CHAPTER 2
Fatty sat in his parent’s front garden under a tree; Folco was sitting next to him, playing his flute. That flute was his friend’s most cherished possession, given to him by Frodo, on Frodo’s last birthday in the Shire. Although Fatty seriously doubted it, Folco quite believed that it was carved from an oliphaunt’s tooth. It had a wonderful sweet tone.
Life in the Shire had just not been the same since Frodo had sold Bag End to Lotho. The greedy hobbit thought just living there gave him more importance than he had; it was obvious that he had been buying up property all over the Shire. He had been trading away South, and had more money than anyone had realized. And now Lotho had brought in those Big Folk he had been using in the Southfarthing, and was having them enforce all kinds of “Rules”--whatever whim he thought of in his twisted mind.
Just then Fatty’s father came up the path from the road. Odovocar Bolger had quite a worried expression on his face.
“What’s the matter, Father?”
“A gang of Lotho Pimple’s men are in Frogmorton tearing down The Floating Log. They said the order has come from their “Chief” that inns are now forbidden. I think your mother and I are going to move up our journey to Tuckborough, else we may not be able to make it. Melilot’s parents are coming tomorrow to take her home from her visit to your sister, and much as I am loathe to say it, I think Estella should go with her to Buckland. Crossing the River is dangerous, but it is even more dangerous for your sister to be here around these ruffians and louts that Pimple has brought in.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Fatty.
“If you would stay here with Estella and Melilot until tomorrow, when Marmadas and Lilac arrive to pick them up, I would appreciate it. Then you can come join us at the Great Smials. I am loathe to leave Brock Hall unattended, but right now, there is safety in numbers.” He turned to Folco, who had stopped playing and was listening with a puzzled expression. “Folco, you and your parents might want to consider coming as well.”
“I’ll ask them, sir.” But it was clear that Folco did not really understand the situation. “I think I’ll stay here until Fatty leaves, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Folco, you know you are always welcome here.”
_____________________________________________
Odovocar and Rosamunda had left after luncheon. Rosamunda was not happy with this situation at all; she was not ready in her mind for the visit to Tuckborough, and had hoped to wait until the seamstress had her new dresses ready. Usually, she would have had her way, but not this time. Her husband was too worried about the all the Big Folk, and he intended to see his wife and daughter safely out of the way.
“Do not leave your sister alone. And they must stay in the house until Melilot’s parents arrive tomorrow,” were his last instructions to Fredegar.
“Yes sir, I understand,” Fatty answered solemnly.
The four young people spent the afternoon in the front room. The girls were working on their needlework, while Fatty read and Folco played on his flute. They had a quiet and pleasant afternoon, and then went to the kitchen to prepare tea.
“Fatty, we are almost out of eggs, and we need another loaf of bread, if we are to have breakfast tomorrow,” said Estella.
“I’m sorry, sister, but it can’t be helped. Father said you lasses are not to leave the house, and I’m not to leave you alone.”
“That’s all right,” said Folco, tucking his flute into his jacket pocket. “I can go to the market for you.”
“Oh, would you? That would be nice of you, Folco.” Estella was as fond of Folco as she was of her brother. The Boffin lad was actually like a second big brother to her, though often nicer to her than her real one. Folco could say some unexpected things from time to time, as he never thought before he spoke, but he never teased.
“Go ahead with your tea. I’ll be back before it’s finished.”
______________________________________________________
Teatime had come and gone. Fatty and the girls were not at first worried, as the amiable Folco had probably found some friends or acquaintances to chat with and had lost track of the time.
But then it began to get dark, and Fatty began to have a bad feeling--he dare not go in search of his friend, as he could not leave the girls alone in the house. Something had to be wrong. He had not had a feeling like this in the pit of his stomach since the night those Black Riders had come to Crickhollow.
Suddenly, there was a loud noise near the front door, a thud, a commotion, and the sound as of many footsteps running away.
The girls gasped and clutched at one another.
Fatty grabbed a poker from the fireplace, and cautiously made his way to the front hall.
Suddenly there was an urgent rapping on the door. “Fatty, please, open up!” The voice was that of Milo Burrows, who lived in Frogmorton.
Fatty flung open the door to a horrifying sight.
Standing there with Milo was his older son Mosco; lying on the doorstep was a battered and bloody form, that it took Fatty a few moments to recognize as his dear Folco.
“We must get him inside quickly, Fatty. I’ve sent Moro for a healer.”
Fatty and Mosco gently took up Folco, and brought him in, to lay him carefully on the settee in the front room. Estella and Meli began to sob hysterically. “What--” Fatty’s voice croaked, and he tried again. “What happened?”
Milo shook his head. “It was some of Lotho’s Men, with Ted Sandyman. They surrounded him--there must have been half a dozen at least. They--they beat him until he went down; then they kicked him, and--and stepped on him.” Milo’s voice broke at the last words, and he sobbed in horror.
Mosco’s voice was tight with anger. “None of us could get near him. After they finished tormenting him, Sandyman had them pick him up and bring him here. He said ’Let’s leave a little present for his friend Fatty. That’ll teach’em to upset the Chief.’ They brought him and dumped him on your doorstep; we followed as best we could without being seen, and that’s when I sent Moro for the healer.”
Fatty knelt by his friend, tears running unchecked down his face. “Oh, Folco, what have they done to you?” Folco’s breathing was shallow, and his eyes were glazed. His face was a bloody pulp. His left arm hung at an unnatural angle, and his left hand was completely crushed. Both his legs seemed to be broken. Blood was coming from his mouth.
Just then, Moro came rushing in, accompanied by Lavender Bunce, the healer. She flung her satchel down and got on her knees to examine her patient. She turned to the sobbing Estella. “Go get me some hot water, immediately.” Estella and Melilot fled to the kitchen.
She began to examine him with competent hands, but after only a few moments, she sat back sadly, and shook her head.
“His broken ribs have pierced his lungs. He will never make it.”
“No!” Fatty cried out furiously, “you have to do something!”
But it was already too late. The young hobbit had breathed his last.
“No! Folco!”
Milo and his sons restrained the hysterical Fredegar. Lavender turned to the girls who had come in with the hot water. It was too late for poor Folco, but she had herbs she could mix to make a sleeping draught for Fredegar. “Someone needs to go for the lad’s parents.”
The Boffins lived at the other end of Budgeford. Moro nodded, and slipped out on the unpleasant errand.
Fatty knelt weeping on his friend’s broken body. He felt something hard in Folco’s jacket, and reached in to take it out--it was the flute, bloodstained but undamaged.
“I’m going to make them pay, Folco,” he whispered, “for you, they will pay.”
_____________________________________________