pony's head to the doorway with a light slap to the well-groomed haunch. 'Take him out to the road,' he added.

'That I will,' and he led the pony forth, prancing, eager for a run. It wasn't long before the figure of the hurrying rider rapidly grew larger, bent over his pony's neck, cloak blowing behind him on the wind of their passing, the flash of silver in his hand.

And suddenly he was there, slipping from one saddle to fling himself into the next, with only a breathless word of thanks, and then he was away in a flurry of hoofbeats, and the young hobbit stood dumbstruck, holding the reins of a trembling, foam-flecked pony.

At last he found his tongue, patting the sweat-soaked neck with a murmur of “Steady, lad. Good run.” He began to walk the pony in slow circles, making small talk of how they'd cool him out and then give him a good brushing, and food, and drink, all in good time, o' course, all in good time.

'What was it all about?' the older brother wanted to know, coming out of the stable.

'Life and death, I don't wonder,' said younger brother, only to be scolded for his nonsense.

***

The Thain's fancy coach rolled at a steady pace down the Stock Road, the ponies trotting decorously along. They were making good time, and would have a good rest at noontide, when the coach's occupants would stop for a hot meal, and at teatime they'd stop again, to break their journey at the Crowing Cockerel, halfway along the Stock Road between Tuckborough and Stock.

It was not theirs to wonder where they were going, or how long they'd be gone. Living in the moment, all they knew was the touch of a trusted driver's hand on the reins, the pleasure of a solid, well-kept road under their feet, the satisfaction of trotting in time with one another, of throwing one's weight into the collar to pull uphill, working in perfect harmony with the other three.

This enjoyable rhythm was disrupted as they crested a hill, to meet a rider pelting along the road at top speed. He swung smoothly round them, avoiding a collision, raising a hand in passing to the driver and the two hobbits of escort following the coach on ponyback. The lead-ponies pulling the coach were put off their pace, one rearing and the other plunging in the traces, while the two wheel-ponies danced in place and snorted their distress.

The driver managed to recall them to their business, swearing under his breath at the recklessness of post-riders, only to be hailed by young Faramir, hanging half out the coach window to call to him. 'What was it, Cappy?'

'Some bl—blessed Pony Post rider, thinks he owns the road...!' Cappy called back, managing not to swear aloud in the presence of the Thain's son, though his hands were full with indignant ponies, not quite settled. There was an unnerving amount of head-tossing going on at present, and if a bird had flown suddenly under the noses of the leaders at that moment, why, he'd have a runaway on his hands. And him responsible for the Mistress and son of the Thain, too!

'Pony Post, Mum,' Faramir said, ducking back inside the coach, to his mother's relief.

'Pony Post!' Diamond exclaimed to herself. 'Well, perhaps your father's sent news back to Tolly's little ones...'

'News?' Farry said with a gulp.

His mother smiled, reading his expression correctly, and patted his knee. 'Good news, from the look of it,' she said in reassurance.

'Good news?' Farry said, his eyes wide and wondering. 'How can you tell?' Why, his mother hadn't even seen the rider, nor had he! They had only the driver's word that it was a Pony Post rider of his father's, or perhaps Uncle Merry's.

Diamond patted his knee again, and then re-settled herself on the cushioned seat, closing her eyes to resume an interrupted nap. 'Good news,' she said, and yawned. Blinking her eyes open to smile into her son's inquiring eyes, she added, 'Has to be! Only good news would be travelling so quickly from the Brandywine to the Smials on this day of days!'

She settled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, for the interior of the coach had been chilled when Farry threw open the window to shout his question to the driver, and even though the window was firmly shut again, it would take some time for the brazier's warmth to take effect once more.

'Besides,' she added, at Farry's quizzical look (for she, too, had been thinking about Tolibold, and hoping against hope that the faithful hobbit might be brought safely to the healing hands of the King), 'if it were bad news about Tolly, there'd be no need to bring the news to his children at a break-neck gallop. They're already fearing the worst... No, no; bad news will keep, I'm afraid, but good news...! I can see your father or Uncle Merry telling the rider not to spare the ponies, to bring good news to Tolly's little ones!'

Farry nodded, reassured on this point, but then a new worry occurred to him.

'But... what if something's happened to Father?' Farry wanted to know.

Diamond smiled at his grown-up air. Not the familiar “Da” but the more formal “Father”, as if the lad were sitting in a meeting of family heads. Secure in the knowledge given by greater age and experience, she had no worries. 'If something had happened to your da,' she said, sitting up a little straighter for a moment, 'and Uncle Merry had sent to tell us, don't you think the rider would have pulled up when he saw the coach?'

Farry sat taking this in, from his expression not quite convinced.

'They knew we'd be following them,' Diamond continued, 'for after all, we are to be meeting the King and Queen at the Bridge.'

Farry nodded slowly.

'Besides,' Diamond said, 'your father was travelling in company with Hilly and Haldi, two of his most responsible hobbits of the escort...' she had trouble not laughing at Faramir's expression—Pippin's word might have been interfering or even annoyingly attentive as well his son knew, '...not to mention, he's under the eye of the canniest healer in the Smials, next to Woodruff.'

Faramir thought this over, and then nodded, though he didn't look completely convinced. 'Uncle Merry says...' he began, and stopped.

'What does Uncle Merry say?' Diamond wanted to know.

Faramir squirmed a little, but when Diamond raised an insistent eyebrow he sighed. 'He says,' he went on, and paused, then ploughed ahead resolutely. 'He says if there's any trouble to be found, Da will be the one to find it.'

Diamond threw back her head and laughed, so heartily that the tears came to her eyes. At last she caught her breath and wiped her face, leftover chuckles still escaping in occasional ripples.

'Mum?' Farry said, but he looked more hopeful and less worried now, more like a little lad ought to look, and not like one too-soon grown up by the terrifying circumstances of recent events.

'Trust your Uncle Merry to have exactly the right word,' she said, shaking her finger at Farry (though perhaps she was really shaking it at her absent husband). 'He knows your father all too well, I fear.'

Farry smiled at this, and chuckled a little himself.

Wide awake now, Diamond plunged into the first of a string of stories about Farry's father, and his capacity for finding trouble.

It was a lovely way to pass the time, and Diamond had more than enough stories to fill the day's journey, so that when they arrived at the Cockerel at teatime, it seemed as if the journey had taken no time at all.