Content warning: This chapter is firmly PG; for those with vivid imaginations, it's PG-13 or worse. If you wish to skip this chapter, a milder summary will be included at the beginning of Chapter 23 so you don't miss any vital plot threads.
Chapter 22. Under Cover
Halfway to the bramble patch by the somewhat-less-than-direct route Estella was taking, she felt Ferdi stumble. She stopped in her tracks to steady him, listening to the sounds of the Men around them – how close were they?
She was momentarily distracted as her guide sagged against her. She stiffened her spine and pulled his arm over her shoulders to support him and heard with dismay his gasp of pain, though he quickly stifled the sound and accepted her help, leaning heavily on her. They stood rooted a moment longer as Estella resumed listening: Men shouting to each other, crashing through the underbrush, and more difficult to hear but still clear were more stealthy movements, as of Men who thought they'd found some sign of their harassers and were trying to sneak up on them. Luckily, none of the latter noises were anywhere nearby.
Estella took a tentative step and felt Ferdi move with her. She nodded and turned her head towards him, breathing, 'Foot by foot,' and felt him nod in return. Together, they took another step, and then another, their progress no longer smooth – but at least it was steady.
At last, Estella discerned with a little help from the westering Moon that they were nearing the bramble patch – never having made a direct approach, but zigging and zagging ever closer since leaving the ruffians' nearby camp, even circling and retracing their steps to confuse any trail they might be leaving. On top of the circuitous route Estella had followed, as soon as she'd deposited Ferdi safely within the brambles' encompassing vines, she planned to emerge once more with a pine-bough broom and sweep away any traces they'd left near their temporary shelter.
Though Ferdi, in a healthy state, stood head-and-shoulders above her, she'd been fooled by his grace – as lithe as a cat, or perhaps a fox – and had never realised how heavy a burden the hobbit might be... could be... was, actually, in his current state. She was sweating heavily from her exertions by the time they reached the entrance she'd created, enough so that she worried about leaving a trail of droplets for the ruffians to follow.
She chased that gloomy thought away with, The morning dew will be coming down soon enough! The Moon has already disappeared behind the Western hills, and the sky above is not so dark as it was an hour ago... As she crouched down, it felt to her as if Ferdi grew even heavier; as if the ground beneath their feet was pulling him down, eager to welcome him. Not yet! she silently told the dirt. We've got to get him under cover first!
If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might have shaken her head at her nonsense. Talking to the earth beneath my feet as if we're working together! Honestly, Twig! What kind of talk is that? Are ye losing your wits?
But no, her wit seemed to argue. We of the Wood are part of the earth; the earth underfoot is our friend and protector! The ground gives us roots and greens, whilst the dirt helps us hide the gleam of skin from the ruffians that lurk and hunt hobbits for sport!
That's all very well, she answered the thought, but let us save philosophical conversations for after we're well hidden from these particular hobbit-hunting ruffians!
I cannot argue with that, her hidden thought whispered in response.
Estella found her voice, soft as it had to be. With her lips close to Ferdi's ear, she whispered. 'Here! I just need you to help me a little... I'm going to let you down now, and I'll hold up the vines with your sturdy stick. I just need you to drag yourself under cover. Can you do that for me?' She felt the tickle of his hair on her nose as he nodded. 'Good,' she breathed. 'Downsy-daisy!'
He lay a moment after she eased him to the ground, and she feared he'd swooned. Then she felt him reach forward with his hands and arms, and she hastily grabbed the walking stick that had hung from its strap on her wrist since she'd scooped it up what felt like a lifetime ago as they'd left the ruffians' camp. Thrusting the stick into the nearest brambles, she lifted them so that Ferdi could crawl under them without the threat of scratching or hampering thorns.
It seemed to take hours before Ferdi's feet disappeared, but of course it had only felt that way. Estella's nerves had jangled ever louder as she heard the ruffians' voices change direction, coming closer again, heading back towards the nearby clearing. She wanted to be undercover before any of them might stumble past this spot, whether deliberately searching or simply by chance!
But at last, under the faint light of the rapidly paling sky, she could see nothing of her companion. It was as if the tangle of vines had swallowed him whole. Quickly, she grabbed up the pine bough she'd left by the entrance and swept the ground in front of her and to both sides. On hearing Men's voices approaching too close for comfort, she shoved her branch-broom and Ferdi's walking stick deep under the sheltering leaves, dove to safety herself, and pulled her feet in – just in time! For the Men walked right over the ground she'd just swept, right past the entrance she'd created, right past their hidden quarry!
Past, her wit hissed at her as she remained frozen where she'd landed. They walked past! It's working!
Thus far, she argued. She worried briefly if she'd lost her wits like an old Mad Baggins, with these imaginary conversations, but her wits seemed to have a sense of humour, for an answer was whispered back to her, We're not lost! We're right here with you.
Now, her wit – if that's what it was – continued. Skoosh yourself deeper under cover! You know what to do! Pull Ferdi's cloak over the both of you, that the green may meld with the green of the leaves and cover anything that's not green!
Estella decided that her wit just might have more wit than she, herself, currently possessed. Even as she shook her head at the thought, she followed the order she'd been given – or had given herself? At this point, she was too exhausted to care.
Her eyes closed of themselves the moment she'd pulled Ferdi's cloak over to conceal both of them, but encroaching sleep was interrupted by an outcry from the nearby camp. The prisoner! Where'd he go! What've you done with him?!
With immense relief, she worked out from the argument that followed that the returning ruffians had found Ferdi's guard and thrown a bucket of water over him to rouse him. I didn't kill him, she thought, and drew a sobbing breath. Thanks to all that's good in the world, I didn't take his life!
The ruffians raised another hue and cry again, and soon large feet were trampling through the vicinity, and Men were beating the underbrush with clubs and sticks – but they left the brambles alone! Perhaps they thought that hobbits – even desperate ones – would not care to brave the wicked thorns.
Estella snuggled a little closer to Ferdi, for the dampness left by the sweat generated by her night-time endeavours now felt more chilling than warming. He lay unresponsive, neither moved nor tried to speak, and that was just as well. So long as the Men were searching so intently, with such grim purpose, it would be best to remain silent and motionless.
***
She wasn't aware that she'd slept – or swooned herself, perhaps – until she was awakened by the sound of many more Men arriving, both stomping booted feet and voices loud and coarse. And so she did not know if the ruffians who'd caught – and lost – Ferdi had continued searching until mid-day (for the Sun was smiling down through the leaves from high in the sky) or if they'd tired and quieted before now. In any event, they hadn't found the hidden hobbits.
Estella felt Ferdi move against her, and she raised her chin – she'd tucked her head under his chin as they'd slept – until she could look him in the eye. His eyes were open and aware! She hastily lifted a finger to his lips, urging silence, and he responded with the merest suggestion of a nod.
With nothing to do but listen to their surroundings, Estella listened with all her might. Some of what she heard was even amusing... or might have been, under other circumstances.
Someday you'll tell the story and laugh, her wit whispered deep within.
I rather doubt that, she retorted.
And you'll make your listeners laugh with you, even as they look at you with eyes filled with wonder, her wit persisted.
Don't think so highly of yourself, Estella warned. We're not out of this yet, not by a far cry.
Shhh, her wit cautioned. You're thinking too loudly.
Hah, she said to herself. That's just because you're losing the argument! She really had gone mad, she thought, or at the very least, she was in the process of becoming a smaller, younger, female version of a Mad Baggins. A Mad Bolger. Whatever.
The resident ruffians were talking over each other, describing their ordeal in the night.
'Dozens of them!'
'At least a score of Brandybucks, all chanting nonsense and throwing rocks!'
'Are ye daft! It was the Tooks! The Tooks, I tell ye!'
'They threw rocks, not arrows! D'you see any shafts quivering in the ground or the trees?'
'They would've recovered their arrows. Tooks always do! The only shafts they leave are those sticking out of the Men they've shot!'
'No one's been shot,' a cooler voice overrode the others. 'Is anyone missing?' Apparently not. The voice continued, rather sardonically. 'I see no holes in any of you,' it said. 'Bruises abound! So I think your attackers used only rocks to subdue the lot of you. Eight tall, strong Men,' and the speaker's tone dripped with sarcasm at this point, 'against – how many?'
'A dozen! Two, perhaps!'
'A score!' insisted another.
The voice of reason resumed. 'Tooks, I should think. Not Brandybucks. Use your heads, Men! (If you have any among you, that is...) Ben, here, thought the prisoner you lost was a Tookish spy, disguised as an old gaffer. So it stands to reason that it was a party of Tooks who rescued him out of your clutches. We're almost on the Tooks' doorstep, as it stands, while Buckland lies forty miles from here!'
A general grumble followed this speech.
'And so,' the newly come leader said in a scathing tone, 'you've routed us out for nothing! For the Tooks will be long gone by now, having stolen back across their borders under cover of night whilst the lot of you were tramping uselessly about, searching for a rabbit that's already in his burrow.'
Rabbits is as rabbits does, Estella thought. So rabbits must. Bless my little friends and relations. She thought she might never be able to force herself to eat another bite of rabbit stew, no matter how delicious it might smell, as long as she might live.
'All right, you louts,' the voice of authority said. 'We'll take a meal here – I see you've stew in the pot from last night? And we brought marching rations. And then we're to take you with us, back to Bywater.'
There was some protest from the resident ruffians, who'd apparently had it soft here, lying in wait for hobbits to pass by, but the new-come leader overruled them.
'You've served your purpose – outlasted your usefulness here. Why, you haven't sent more'n three rats to the Lockholes over the past fortnight! The word's gone out that Lotho's set a trap here, at least, so you're to return to the Boss for new orders.'
'New orders?' someone said. 'What new orders?'
'I don't have to tell you naught!' the leader snapped, but then he chuckled. 'But it's really too delicious, as our little rat-friends would say. Everything's food with them! Too bad we've gathered most of their harvest from last year, and are continuing to gather almost all they're growing or foraging now!'
Someone chuckled and said something about 'mushrooms in the stew'. At that, the talk broke off for the moment, and there was a general movement of large bodies. From the sound of it, the leader appointed guards to stand at various spots around the clearing, and a few to climb trees to watch for encroaching hobbits who might try to listen in on their talk.
Estella blessed the leafy vines that covered them from above as well as on all sides, along with Ferdi's deep-green cloak that made the hobbits under it, if they were visible at all through the leaves, resemble harmless shadows under the thorny vines.
The talk resumed. The Men who sat around the clearing were eating now, from the sound of it. Some spoke with their mouths full, and a few belches sounded here and there. Someone muttered that the stew was even better on the second day, and they ought to confiscate mushrooms oftener for the savour they added.
The talk was general, mostly concerning the "score of Tooks" that had attacked the ruffians' camp in the night and reclaimed their spy, who someone speculated "might even have been the Fox himself!"
You don't know the half of it, Estella thought to herself, and saw a faint grin briefly twist Ferdi's lips.
But then the new leader, evidently having finished his meal, called for attention. 'Now then,' he said. 'There's a new plan in the making... and it just might pull the Tooks down a peg or two... or better yet – I wonder just how many Tooks would fit into the Lockholes if we were to cram them in tight?' He paused and added, 'O' course, any that don't fit, we'll simply bury.'
A general laugh, coarse and raucous, answered these thoughts.
'O' course,' the leader said again, 'the Lockholes is too good for the Thain and his wife and daughters... I think the plan for them is a bit more sinister. Let us say they'll wish they were allowed to enjoy the hospitality of the Lockholes, with the fine quarters and toothsome food we provide our guests...'
'Dark, damp, bare cells, stale or mouldy bread, and soup made of mostly water and a few vegetable peels for flavour,' the hidden hobbits heard the ruffian sitting in a tree above their heads mutter.
Estella blinked at Ferdi's bleak expression. Evidently the description rang true to him, and she wondered what he knew, and how he knew it. And then, quite suddenly, she didn't want to know.
'Let us simply say that the Boss plans to make an example of the Thain and his family,' the leader said. 'A few half-Orcs have arrived from the South-lands, sent to bolster our efforts, and I believe the plan is to turn the chief rat and his wife and daughters over to them in the middle of the Bywater Market square, with as many Shire-rats as will fit herded into the space to watch the entertainment...' His laugh was chilling. 'Standing room only!' he said.
Estella wanted to hurl at the thoughts he was painting in her head, but luckily her stomach was echoingly empty. She hadn't ever thought of the lack of food as a boon before this moment, but now she blessed her hungry state, that she might not give their location away by being noisily sick.
Ferdi's teeth were clenched, and a muscle jumped in his jaw, but his eyes were tight shut as if to block out all vision. This was his nightmare, what he was risking his life to prevent, and now Estella knew with terrible clarity why he kept returning into danger to gather information for the Thain, and why Rosie and Hally continued to put their children at risk when they might otherwise have sought safety inside the Tookland.
But the ruffian leader had resumed speaking. 'You all know about the traps the Tooks have set all around their homeland,' he said. 'I'm sure that some of those here have even fallen into the pits they've dug, or stepped into the nooses and snares they've set. I've had the amusement of watching more than one of my companions suddenly hoisted into the air after springing a trap, hanging there upside down, bouncing at the end of the noose that reached out to grab their ankles, yelling!' He chuckled. 'Sometimes, I've even left them to dangle a day or two, just to encourage them to be more careful the next time!'
He paused, and his listeners either laughed or shouted acknowledgement.
'So here's the plan...' the leader said.
Ferdi was stiff, tense, listening hard. So was Estella, even though a large part of her wanted to put her hands over her ears to shut out the words.
'You know how disgustingly soft these Shire-rats are,' the leader said. 'Why, I remember how a Shirriff told me, not long after I arrived in this benighted country, that no Shire-rat had ever murdered another rat in the history of the Shire!'
'Bet he wasn't a Shirriff much longer!' some wit cried from the crowd.
'He wasn't, as a matter of fact,' the leader said. 'He was one of the first I sent to the Lockholes as a potential rebel, as I recall.'
A general laugh followed. 'Has he starved to death yet?' someone called.
'No, the vermin are quite tough, it seems,' the leader answered. 'I do believe he's managed to survive on the food we so generously provide, supplemented by gnawing at candle ends, if I'm not mistaken. At least, we've had to beat some of the prisoners because candle ends keep disappearing after the candles have burned out...'
'Thieving rats,' someone said.
'And so,' the leader resumed, 'we'll round up the good citizens of Bywater – or as many as we can, anyhow, and we'll pull more from Hobbiton and even Overhill if we must, and we'll march them before us to the borderland. We'll march them right into the Tookish traps! ...now won't that be an amusing sight, rat after rat stepping into snares and being thrown into the air, to bounce and dangle! And unlike our comrades, we can simply leave them there! No need to cut them down!'
Over the general chuckle that resulted at this mental picture, someone shouted, 'And leave the ones that fall into the pits too, I suppose!'
The leader affected such a reasonable tone that Estella could picture him spreading his hands to the sides. 'Why not, I ask you? I mean, o' course we'll throw down a rope to a poor wretch – one of our own, that is – who's fallen into one of the Tookish pits – though like their dangling fellows, sometimes I'll leave a Man in the pit for a day or three, to give him time to ponder his error – but I see no need to extend the same courtesy to vermin! ...if they should even survive the fall, that is, for the Tooks have dug their pits twice as deep as the height of one of us, to make it difficult for a Man to climb out. I should think such a fall would be likely to kill any of their fellow rats that stumbles in!'
Cold fury was replacing the sickness in Estella's stomach. She clenched her fists, finding the fierce gesture somehow satisfying.
'So we'll march the rat-folk of Bywater ahead of us to spring the Tooks' traps! Brilliant! I'd imagine those rebels never thought of that when they dug the pits and set their snares...'
'And once we're past the "no-Man's-land" they think will keep them safe, it's a clear shot to Tuckborough,' the leader concluded. 'Some of us will be on some of the larger ponies we've gathered, and we'll race to the Great Smials before the Thain even knows we're attacking, and gather him up – him and those dearest to his heart – and carry them to Bywater to await their fate as the witnesses are gathered up and brought to Bywater Market square...'
'Don't you think we ought to cut down the dangling rats and haul up the ones who survive falling into the pits, then?' someone said. 'For they could be witnesses...'
'No need,' the leader said. 'They'll be witnesses to their own deaths, after all, left to hang by their feet or moulder in a pit in the wild Green Hill country. No need for them to watch our Orkish friends at work when they'll have plenty of troubles of their own...'
'But when?' someone shouted. 'How soon?'
'Soon,' the leader promised grimly. 'By the end of the week, it seems. I'm told we're to await the arrival of a few more half-Orcs from the South who are eager to take part in the sport. Meanwhile, our little conquering force is forming in Bywater even as we speak...'
***