Chapter 55. As Keen as Mustard

Rusty gave the silver cup a last careful rub, though it was still gleaming from Sandy’s loving attention before the high tea to welcome the Thain… and not incidentally, to honour Tolibold, the head of escort, for his loyalty, integrity, and discretion. The drinking cup of an Elvish King – fancy! So that he would not mar the shining surface with marks from his own fingers, he used the polishing cloth to hold the cup as he lifted it to pride of place on Tolibold and Meadowsweet’s mantel. He stepped back to admire the effect. Quite so.

He still marvelled that the Thain should have known to tell him where to find the cup, hidden away… wrapped up in an old cloth and buried at the bottom of the linen press, in the deepest corner, beneath a never-used set of bed linens hideously embroidered by Meadowsweet’s well-meaning but half-blind great aunts as a wedding gift. How in the world had the hobbit known?

…and then to hear that story at the grand tea. Yes, Rusty had been there, at Sandy’s insistence – Sandy had told him (as he brought the cup after finding it, to the Thain’s personal hobbitservant, per the Thain’s orders), that all the servants in the Smials except for bedside watchers, were summoned by Mistress Diamond to attend the welcoming tea, to help with serving the tables. He’d been astonished at the number of Tooks in attendance, from babes to gaffers. He’d thought he’d understood why all available servants had been required to serve in the great room. He’d been somewhat bemused to be handed a tall glass of the Thain’s private stock as teatime seemed to be concluding. And then, the Thain had told the story – and such a story…!

Rusty’s chest swelled with pride at the thought that he was serving the families of two of the most illustrious Tooks in the Tookland. He’d known about Ferdi’s exploits, of course – who hadn’t? He’d been the old Thain’s – and Regi’s – right hand in the business of keeping ruffians out of the Tookland in the time of the Troubles. But Tolly had been able to keep his own deeds much quieter, somehow. No songs had been written about his exploits… yet.

Ferdi always seemed able to make himself scarce when stories about the Troubles were told before the hearth in the great room. Rusty had an inkling that Tolly would quickly learn to disappear in much the same way.

***

At that same moment – though it was rare to find the Thain in his study after teatime – Healer Woodruff was in the middle of an uncomfortable interview – uncomfortable for everyone involved – with the Thain and Steward.

‘A messenger came to Ferdibrand, from Master Merry, and found him unattended?’ she said, rearing up to her full diminutive height in her indignation, puffed up like a small, ruffled hen.

‘Master Merry himself was that messenger,’ Pippin said. ‘He told me all that he did and saw in his brief time here.’ As the head healer opened her mouth again to speak, her cheeks flushed with emotion, he added, mildly, ‘He wished to return to the Bridge just so quickly as might be, in order to open the grand celebration of the King’s and Queen’s leave-taking.’ Seeing Woodruff take a breath, he said, ‘We could not start without him, of course, what with the Brandybucks hosting the feast.’

Woodruff took several rapid breaths, slowly deflating. ‘I cannot believe…’ she said, struggling for words, ‘…that any of my healers… could be guilty of such…’ She stopped and breathed a few more breaths, at a loss for words to express her consternation.

‘That is what we are here to determine,’ Regi said quietly.

It was almost with an air of relief the healer turned to him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Which?’ And her tone boded ill for the errant healer or assistant. ‘How are we to determine that?’

‘His message – about Tolly’s wondrous recovery at the hands of the King – was waiting on my desk when I returned from the noontide meal,’ Regi said.

‘Hilly checked with the stable hobbits, on arrivals and departures,’ Pippin added. ‘The only arrival that day was a Pony Post messenger – or so the hobbit on duty at noontide thought – and the messenger said he needed a pony readied against an immediate return. As he was well-muffled against the cold, the worker did not recognise the Master of Brandy Hall.’

‘Noontide,’ Woodruff said. ‘Noontide, the day before Ferdi arose and spoke clearly for the first time since he’d lost his words?’

Regi thought back, and then nodded. ‘That would be the day,’ he said.

Woodruff consulted her hand, counting silently on her fingers. Pippin thought he could almost perceive steam coming from the head hobbit’s ears as she huffed on reaching the fourth finger.

Sudden realisation struck Regi at about the same time. ‘I went to Ferdi’s quarters to bring to him and to Nell the good news of Tolly’s healing, and Wort tried to turn me away…’

‘Wort, yes,’ Woodruff nearly spat. ‘I’ve had my eye on that one… He seems too good to be true at times. Always has the right thing to say, always in the right place at the right time – at least if Fennel or myself is present.’

‘Sometimes “too good to be true” can be the truth,’ Pippin said, in the healer’s defence. He had jumped to a conclusion on more than one previous occasion, to sometimes great harm. Why, Ferdi and Tolly themselves had nearly been banished, because Pippin moved hastily to act, without considering his course, much less taking the time to uncover all the facts.

‘Sometimes it can,’ Woodruff allowed. ‘But I am heartily ashamed, Thain, mortified, more like, to think that one of my healers might have neglected someone in such serious condition as Ferdibrand was that day…’

Pippin’s face grew grim. ‘How serious?’ he said slowly.

‘While Nell might have sent him away, that she and Ferdi might rest without the intrusion of a healer, he ought to have gone no further than the sitting room,’ Woodruff said, ‘for easy recall, if Ferdi were to show any distress, any change at all…!’ She shook her head. ‘Wort is a gifted healer,’ she said in a lower tone. ‘He learned the healer’s art quickly, always knows the right thing to say, almost seems to have an innate sense of what needs to be done in an emergency… and so I trusted him with that delicate situation, and now to hear…’ She fell silent, clenching her fists at her sides, her jaw tight.

‘He was not in the sitting room when the Master arrived,’ Pippin said. ‘We have the Master’s word for that. And Nell and Ferdi were both asleep.’

‘It doesn’t matter where he went, I suppose,’ Woodruff said heavily. ‘Even if he had to see to some – personal need, he’d properly have wakened Nell before taking himself off, however briefly.’

‘The Master’s visit was not brief,’ Pippin emphasized. ‘He was there above an hour, administering the healing herbs sent by the King, before he took himself off to my study to pen a note to Regi, for Tolly’s family.’

‘Above an hour…’ Woodruff echoed. She straightened, pulled back her shoulders, a picture of determination. ‘I will take the matter from here, Thain Peregrin, you can be sure of that.’

After the door had closed behind the head healer, Regi said softly, ‘I wouldn’t want to be Wort, if she finds he neglected his duties…’

Pippin shook his head. He was in full agreement.

***

It was the brothers’ custom at the end of a week of cutting in the Chetwood, to stop for a pint at the Prancing Pony. They were greeted warmly by old Butterbur, the innkeeper, who remarked that he hadn’t seen them in some weeks, and had someone been injured? ill?

Tod excused himself, plainly uncomfortable. ‘I’ll just go and see to Mum,’ he said. ‘And you’ll be late, won’t you? You said…’

‘I’ll be late,’ Ted said hastily. He was going to have supper with the miller's family, a bit later; was to meet the miller here at the Pony, as a matter of fact, some time in the next hour. He and the miller's eldest daughter’d had an understanding for more than a year, though he had been unable to speak, not while he and Tod were contemplating how to recover the necklace that the Elven king had presented to their mother, so many years before. They had considered their friends among the Bree-hobbits, but had finally made the difficult decision that they must make the effort themselves. Not only was there the challenge of finding a hobbit willing to travel the long way to the Shire, across the Brandywine, into the heart of the wilds of the Woody End. No, but there was also the worry that, no matter how honest the hobbit, the lure of the treasure would prove too much for any courier to bear.

But now… he could see his way clearly. Whether she agreed to go with him to the Greenwood, or merely agreed to wait for him to escort his mother there, and return, or agreed to nothing at all, he was at last free to ask her to marry him.

But he didn’t need the entire Prancing Pony to cheer him on his way. He gave his younger brother a meaningful look, and Tod’s face suddenly cleared, his eyes lighting in realisation. ‘O’ course, o’ course, you’ll be late,’ he said. ‘I’ll…’

‘You go,’ Ted said, and Tod grinned.

‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘I’m going! G’night, Barliman! G’night, all!’ There was a chorus of farewells from the others there, and Tod took his leave.

‘Give Annie my best!’ Barliman Butterbur called after Tod.

‘I will!’ the young Man called over his shoulder with a wave, and then he was gone.

Ted took the pint Butterbur brought him, raised it in a toast to the innkeeper, and enjoyed a throat-soothing mouthful. Ah, but it went down well after a long day of chopping and cutting. It was said the old wizard Gandalf had blessed the beer at the Prancing Pony before he’d gone away – sailed away, some said, over the Sea, forever and never to be seen again.  Bless the old fellow, where ever it was he’d gone.

Someone pulled at his elbow, and he looked over, his habitual smile fading as he beheld the scruffy looking fellow, one eye covered with a patch and a rough scar crossing his cheek, beside him. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, and moved a little to one side, away.

But the ruffianly looking Man pressed closer. ‘I’ve news for ye,’ he said in a guttural whisper.

‘News?’ Ted said in astonishment. ‘For me?’

‘Here now, Burdock, clear off!’ Butterbur said. ‘We don’t need trouble here…’

The Man sneered and said, ‘My gold’s as good as any.’

‘Be sure you see the gold before you hand him the glass!’ one wit shouted.

‘Be sure you hold the gold…’

The Man snarled, but threw a coin on the bar. ‘Beer,’ he said, ‘for me, and my friend, here.’

‘I have one already,’ Ted said, lifting his mug.

‘Have another,’ Burdock said.

‘No, but I thank you, stranger,’ Ted said, caution warring with curiosity. What message could this stranger have for him?

Mollified by the show of money, Butterbur scooped up the coin and turned away. Soon he returned with a pint and a promise. ‘I have my eye on you,’ he said sternly. ‘Any trouble, and I’ll have the Rangers on you, see if I don’t.’

Burdock gave a grimace that might have been meant for a smile, and pulled at Ted’s arm. ‘I’ve news,’ he said. ‘For my friend here. A message.’

‘Deliver it, and drink up, and be off with you,’ Butterbur said, with the bravery that comes from having a Ranger eating a solitary meal in one of your quieter corners, out of the notice of the common observer.

The stranger, Burdock, was known to the innkeeper as a trouble-maker, that much was clear. But old Butterbur had not immediately escorted him from the premises – had even taken his money and given him a drink in exchange. He’d not even tried to warn Ted against associating with the fellow, implying the innkeeper feared neither direct harm to Ted (which would be bad for business), nor that Ted might be corrupted by association. Curiosity growing stronger, Ted followed the stranger into the shadows, despite the prickling at the back of his neck that warned him that all was not as it seemed.

‘Here,’ Burdock muttered, indicating a small table in a darkened corner of the common room. One other solitary diner was nearby, leaning against the wall, to all appearances asleep after polishing off most of a hearty meal. Ted took the chair facing the entryway – he was waiting for someone else, after all – and sipped at his beer. Burdock scrutinised their near neighbour and then proceeded to ignore him, pulling out his chair as quietly as could be, seating himself with a show of stretching out his long legs, and taking a hearty swig of beer, followed by a gusty sigh. ‘Ah, that just suits!’

‘You said you’ve news,’ Ted reminded him, his eyes moving between the entry and the stranger.

‘Nervous about somewhat?’ Burdock said.

‘Waiting for someone,’ Ted said. ‘I’ll be happy to drink with you, str—Burdock, until he arrives, but when he does, my time will no longer be my own.’

Burdock threw his head back as if to laugh, but settled for another swig of his beer.

‘You said you’ve news,’ Ted repeated.

‘Impatient, aren’t we?’ Burdock sneered. When Ted began to rise from his chair, he grabbed at his arm to stay him. ‘It’ll be worth your while to hear me out.’

‘Then tell on, and don’t waste my time,’ Ted said, sitting back down despite his growing reluctance. He was beginning to think that the innkeeper had the right of it, and this Burdock fellow was merely here to make trouble.

Burdock dropped his voice. ‘My boss…’ he began, and looking around furtively, grew even softer – whispering, as if he were the possessor of a great and valuable secret. ‘It’s said round hereabouts, that you and your brother were born in the Shire.’

‘Leave my brother out of it,’ Ted said, frowning.

Burdock made a placating gesture. ‘Certainly, certainly,’ he said. ‘But you were born in the Shire – it’s common knowledge.’

‘I’ve no need to deny the fact,’ Ted said. ‘My father was a woodsman, and worked for the Thain, but that was years ago… long before the King issued his Edict and closed the borders. We’ve been here in the Breeland just as long, now…’

‘But you were born there,’ the stranger insisted. ‘Born there, lived there long enough to learn the lay of the land, cutting wood with your father.’

Ted shook his head. ‘I was but a boy when the Shire-folk threw all the Men out,’ he said. ‘And my brother is even younger than I, and remembers less.’

‘But you might remember enough,’ Burdock said. The back of Ted’s neck prickled again, a warning of danger, though he couldn’t imagine what that danger might be.

And then Burdock went on. ‘My boss…’ he hissed. ‘He hears things. He’s very good at hearing things, my boss is. He’s heard that you and your brother…’

‘I told you to leave my brother…’

‘He’s heard that you,’ Burdock went on inexorably, his eyes boring into Ted’s, holding the latter there in his seat somehow with the strength of his will, ‘know a secret way into the Shire, and out again, a way to get past the King’s Men…’

‘There’s no way to get past the King’s Men,’ Ted said lamely. It was a lie, and he was not a good liar, but he put every scrap of himself into the lie, such that he, himself, almost could believe it.

Burdock sat back, smiling, almost as if he heard the lie in Ted’s voice despite the woodcutter’s best efforts. ‘No way to get past the King’s Men?’ he whispered. He pulled something from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘Here.’

Ted wrapped his hands around his mug, refusing to reach out, to touch the heavy-looking bag that had clinked as it had been laid down; more gold than he’d ever seen in one place, some practical part of his mind told him. ‘I don’t take your meaning,’ he said, unsteadily.

‘Plenty more where this came from,’ Burdock whispered. ‘All you have to do is show us…’

‘I don’t know the way…’ Ted said, desperate now. He was not a good liar.

Burdock cocked his head to regard the woodcutter with a keen eye.

Gathering the shreds of his courage, Ted burst out, ‘I won’t show you! I won’t show anyone!’ That much rang true, anyhow, truer than the previous words, or the ones that followed. ‘I’ve nothing to show… I don’t know…’ He pressed his lips shut. Better to remain silent and be thought a liar, than to speak and prove himself.

A soft snore came from their neighbour as the two Men locked gazes, tense, the woodcutter leaning away as if he would flee, the stranger pressing forward as a predator might regard his prey.

At last Burdock relaxed with a chuckle. ‘No need to show anyone anything,’ he said, affecting a friendly smile that seemed more threatening than anything. ‘Why, that bag there, it’s yours for nothing more than a little service, the smallest of services…’

Ted did not relax. He was breathing rapidly, shallowly, looking longingly at the entrance, to the snoring Man nearby, towards the sound of Butterbur’s voice, talking to a pair of hobbits who worked in the stables, anywhere but at Burdock.

Burdock touched Ted’s hand, still gripping the mug, and the woodcutter jumped, spilling his beer. ‘I… I must go,’ Ted said.

‘No one has come in,’ Burdock said, glancing towards the entry. ‘You were waiting for someone, you said. Now, as I was saying, my boss, he has this interest in the Shire…’

Ted swallowed hard. The stranger’s eyes were hawklike, and Ted knew just how a songbird felt, or a mouse perhaps, pinned by that keen and merciless regard. ‘I—I—I,’ was all he could manage.

‘An interest,’ Burdock insisted. ‘Simply… draw me a map, for his collection. Yes, that’s just what’s wanted. A map… A little thing. A Man cannot obtain a map for love nor for money in this day – but you’ve been in the Shire. You know the Shire…’

‘I—I—I—’ Ted managed, and then somehow he was able to break free, to get up from the table, upsetting his chair all unknowing behind him, to flee without looking behind him…

As if one of those Black Men were after him, as Butterbur told Master Mallow, when the miller asked after Ted, nearly an hour later.

‘We’d arranged to meet,’ Mallow insisted. ‘I cannot believe he’s not here, waiting for me. I do come a little belated, but…’

Butterbur shook his head. ‘He was here earlier,’ he said. ‘That much I can tell you. As to where he’s gone…’

‘Perhaps he thought there was a misunderstanding, and has gone on to my house, where we were to sup together,’ Master Mallow said after a moment’s thought. ‘Good day to you, Barliman, and should Ted return in search of me, tell him I’ll see him at supper…’

However, Master Mallow and his pretty daughter missed Ted at supper that night.

After deep thought, wandering aimlessly, pondering, as the afternoon passed to evening and the sky darkened above, the woodcutter decided the best course was to go to the Kingsmen’s post, just outside the town, to let them know that Burdock and his mysterious “boss” were up to no good.

He gave his report to a Ranger who, he might have noticed, had he paid closer attention in the darkened interior of the inn, bore some resemblance to the snoring diner at the next table to where he’d had his strange interview with Burdock. He’d have been even more surprised, after he’d left – forgetting all about his promise to the Mallows, and thinking only to warn Toddy about the ruffians in the vicinity, and to make sure their mother was well guarded – to have seen a clean, well-dressed “Burdock”, now lacking eye-patch and scar, come out of the back room where he’d listened to all.

‘Somehow I don’t think we have to worry about those two brothers,’ said the King's Man, sometimes known as "Burdock" though his own name was much different.

The Ranger nodded, and sealed the report.