40. Mushrooms

April 2, 1395

Frodo did not return to the kitchens the next day, and in fact Poppy did not see him again before Merry's party. No one saw much of Frodo, for he had been occupying himself away from Brandy Hall. He didn't want to face Poppy again after being so rude to her, and the happy, carefree play of the Brandybuck children depressed him. He refused to seek out Merry or Pippin; he couldn't bear the thought of revealing his foul mood to the younger cousins who looked up to him.

And Frodo had caught Bilbo looking at him with concern that morning; it was only a matter of time, of course, before Bilbo cornered him and started asking uncomfortable questions, but Frodo intended to put that off as long as possible. He had passed Bolo on the way out; the older tween had looked like he was leaving as well, but he was as surly and disinclined to communicate as ever, and Frodo thought it was just as well since he felt exactly the same.

Frodo had been roaming about aimlessly, seeking some diversion from his bitter thoughts, but he had crossed the river on the Bucklebury ferry and he supposed he was somewhere in the countryside to the south of Brandy Hall by now, in the Marish most likely. But peaceful fields, quiet trees, and the sight of hardworking farmers would do nothing to sooth his restless spirit today. He stared morosely as he passed another farm, then halted and looked more closely; he recognized this farm. It was the place from which good old Bolo had induced him to help steal mushrooms, years and years ago. Bamfurlong, Farmer Maggot's land.

The tween scowled. What pleasure could Bolo have derived from getting Frodo into trouble? And no one could possibly eat as many mushrooms as Bolo had stolen; that sour-hearted Brandybuck had done it just for spite. Especially the Maggot farm...

He had raided the pantries at Brandy Hall countless times, as had all the other lads, but Frodo had been one of the best. Such mischief was generally smiled at among the Brandybucks. It was even common for hobbit boys to sneak apples, mushrooms, and other snacks from unwary farmers, purely for sport.  But if the farmer took offence, as some did, and raised a fuss, the game was over and a scandal could erupt that would last for weeks; it was unseemly for children to steal from honest, hardworking farmers who didn't take it as a joke.

Maggot was one of these; everyone knew his prized crop of mushrooms was jealously guarded and off-limits. Merry had told him that the last time Maggot caught a Brandybuck making off with his mushrooms, the farmer had made such a stink with the Master of Brandy Hall that all the lads had been sternly admonished not to set foot on the Maggot property. That had been a few years ago, and apparently even Bolo had ceased his ill-advised raids.

Maggot's dogs had been terrifying. When Bolo had run off and left Frodo to be caught, he'd thought they meant to rip him to pieces. Frodo had been almost relieved when the farmer finally called the brutes off and dragged Frodo away to give him a taste of the strap, but then the old hobbit had set his dogs on Frodo. He knew now they were probably too well trained to actually harm him, but they had chased Frodo all the way back to the ferry, an experience he doubted he would forget soon.

Frodo swung a leg up to climb onto the high brick wall and stared intently at the distant farmhouse, with its thatched roof and surrounding farm-buildings almost hidden among the trees.

"Going to give it a try?" a voice from behind him asked dryly.

Frodo turned around awkwardly, almost losing his balance. There was none other than Bolo Brandybuck, wearing a natty blue jacket and his customary smirk.

"What are you doing here?" Frodo snapped, in no mood to be trifled with and angry that Bolo had managed to sneak up on him.

Bolo smiled slowly. "And you used to be such a quiet, polite little thing!" he murmured, eyes glinting with amusement.

Frodo answered him with a glare. "Were you following me?"

"Certainly not!" Bolo said, smirking. "If you must know, I was waiting for my father."

"I thought he was expected tomorrow," Frodo said suspiciously. He had overheard Pyrimidine talking shrilly about her beloved Gus only the evening before.

Bolo shrugged. "Sometimes he gets home earlier than expected," the older tween said carelessly. "Now you haven't answered my question. Are you going to try it?"

"Of course not!" Frodo said, forgetting to pretend he didn't know what Bolo meant.

Bolo just laughed and started to walk away. "You should; it can be quite a thrill. Make you forget all about your folks." He paused and looked back at Frodo. "Next time, say it like you mean it," the older tween added with a wink. "Maggot'll never believe you merely got lost unless you put a little more heat behind your denial."

Frodo looked away and waited till Bolo was down the road out of sight. His blood was boiling with anger. How dare Bolo talk about his parents! The reminder hurt cruelly; Bolo had no right. Bolo didn't know how it felt to have your parents leave you to grow up without them while everyone around you went on with their lives.

All of a sudden he wanted to give it a try, just to see if he could do it, perhaps... He pulled the other leg over the wall and dropped soundlessly into the dirt by a slope that led down to the edge of Maggot's corn field. This was madness. Foolish, inconsiderate, childish. Perfect, for Frodo was feeling all of those things. He wanted… well, he had no idea what he wanted. He wanted to forget himself. Forget who he was… He just wanted to stop thinking.

Frodo plunged in among the cornstalks. They were over his head, but he pushed on blindly, taking savage satisfaction in shoving the tall plants out of his way. As he approached the far edge of the field, he slowed to a pace at which he could move silently. He didn't want to alert those dogs, after all.

He could see the farmhouse; the lights were on, but he didn't see anybody in the immediate vicinity. The cabbages were directly in front of him, and Frodo ran through the open space as quickly and quietly as he could, being careful to keep his head down. Frodo paused, leaning against a tree to get his breath. All there was in the world right now were the mushrooms before him, the road which he could see past the corn, and his pulse pounding in his ears.

Frodo stooped and quickly filled his pockets with mushrooms, then ran back to the road just as stealthily as he had come. The relief was overwhelming when Frodo realized he had done it; he had done it, and not been caught.

April 4, 1395

The day of Merry's birthday dawned bright and clear. Frodo wasn't needed until teatime, when he would have to dress for the party, so he decided to cross the river and pay another visit to the Maggot farm. This would be the third time. After the exhilaration of his first success, Frodo had been emboldened to try again yesterday. It had gone off without a hitch once more, and Frodo had begun to look forward to his daily bit of excitement.

Much to Frodo's annoyance, he spotted Bolo loitering in the road again, as he had been yesterday and the day before.

"Waiting for your dad?" Frodo asked when Bolo turned to smirk at him.

"Of course." Bolo said with asperity. "Planning to call upon old Maggot again?"

"Yes," Frodo said just as tersely. He couldn't figure Bolo out; the older tween had been waiting for Gustaroc's return every day for three days now. Each time Frodo saw him, he expected angry threats and bullying from his cousin, as was typical of Bolo's behaviour four years ago. But other than snide remarks, Bolo had made no attempt to abuse Frodo. In fact, their meetings in the road had developed into a daily ritual of sorts.

It was strange, though, Bolo's behaviour. His attitude seemed to speak of defeat now, rather than anger. Frodo did not understand his cousin, and as he stared at Bolo's sullen expression he felt a momentary stirring of curiosity.

"Why did you used to steal from Maggot?" Frodo asked, against his better judgement.

Bolo blinked and stared at him. "Why do you do it?" the older tween countered, without changing expression.

Frodo was surprised at Bolo's civil response, and unprepared for a serious question. He supposed the decent thing was to give an honest answer. He thought for a moment.

"I do not want to face my life right now," Frodo said finally, hating how weak that sounded.

"Same for me, I guess," Bolo said with a shrug.

Frodo stared, uncomprehending. What was there to trouble Bolo? He had two living parents, he was spoiled rotten by his mother at least, and he never wanted for anything. Perhaps his bad disposition had finally gotten to him; Frodo shrugged it off and climbed Maggot's wall, scowling.

He ran into the corn field, clenching his eyes shut against the image of that bare, dusty front room that had stirred his memories. He ran faster, trying to shut his parents' angry voices out of his ears. He stopped before crossing into the open cabbage field just long enough to glance at the house and see that no one was standing in the open doorway.

Frodo charged through to the shelter of the trees and had his pockets half-filled with mushrooms before he realized how reckless he had just been. He crouched behind a tree and tried to get his breathing under control. All was still quiet; no one had noticed him.

Frodo took a strange pleasure in the knowledge that he was stealthy enough to get in and out without even the dogs noticing him. The thought that this was the quality that earned Bilbo a place in Gandalf's adventure with the dwarves all those years ago made Frodo smile slightly.

The smile faded as he looked down at the mushrooms in his hands. What would Bilbo think of what he was doing? Frodo continued to stare at the mushrooms as tears pricked his eyes. The delicious fungi were round and perfect, lying in his palms. Frodo could almost taste them melting in his mouth, although he hadn't yet eaten the ones he'd stolen earlier.

The sight disgusted him, and he threw the handful back to the ground in sudden horror. What was the matter with him? This was not your everyday, boys-will-be-boys mischief; he was nicking mushrooms from Farmer Maggot. If he were caught, no one would be laughing off the consequences. Aside from further souring the relations between the Brandybucks and the local farmers who sided with Maggot, Frodo's relatives would be furious with him. The punishment didn't bear thinking about; Rory would have to make an example of him to appease Maggot. But this wasn't what had made him throw down the mushrooms; he had been, and still was, bitter enough to risk it.

He had forgotten about Bilbo. His dear uncle might forgive him, but Bilbo was responsible for him now; Old Rory and the others would be even more furious with Bilbo, for failing to keep Frodo in line and allowing him to cause so much trouble. Frodo was bitterly angry that he was stuck with no parents, but it would only compound his shame to repay Bilbo's kindness so shabbily.

Frodo scowled, even angrier with himself now for being so careless in the cabbage field. He must not get caught, that was all there was to it. He would leave now and not come back; it wasn't a game anymore and he had been thoughtless and selfish to think it was.

The tweenager held very still and listened as he carefully scanned the farm buildings. He heard and saw no one. Frodo's throat was dry as he made his way swiftly across the cabbage field to the shelter of the corn; the reckless enjoyment was gone now.

As Frodo reached the highest point of the gentle slope, the road came into view beyond the corn. Something was there which hadn't been before: a wagon. He recognized Gustaroc sitting on the driver's bench, and Bolo was looking up at him from the ground.

He was too far to hear clearly, but some snatches of the conversation reached Frodo's sensitive ears in the still air.

"How was business, Dad?" he heard Bolo ask, almost tentatively.

"Fine," Gus answered shortly. "Stay out of trouble?"

"Yes."

"I'd best be on my way, I have matters to attend to before nightfall," Gus said, hardly glancing at Bolo.

"Can I come?"

"You know better than to ask that," Gus snapped impatiently. He cracked the reigns, urging the pony into a brisk walk.

As Frodo stood looking at Bolo, standing alone in the road, a loud bark sounded from behind him, followed shortly by more barking, and finally angry yelling.

Frodo could have smacked himself; he was standing just a few feet short of the corn, easily visible among the cabbages. Frodo's instincts screamed at him to run, but the three enormous dogs were almost upon him, and the approaching hobbit was near enough to recognize him. He was in deep trouble whether he ran or stood his ground, and he had already brought enough shame to his kin without trying to run away on top of it.

Frodo closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides, determined not to move as the dogs circled around him. He was reasonably certain they were well-trained enough not to hurt him…

Their snarls filled his ears, and Frodo felt hot breath on his ankle just before one of the beasts gripped his trouser leg and tore at it, growling.

"Here, Grip! Fang! Heel!" The angry voice was getting closer. "Heel, Wolf!"

Wolf released the torn hem of his trousers, and Frodo opened his eyes to find a broad thick-set hobbit with a round red face glaring at him furiously.

Farmer Maggot.