Chapter 4. Just Before Elevenses: Tookbank (new diggings); South Farthing

The charges had been calculated, the holes drilled, the tubes inserted, fuses hanging like so many rat-tails. Everard wiped sweat from the back of his neck and once more blessed the King of Gondor.

Before Gandalf had sailed from the Grey Havens (no matter what one would want to say about the wizard and his reputation for bringing trouble with him), he’d given King Elessar the secret of black powder, that the wonder of fireworks should not be lost from Middle-earth. He’d told the King about other uses for black powder, and the King had considered long before deciding to share the secret.

The dwarves were a shade too aggressive, perhaps, and might not have used the black powder in their excavations at any rate, seeing how reverently they chipped away in their diggings. Long life makes for careful work, or perhaps it’s the other way around. So the dwarves are fond of saying. Everard smiled, remembering the time he spent at the Lonely Mountain, sent there by Thain Peregrin in order to learn more of digging and delving.

Elessar had decided that the peaceable hobbits could make good use of the black powder in their excavations, and he had been correct in his estimation. The Master of Buckland and his chief engineer had learned much in a visit to Lake Evendim, had brought the secret and barrels of powder back to Buckland, used the powder and refined its use until with the help of the powder a new smial could be built in a few days, a series of storeholes in a few weeks, even in the most stubborn rock face. The stuff also was handy in snuffing wildfires. Last but not least the inhabitants of the Shire enjoyed the fireworks; though perhaps not as elegant as Gandalf’s they were still bright and colourful. There might be other uses for the powder, but none among hobbits was curious enough to discover any.

An assistant finished braiding the last of the fuses into the oiled candlewicking that ran back to where Everard and the rest of the workers waited. He waved his arms and Everard lifted his horn to his lips, blowing two long blasts, and two more, and two more again, the old signal for “Danger! Stay clear!”

The assistant trotted back to the group, panting a little in the heat. ‘Sure looking forward to getting underground,’ he said when he reached them. ‘It’s always nice to dig in the cool earth.’ Hobbits with flags, standing well to either side of the blast zone, waved flags to indicate that the area was clear.

 ‘Would you like to do the honours?’ Everard asked Lem Sandybank.

The latter broke into a wide grin. ‘Would I!’ he said with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve been hearing about you and your magic powder for years! Never thought I’d get to see it in action.’

 ‘Never knew Tookbank had such stubborn rock,’ Everard replied. ‘The rains will return any time now, and if we don’t have a foothold dug, we’ll have to come back in the summertime.’ He stuffed his pipe with pipeweed, lit a taper and got his pipe going well, then handed the taper to Lem with a nod. ‘Go ahead,’ he said.

Lem touched off the candlewicking and the watching hobbits lowered themselves to their bellies to watch the smouldering run. A most satisfying rumble resulted and a cloud of dust went up.

 ‘That’s got it,’ Everard started to say, only to falter as the rumble continued, instead of dying away as it ought. Indeed, it intensified as the earth beneath them began to tremble.

 ‘Is that usual?’ Lem said, then gasped as the solid ground beneath him began to rock violently. Horrified, the hobbits grasped at the ground, but it was no refuge. Lem had the terrible feeling that the earth was trying to shake them loose, angered by the blast he’d set off. Desperately he clenched his fists in the grass, seeking some sort of anchor in a world gone mad.

***

An Elf and a Dwarf were riding through the South Farthing on a tall elf-horse, looking with interest at the hobbits who stopped their tasks to wave and gesticulate.

 ‘We’re invited for elevenses it seems,’ the Dwarf grunted.

 ‘Ah,’ answered his companion. ‘I hate to disappoint them.’

 ‘Do you suppose we can get any beer?’ Gimli said reflectively.

 ‘At this time in the morning?’ Legolas said, then rubbed his chin. ‘The South Farthing is known throughout the Shire for its wines...’

Gimli gave a bark of laughter. ‘In any event their larders will be well-stocked,’ he said. ‘I still remember my father’s stories about Bilbo’s pantries.’

 ‘True,’ Legolas said. ‘If we make a good meal now we can ride straight through to the Great Smials...’

 ‘And “be there in time for tea”,’ Gimli said, quoting the hobbity proverb for arriving in good time.

 ‘Perhaps not tea,’ Legolas said literally. ‘But by late supper, in any event.’ He murmured a few words in his own tongue and patted the horse’s shining neck. The horse snorted and tossed its head.

 ‘He says he could be there in time for tea if he wanted to,’ Gimli grunted.

 ‘If we went at a gallop all the way,’ Legolas agreed, ‘but there’s no need for that.’ He turned the horse’s head into the lane and they ambled into the farmyard.

 ‘Well come and well met!’ the farmer was shouting. ‘Gimli and Legolas! It must be you, for what other of the Fair Folk and the Delvers would ride together?’ Hobbit children clustered behind him, staring in awe.

 ‘You have the advantage of us,’ Legolas smiled, while Gimli scowled happily at the recognition and stroked his beard. No matter how many dwarves travelled the roads of the Shire, the hobbits never quite got used to seeing beards.

 ‘Farmer Mallow at your service,’ the farmer said with a bow.

 ‘And at...’ Legolas began, only to break off as the earth quivered beneath their feet. The horse threw up its head and whistled, the farm dogs barked, the cows lowed, the ponies neighed, the chickens... to put it succinctly, every living creature on the farm expressed its surprise and dismay. The hobbit children clung together, and the farmer’s wife, standing in the doorway, gave a shriek of alarm.

Several tiles slid from the roof of the dwelling with a clatter, and an old shed collapsed in a pile of splintered wood and dust before the rumbling died away and the earth stood once more solid and steady beneath their feet. The farmer’s wife stumbled to her brood, falling on her knees to envelop them in her trembling arms, sobbing in reaction. The farmer, released from his horrified thrall, hurried to embrace her and murmur reassurances, though he himself was not sure what had happened.

Gimli knew at once. ‘An earth shake!’ he growled. ‘A subsidence somewhere.’

 ‘Earth shake?’ the farmer said, his own voice none too steady.

Swiftly the dwarf stooped and drew a series of concentric circles in the dust. Pointing to the centre, he said, ‘The disturbance is worst here, but the effects spread out, growing smaller with distance.’

 ‘Is this the centre?’ the farmer said. ‘You mean, we had the worst of it, and there’s naught worse to fear?’

 ‘I didn’t say that,’ the dwarf corrected. At the hobbits’ puzzled looks, he explained, ‘I don’t know where the centre was. This could be it, as you said, but this could also be one of the outer rings, and the shaking was much worse elsewhere.’

 ‘How would we know?’ the farmer asked, and Gimli shrugged. These people were not travellers, he knew. Not much point in telling them to pick a direction and walk, taking note of whether damage grew less or worse.

 ‘There might be more shakes,’ was all he said. ‘These things happen in company. If you do feel the ground begin to move again,’ he added, ‘get yourselves outside. The next shake could be worse.’ He nodded significantly to the collapsed shed, and the farmer nodded.

 ‘I was forgetting,’ Farmer Mallow said suddenly as the two travellers moved to remount the elf-horse. ‘We wished to offer you the hospitality of our home. We were just about to sit down to elevenses...’

 ‘Another time, perhaps,’ Legolas said with a bow. ‘With this untoward happening we wish to reach our destination as quickly as may be.’

The farmer nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I certainly understand. If you come back this way, I shall hold you to it!’

Legolas laughed. ‘You do that,’ he said. He helped Gimli onto the horse and lightly sprang into the saddle. ‘Fare well!’

 ‘And you!’ the farmer answered. The family watched the two ride away and then made a quick tour of the farm to assess damages. Not much was wrong, and nothing that couldn’t be fixed save the old shed which the farmer had planned to pull down anyhow. The shake had saved him some work. It was an ill wind that didn’t blow anybody any good. Much reassured, the family sat down to enjoy their elevenses, only a little disappointed that the visitors couldn’t stay.