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Pearl of Great Price  by Lindelea


Chapter 35. Best Laid Plans

Verilard rode grimly beside Ferdi, blessing the lad’s silence. Behind them he heard talk and laughter—laughter! Boar hunting was a dangerous business at best. There was no room for jesting here. He pulled his pony to a stop.

 ‘What is it?’ the Thain said, coming up on his other side.

 ‘Sir,’ Verilard said shortly. ‘If you wouldn’t mind sending away the tweens and those who think this a laughing matter, I would be beholden to you.’ His nerves were ragged as it was.

 ‘And Ferdibrand?’ Ferumbras said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘Ferdi’s my helper, and a steadier hobbit I’ve yet to find for all his tender years,’ Verilard said. ‘But a boar hunt is deadly serious, Sir, and likely more than not to be deadly to any who fail to pay proper heed.’

Ferumbras turned to Isumbold, riding at his flank. ‘See to it,’ he said. Isum nodded and reined his pony around. They didn’t hear what was said apart from a few protests which were quickly quelled, and then nearly half the hobbits turned their ponies back in the direction of the Great Smials.

 ‘They’ll live to feast on fresh roast boar,’ Verilard said. ‘That’s something.’

Ferumbras smiled and nodded. ‘I’m sure they’ll thank you later,’ he said.

 ‘They may, and then again they may not,’ Verilard said philosophically. He nudged his pony into motion again.

Reaching one of the fields on the far side of the great hill to the West of the Great Smials, he reined in again and pointed. There was no need for words. The young growing plants had been uprooted, ploughed under, trampled, torn, eaten. Much of the field had been ruined. ‘A fair sized sounder,’ Verilard said. ‘Quite a few swine, I’d say. The field’ll have to be replanted, and who knows how many others they’ve ruined in the past few days?’

 ‘We’d have had to do something about them even if they hadn’t gone after the lad and his dog,’ Ferumbras said. ‘They’re a menace to crops, not to mention unwary hobbits minding their own business, off on a picnic or whatnot. You’ve been scouting the last few days; what’ve you found?’

 ‘The ground is well-watered by all the rain we've had this Spring,’ Verilard said. ‘Almost boggy in the lowlands, they like that. There’s a marshy place not far along where I found spoor and signs they were settling in there. From the tracks we have several adults and a raft of little ones.’

 ‘Roast suckling pig,’ Ferumbras said with a satisfied smile.

Verilard gave him a sharp glance. ‘We’ve got to catch ‘em first,’ he said dryly.

 ‘I have complete confidence in you, Veri,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Lead on.’

Low clouds had rolled in with the dawn. A drizzly rain commenced as they reached the outskirts of the marshland. Verilard dismounted, spear at the ready though he expected little trouble this early in the game. Wild swine were shy and likely to stay in their hidey-holes, but you never knew for sure what they’d do, especially with young to protect... He walked forward studying the ground, Ferumbras and Ferdi to either side. The hobbits of the escort followed in the Thain’s footprints like shadows, tense, alert, their own bows strung and arrows with wicked hunting tips nocked. At the Thain’s signal the rest of the hunters remained with the ponies. It was probable that once Verilard had scouted out the ground, he’d split the group, the majority forming a line to sweep through the marshland, beating the wild swine out of their hiding places, into the bows and spears of the waiting hunters.

Verilard crouched and the hobbits with him stopped. He pointed silently and the Thain peered, then nodded. Verilard scanned the ground around them, peering suspiciously into the undergrowth, then stood to move cautiously to the scats he’d found. Nudging the droppings with his spear, breaking them up and examining the evidence, he said in a low voice, ‘Looks like they’ll have settled in here, for they’ve been eating very well indeed by all indications.’

 ‘Eating well of Great Smials crops!’ Ferumbras snorted softly. ‘Well now they’ve had their supper it’s time to pay the innkeeper!’

Verilard smiled faintly and turned to wave to the riders to come up. In that same moment there was a snorting from the nearby brush and a great boar weighing twenty stone or more charged into the open, head down to bring to bear the razor-sharp tusks that gleamed wickedly. Grunting, small eyes glaring, the boar targeted the old hunter who stood a little ahead of the group.

Ferdi pulled back the arrow he had held ready and let fly. The arrow flew true, lodging in the thick skin that armoured the beast for nearly his entire length. The boar gave a squeal more of annoyance than hurt and changed its direction in order to trample and slash the teen. Verilard yelled a warning, bringing his spear to bear even as arrows from the hobbits of the escort impacted the beast. The spears still strapped to their saddles some yards away might have had more effect. Ferdi leaped aside at the last minute and the boar passed close enough that its bristles raked his unprotected forearm.

With an agility that belied its bulk the boar turned furiously to renew the attack. The Thain’s bright cloak drew its eye and it charged.

***

It was nearly time for elevenses before Mistress Lalia was finished with the domestic affairs for the morning: choosing menus for the coming week, dictating the sequence of spring-cleaning, ordering the sewing of new frocks for the warmer weather, and a flock of other sheep to be herded in the proper direction for the smooth running of the Great Smials. Hobbits bustled in and out of the Thain's study.

 ‘Well,’ she said at last, dismissing Adelard to carry out the latest of her orders, ‘there’s a well-spent morning. I’ve earned a rest.’

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Pearl said, as was expected of her.

Lalia glanced at her sharply. ‘You’ve been rather quiet and out of sorts all morning,’ she said.

Pearl smiled. ‘Not out of sorts at all, Mistress,’ she said lightly. ‘I haven’t had much to say.’ She wondered what Lalia herself would have to say at teatime when Ferumbras made his announcement. Quite a few Tooks ought to be gathered in the great room to hear about the progress of the hunt.

 ‘That’s one thing I like about you, girl,’ Lalia said approvingly. ‘You don’t chatter on about nothing, but make your words count for something.’ She gave a nod. ‘Don’t you think I’m not grateful for all you do.’

 ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Pearl said with a smile. She was always careful to turn a pleasant face to the Mistress. To show one’s true feelings as anything but cheerful and nonchalant was to be vulnerable to Lalia’s whims, whether false sympathy put on for effect, or stinging sarcasm aimed with precision. ‘You are too kind,’ she added.

 ‘Indeed,’ Lalia said, puffed up by the praise. ‘Well,’ she said again. ‘At this rate we won’t get our breath of fresh air this morning! Let us be brisk!’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Pearl said, drawing the shawl from the chair and tucking it around Lalia’s shoulders.

 ‘Fuss, fuss, fuss,’ Lalia complained with a complacent smile.

 ‘A rug for your knees, I think, Mistress,’ Pearl said, suiting action to words. ‘While the dawn was bright, Steward Adelard did say something about a mist rolling in.’ She made sure the knitted coverlet was clear of the wheels and then said cheerily, ‘I do believe we’re ready!’

 ‘We’d have been already taking the air at the Great Door if you didn’t fuss so!’ Lalia snapped.

 ‘Yes, Mistress, I’m a terrible one for fussing,’ Pearl said calmly, opening the study door and returning to the chair to push Lalia into the corridor. She’d grown quite used to the heavy chair and its heavier occupant. The journey down the corridors to the Great Door was quite pleasant, with Lalia nodding graciously to left and right and greeting the Tooks and servants who stopped to wish her good day.

At last they reached the Great Door. Pearl stopped the chair short, resting a hand on Lalia’s shoulder. ‘A moment, Mistress,’ she said firmly, ‘until we see what sort of day we have to behold.’

 ‘Fuss, fuss, fuss,’ Lalia clucked contentedly.

Pearl stepped forward to tug at the heavy iron ring in the centre of the round door, pulling until the Door began to move on its well-oiled hinges. She swung wide the Door and paused to take a deep breath of the damp air. ‘It’s turned quite damp, Mistress,’ she said, turning to Lalia. ‘Are you sure you ought to...?’

 ‘Nonsense,’ Lalia snapped. ‘Fresh air never hurt a body! Come now, girl, look sharp!’ She jerked in the chair, moving it forward, and Pearl hastened from the door to take the handles once more and push Lalia nearly to the threshold.

 ‘Now Pearl!’ Lalia scolded. ‘How many times to I have to tell you? Right up to the threshold, and none of this hanging back! I want to see the gardens, not hear rumour of them!’ She always pressed to the limit, took as much as they’d give her, more if at all possible.

Pearl obediently pushed the chair a little, until the front wheels bumped the threshold and stopped. ‘That’s as far as you go, Mistress,’ she said. ‘I won’t be responsible for pushing your chair too near the stairs.’

Lalia had felt the bump and relaxed, smiling, knowing that the wheels were resting against the raised lip of the doorway and she’d won as much ground as was prudent.

There in the doorway they stayed, watching the low clouds rolling over the near hills, shrouding the valleys in fog and mist. The stones of the courtyard were dark; moisture beaded the plants in the gardens to either side of the stairs. Lalia breathed deeply. ‘There’s nothing like fresh air,’ she sighed. When Pearl suggested that they go in, Lalia baulked. ‘Just a few more moments,’ she said. ‘Look! The Sun is trying to break through. Let us wait to greet her!’

 ‘Yes Mistress,’ Pearl said for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. In truth she was in no rush to go on with the day. After teatime, life as she knew it would be over and she’d be starting a new life as a new hobbit. Pearl the farmer’s daughter would be well gone. As the Thain’s intended, moreover, all the friendships and easy relations she had with the other Tooks and servants would be transformed into something else. What, she wasn’t quite sure. She suppressed a sigh and squared her shoulders as her mother’s voice came back to her. We cannot always have what we want, so we’ve just got to make the best of what we have.

The Sun found a small hole in the clouds and smiled through, turning drops of moisture into sparkling jewels. Pearl heard the Mistress give a sigh of satisfaction and pleasure. ‘Look at that, girl,’ Lalia said grandly, with a sweep of her arm to encompass the gardens. ‘Tell me, “what other Hobbit is so rich as we, with all these jewels and treasures to see?” ’

The next line of the old song came to Pearl’s mind. But kettle and hearth and home are fine, and all the better for being mine. She answered only, ‘It is a glorious sight, Mistress.’

But Lalia’s attention had been caught by dark shapes emerging from the fogbank to the west. ‘What is that?’ she said, leaning forward to peer, blinking in irritation. ‘Tell me!’

 ‘I don’t see,’ Pearl said. ‘Hobbits, carrying something... a pony...’

 ‘Nonsense!’ Lalia snapped. ‘Why would hobbits carry a pony?’

Pearl hadn’t meant to say that at all; she’d seen a pony just behind the group of laden hobbits, being led, not ridden. On its back... she gasped, hand leaving the chair to press her bodice, for suddenly the moisture laden air was ominously heavy and difficult to draw into her lungs. The pony’s burden...

 ‘What is it?’ Lalia said, her voice rising in aggravation and the beginnings of fear. She didn’t see as well as she ought, but she saw enough. ‘Ferumbras!’ she gasped.

Playful Sun found another opening in the clouds and peeked through, casting mischievous beams on the slow-moving group. Hobbits bearing another hobbit wrapped in a cloak the colour of sunshine... a cloak stained with splotches of bright crimson dulling to purple-brown. The pony bore another hobbit shrouded in cloaks and laid gently over the saddle. More hobbits came into view, limping, leaning on their fellows.

Too late, Pearl grabbed at the heavy rolling chair. Lalia, for all her bulk, had stood, tangling her feet in the footrests, jerking the chair forward. It was a mercy for the girl that she missed her hold, for the weight of Lalia and the chair would have carried her as well in the terrible tumble that resulted as Mistress and chair somersaulted down the stairs. Lalia’s keening wail cut off abruptly halfway down and she came to rest in eerie silence.

 ‘Mistress!’ Pearl gasped, half-falling down the stairs in her haste to reach Lalia. On her knees beside the hulking figure, she reached out a trembling hand, hearing cries from the courtyard. Fetch a healer! Call Bittersweet!

A hand touched Pearl’s shoulder and then a cloakless, blood-spattered Ferumbras pushed past her, kneeling by his mother’s side, pleading with her to speak. Her head swimming, Pearl looked past him, seeing Isumbold laid down upon the stones by the weary and bloodstained hobbits who’d carried him. He’d been the one wrapped in the Thain’s cloak, borne slowly back to the Smials from a hunt gone terribly wrong.

The world spun about Pearl. She’d heard plenty of threats from Mistress Lalia about fainting and now she realised with an odd detachment that she was the one about to faint. She welcomed the darkness that closed about her.





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