Chapter 21. The Rescue

After darkness fell, Estella made her cautious way around the outside of the small clearing where Lotho's Men had set up their camp, scouting the ground and formulating her plans. A pot hung on a tripod over the small fire that burned near the centre of the space, sending savoury smells into the air; meat, Estella knew from watching the ruffians' meal preparations from her hidden station, and root vegetables, likely gathered from local farms or foresters' kitchen gardens. But spices were lacking, in her estimation. She'd seen the cook – if you could call him that – pour a palmful of salt into the pot. Perhaps they meant to torment Ferdi by feeding him the result!

But her good sense reasserted itself quickly. The pot was large enough to feed six or eight Big Men, from what she'd seen at Hally and Rosie's, and still have enough leftover stew for breakfast. They'd hardly be making such a large pot of stew for Ferdi's benefit – or affliction.

Following the sound of trickling water, she found where a spring issued from the hillside not far from the "road" between Stock and Tuckborough and ran under the overgrown track. Listening to the Men, keeping track of their movements from the sound of their voices and rustling progress, she stooped long enough to fill her water bottle, guzzle half the contents, revelling in the sweet, icy water, and then fill it again. The soil on the hillside near the spring was rocky and uneven, forcing her to take extra care so as not to reinjure her healing ankle. On the bright side, she filled her pockets with round, heavy stones that fit satisfyingly in her fist and would make for good, accurate throwing.

She blinked a little at the memory of secretly watching Frodo teach young Merry and Estella's brother Freddy to cast stones accurately at a target. After he'd sent his younger cousins back to the Manse with the promise he'd follow as soon as he'd taken down the targets he'd fixed to several trees to restore the grow to its natural state, he'd beckoned to Estella, who'd tagged behind them... again. And instead of scolding her for following them, or calling Freddy back to escort his little sister home again, he'd simply asked her what she'd thought of the lesson. As if he'd been aware of her watching the entire time! In hindsight, he probably had.

'You're a good teacher,' she'd answered.

And then he'd suddenly asked her if she'd like to try to hit the targets herself? Had she been paying attention?

And she'd nodded vigorously, and accepted the stones he'd dug out of a pocket, and taken her place where Merry and Freddy had taken turns standing, and cast her first stone...

...and when it had missed, Frodo had not laughed at her but had simply told her to try again. He'd also said, almost casually, that one could choose a knot in a tree as a target, should one wish to practice one's aim without drawing attention to oneself and one's activities...

Bless him, where ever he may be, Estella thought, selecting just one more stone, smooth and round in her hand and heavy in her pocket, before turning back to the ruffians' camp.

Her stomach grumbled, but she distracted herself with speculation of how such a stew should best be seasoned. Thyme, she thought. I know he's already added salt in distressing quantities. Though potatoes – taters, she reminded herself, would be the term someone like Twig would use – would be a useful component with their ability to absorb an over-excess of salt. Besides the mushrooms in Ferdi's pack, dumped into the pot without even an attempt to brush them clean, the cook had added a good-sized bag of potatoes, not bothering to wash them or peel them first! ...perhaps he was used to compensating for an excess amount of salt.

What worried her most was the sight of Ferdibrand, lying face-down on the ground where the ruffian had tossed him, halfway between the crackling fire and the perimeter of the ruffian's camp, his hands tied behind him and his ankles bound together. Throughout the afternoon hours, as she had watched the ruffians come and go, she hadn't seen him move, not even when the stewpot had begun to exude its promising smells. But when the ruffians began to settle around the fire, she was heartened to see that only one of them sat himself down on a decaying log near the perimeter, placing himself between the prisoner and the trees. The rest gathered around the fire. She also noticed that they took turns sitting on the log, and that some of them grumbled at having to leave the fireside as the darkness deepened and the warmth of the pleasant spring day faded from the air.

And still Ferdi never moved! Even as the Men talked and laughed coarsely and bolted their stew, salty though it might be, he lay in the grass like a lesser twin to the crumbling log where his guard sat. Estella couldn't even see him shiver, there on the cold ground without his cloak, which the first Man to sit guard over him had taken and folded over the log to soften his seat.

At last, she reached the tangle of brambles that lay to the west of the ruffians' camp. Working as silently as she might, she lifted the thorny branches, blessing the rabbit-fur cloak for its help, and more by feel than sight began to trim away the thorns just past the entrance to the hideaway she was creating. Once she reached the middle of the bramble patch, she cleared a space on the ground, pushing thorny vines to the sides, and then lay down on her back, eyes wide, surveying the leaves and vines surrounding her. They should be enough, she thought. These brambles looked very much like the ones by the path where they'd hidden so recently, and no Men had seen them there! Not even the rabbit-chasing dog had penetrated their fortress.

The Men were still talking, and at one point, she heard them hooting with laughter, and one yelled, 'That'll show the rats! We'll soon overrun their precious bounds and beard the Thain in his den!'

'Hobbits have no beards,' she heard another say clearly, and made a mental note that sound carried here, perhaps echoed or reflected by some trick of the rocky hillsides nearby. They'd have to keep their voices down while hidden, for certain!

She'd rest until the Men's voices quieted. She wanted them to be good and sleepy – or surprised out of sleep, that would be even better! – when she struck.

*** 

The Moon shining overhead awakened Estella from a light doze. She hadn't meant to fall asleep herself! ...though it had been an incredibly long day of travel and fear and strain and worry. It had happened, and she forced herself to shrug away the tension in her shoulders, silently reminding herself that "there are no do-overs", as Rosie Bolger had repeatedly told her when teaching Estella the rules of the dangerous game the forest Bolgers played with the ruffians in the Woody End. There are no do-overs rang in her memory and her present thoughts. The stakes were so terribly high, both for Ferdi and for herself should she fail. I have to get this right the first time I try it!

Since the Moon was not much past full, she knew she had some hours of darkness yet, and breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't fallen deeply asleep in her exhaustion, to awaken to the light of morning. In the morning, not so many hours from now, the ruffians planned to march (or drag) Ferdibrand to Bag End, where Lotho would no doubt recognise him for who he was and punish him for the figure he'd become – the clever Fox that had seemingly easily eluded Lotho's rogues and frustrated all attempts to capture him.

Estella checked her pockets full of stones and then eased her way out of her improvised hiding place as quietly and surreptitiously as possible. In addition to minimising noise, she also avoided disturbing the briars, as well as the ground outside the briar patch, trying to confine any marks she might leave to a small area, to be easily swept away with a pine-bough broom when she returned, hopefully with Ferdi. A few steps away from the bramble patch, she stopped and listened to the silence of the trees surrounding her. All she heard when she held her breath was the crackling of the small fire, still burning at the centre of the ruffians' nearby camp. At last, she took a deep breath to initiate setting her plan in motion and then moved cautiously to the first point she'd marked on her mental map, on the northern side of the ruffians' camp.

Not too close, but not too far outside the circle of clear ground, she must be. Close enough to goad the ruffians to chase after her, but far enough away to elude capture and go to ground successfully without any of the Men seeing her.

Once situated, she took another deep breath, steeled herself, and raised her hands to her mouth, cupping them to achieve a hollow sound. As she bellowed out the words as loud as possible, her voice sounded strange in her own ears. Hopefully Ferdibrand would hear and understand.

Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Sittin' on a tree!
Blind, fat tomnoddy!
Can't see me!
Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Catch me if you can!
You'll try and fall, failing,
Stupid Man!

Her rhyming was lame, she admitted it as she moved to her next location, slightly east of her first spot, but she'd never claimed a talent for poetry, then. She'd taken a scrap of one of old Bilbo's stories and reworked it for her own purposes. Now to see if it worked!

By the dim firelight in the clearing, she saw that two of the sleeping Men had jumped to their feet, along with Ferdi's guard. The sound of their voices came to her – they were conferring, she thought, and their tone sounded both annoyed and a little muddled from being wakened out of a sound sleep. She saw one of the Men move over to a lump on the grass and kick it, and soon the rogue who'd slept through Estella's little serenade sprang up and took a swing at the comrade who'd kicked him! Things were shaping up.

She could see one of the Men moving cautiously in the direction where she'd first stood. Time for another chorus of her song.

Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Lyin' on the grass!
Can't see me, tomnoddy?
Get yer eyeglass!
Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
How fast can you run?
Wake yerself! Shake yerself!
For we've just begun!

As she sang, distorting her voice as weirdly as possible, she chucked rocks at the standing figures and was rewarded with their cries of pain. More Men gained their feet, and Estella stopped long enough to aim several of her rocks at the new targets, smiling grimly at the howls that arose. But the ruffians were wider awake now and thinking faster, for several left the clearing and were moving in her direction. Estella didn't wait any longer but scurried further away from the camp along the line she'd determined lay in the direction of Bywater, then stopped and shouted again.

Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Catch me if you can!
Slow coach! Go coach!
Stupid Man!

Immediately, she dove to the side, rolled, and came up on her feet, running towards the Woody End. She could both see and hear the Men crashing through the underbrush, for a couple of them bore torches. They were moving to the North and the North-East, where her first two songs had sounded. 

Slow, fat and complacent, she thought. P'rhaps they could use a little more exercise?

Tomnoddy! Old doddy!
Slow and fat and lazy!
You think you're big and strong!
We think you're crazy!
Think you can catch us now,
Tomnoddy-fools?
You'll find us slipp'ry fish
Sliding through the pools!

Estella almost laughed aloud when one of the Men shouted, 'It's the Brandybucks!' But she was too busy cutting across the empty space where no Men were searching.

'Get 'em!' She thought she recognised the leader's rough voice. 'They've joined up with the rats from Bywater to attack us!' He detached two of the Men to 'run as fast as you can to Hobbiton! Let the Boss know there's an uprising, and we need reinforcements!'

Part of her worried; more Men meant more searchers who might stumble across them as they hid in the brambles, but it was too late to change the plan now. In the back of her mind, wry laughter sounded at Lotho's probable reaction to sending Men to quell an uprising... only to find no hobbits, not even the prisoner who, if all went well, would be out of the ruffians' clutches well before any reinforcements should arrive.

Her hand was on her pocket-knife as she reached the edge of the clearing, but she took a rock out of her pocket instead, for a lone Man remained – Ferdi's guard. He wasn't sitting on the log now, but standing, tense, his back to the fire so as not to spoil his night vision.

Estella stiffened her spine. It would not do to simply annoy this Man; no, she had to hit his head – had to risk a killing blow! ...though the thought made her sick at her stomach – had to make sure he could neither raise the alarm nor interfere with her plans at this point in the process.

She aimed carefully and put all of her recently-formed muscles into the throw – saw the stone strike its target – saw the tall form crumple, and was running into the clearing before the Man hit the ground.

When she reached the log, she took out another stone and peeped carefully over it at the still forms lying before her. Still form, rather, for the smaller one was writhing, moving, curling himself into a knot... and as she scrambled over the log and then froze, knowing she was now visible to any watcher, the firelight revealed Ferdi, chin tucked to his knees and drawing his hands over his feet so that they were now in front of him rather than bound behind his back.

The Man might be playing dead, or he might not, but some instinct told Estella that now was the time to move! Without delay! Seize the moment, she told herself, shaking free of her momentary hesitation. She scooped up Ferdi's cloak from the log and his walking stick and pack lying nearby, then hurried to Ferdi's side.

Exchanging the stone for her pocket-knife, Estella quickly cut the ropes binding his ankles together, and his wrists, and then seized his arm to draw him in another direction than the one she'd come from. 

Ferdi followed her unspoken guidance without question or pause. To the background music of the ruffians' shouts and crashes through the undergrowth, both near the clearing and farther away in the general direction of Bywater and the Woody End, the two fugitives moved almost as one – almost as smoothly, Estella thought absurdly, as if they were gliding together through a figure in a formal dance at a fancy ball in happier times.

As she led him unerringly through the darkness towards the brambles, Estella almost belatedly realised that she'd achieved her aim! At least to this point... Now if only the rest of her plan should work as well...

*** 

Author's note: Estella's taunts were inspired by Bilbo's strategy to confuse the giant spiders of Mirkwood in the chapter 'Flies and Spiders' in The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. 

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