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As the Gentle Rain  by Lindelea

Chapter 8. To Sing for His Supper

The Man straightened and stepped back, looking well-pleased as he gazed at Ferdibrand on the hearth. There was a horrid stench of burning wool. Before Pimpernel could overcome her horror and launch herself into the room in vain effort, several things happened. Merry reeled off the oversized sofa, pulling his sword from its sheath. Ferdi stiffened with a cry and began to struggle.

 ‘That’s right, Little Took,’ the Man sang softly. ‘Dance for me, now. I’ve waited years to watch you dance.’ Ferdi writhed, seeking purchase, and somehow in his twisting he was able to roll away from the fire, out of the hearth, onto the stones.

The ruffian lost his satisfied look and stooped to push the hobbit back into the flames, but Merry’s feeble blow caught him and he turned, more distracted than hurt. Ferdi ended on his belly on the floor, his chin thrown back, his desperate gaze locked with Pimpernel’s. She read in his look a plea to hide herself, save herself, not to throw her life away. She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes, but the moment for action had passed. The ruffian had wrested Merry’s sword away and now stood over the Master of Buckland, sucking at a cut on his arm and staring down at the helpless hobbit.

 No, Ferdi moaned, summoning great effort, and Pimpernel nodded at last, forcing herself from the doorway. She moved not a moment too soon, for the ruffian’s attention was drawn by Ferdi’s plea and he might have seen Pimpernel had she not pulled back.

 ‘What’s that, Fox?’ he said pleasantly. ‘Cannot quite find the right note to sing? Do not worry, we’ll...’ He swayed and grasped at his head. ‘But...’ he said. ‘What is this?’

Pimpernel’s hopes rose as the ruffian cried wildly, ‘What madness is this? What am I thinking?’ ...only to be dashed with a chill as he continued. ‘This is not the way to serve honoured dinner guests! Why, the roast must be properly prepared before it is put on the fire, or there will be no feast!’

Breaking into a happy song he stomped to the door, jerking it open. The blizzard blew in, wind and scouring snow, but it hardly seemed dangerous to the hobbits now. Pimpernel began to creep from the bedroom, but Ferdi breathed once more, ‘No!’

Though he could not manage another word, his eyes spoke volumes. The Man had left the door open and would be back within seconds. Don’t let him catch you, Nell!

Pimpernel bit her lip and pulled out of sight again as the stomping boots returned, accompanied by a dragging sound. She was not about to lie fast and listen to her husband and cousin foully murdered! Still, if she wanted to have an effect and not end a hapless victim herself, she had to find a weapon... Slowly, keeping one ear cocked to the madman’s rambling cheer, she made her way around the sleeping room.

The door slammed. ‘The room is chilled,’ the Man said, ‘chilled indeed. We’ll build up the fire and soon take the chill off again.’ As he worked he continued to talk to his unwilling guests. ‘No, no, there’s no need for you to stir yourselves to help! I’ll have the fire mended in three shakes of a lamb’s tail, see if I don’t. Fire and me, we go way back; yes, we have quite the friendship.’

Pimpernel heard the dragging sound again, something heavy, wood perhaps. The madman confirmed her impression. ‘A fence rail,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you noticed several, piled upon the porch outside?’ He paused as if waiting for answer, then said, ‘No, no, not for firewood. The Rohirrim left me firewood enough. It takes strength and determination to remove a fence rail, you know, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.’

Softer sounds, that Nell could not quite make out, interrupted the flow of words. ‘It was the young lord of the Mark,’ the ruffian said. ‘He was the one who gave me the idea. He was much too tall, you know. These Riders are awfully tall; they have to be, to fit their pride.’

There was another short silence and the Man said, ‘When you have a roast too big to fit on the fire all at once, you roast it in little bits, you see? Tie it on to the pole, shove the end of the pole over the fire, and as it burns away, push it in further. You see? And while we’re waiting for our supper we’ll sing together. Ah, we’ll have a merry time, we will!’

Pimpernel peeped into the main room to see the madman tying Ferdi and Merry to the pole, back to back. He stepped back to survey the result, nodding. ‘We must do this up right, we must,’ he said. ‘Old Pilgrim grows hungry, and there’s been no fresh meat since that young lord of Rohan departed... only that salty dried stuff they gave us. Now let me see...’ He debated with himself, looking down upon his handiwork. ‘Fire’s nearly ready!’ he announced cheerily. ‘Hmmm,’ he added. ‘Shall we peel you, or roast you in your jackets like the taters you little ones are so fond of?’

 ‘You devil,’ Merry managed, but the ruffian only laughed.

 ‘A poor enough host I am indeed, to keep you waiting this way,’ he said. ‘But I have worked out the problem, you’ll be happy to know.’

He bent to the hobbits again, drawing a sharp knife from its sheath. ‘It is too cold to peel you, I think, for you’d hardly sing well, were you shivering. We’ll just peel away as it becomes necessary. Slow roasting is the best, you know!’ He slit the hobbits’ trousers up to the knees and rolled the fabric out of the way, then began roughly scraping the curls from the tops of their feet. ‘That smell of singed wool, still hanging on the air,’ he said conversationally, ‘it reminds me to prepare properly. We must do things properly!’

Pimpernel forced herself from the doorway, striking out in redoubled search. The madman was too meticulous a housekeeper, and little rewarded her efforts, until... Under one of the beds she found a bundle rolled in cloth which turned out to be a cloak of rich Rohan green. Unrolling it, she found a mail shirt such as the Rohirrim wore, indeed, a full suit of clothes and a sword nearly as tall as herself. She could not even lift the thing. With a chill she realised she was holding all that remained of the “young lord of Rohan”.

Behind her the madman resumed his one-sided conversation. ‘Don’t worry!’ he assured the hobbits. ‘There’s plenty for all! Why, when the marrow’s been sucked from the bones and the scraps have been boiled into soup, there are still the ponies in the stable! We’ll eat well, even if the storm lasts a week! And by then the young prince ought to be riding by, to check on an old pilgrim. He promised me he’d come to dinner the next time, and I aim to hold him to it!’

Beyond the bundle an empty bottle lay. Nell picked it up; it was twice the size of a bottle from the Shire. She hefted it, considering. Yes, it would do the trick, she thought, if only she could use it well. Creeping to the doorway, she peered out cautiously.

The ruffian had pushed the end of the pole over the fire, but the hobbits’ feet were still outside the firebox. ‘Not long now,’ the ruffian informed them. ‘Why, it’s nearly burned through! Soon I’ll shove it in further and we’ll begin to sing.’

He looked into their horrified eyes. ‘You don’t think you could sing? Let me reassure you!’ He settled himself comfortably on the furry rug. ‘The stuff in the wine was not poison, no it was not, for we’d hardly want to taint the meat for supper, now, would we?’

He shook his head and continued sententiously. ‘No, we would not. It is a wondrous stuff, it is, from the dark hills beyond the White City. Dark things roam there even now, great spiders among them; o yes, they roam in Mirkwood as well, and some of the woodsmen hunt them and are hunted by them.’

He got up to push the pole further into the hearth; the hobbits’ feet were dangerously near the flames now. Sitting back down, he said, ‘You know that spiders have a sort of juice they shoot into their meat, don’t you, that doesn’t spoil the meat nor kill it, for they like it fresh, o yes, they do! It just makes the meat more cooperative for a bit.’ He looked fondly down at the hobbits. ‘If she shoots the juice into the meat, it makes her little guest limp as if it had no bones, ah yes, it does. The stuff doesn’t work quite as well if you drink it, but it works well enough for our purposes. You’ll feel miserable in the morning, I fear, and for some days after, but the stuff won’t kill you.’

He chuckled, ‘As a matter of fact, you’ll find yourselves well able to carry a tune while our dinner is roasting. Why, the young lord of Rohan and I sang for a wonderful long time before we supped together.’ He bent to eye the pole, blazing over the flames, and nodded. ‘Roast’s on!’ he chortled. ‘Won’t be long now before we sit down to eat! But let us sing a few of the old songs, first!’

He crouched to shove the hobbit-laden pole further into the hearth. Pimpernel rushed forward on silent hobbit feet, bottle held at the ready. Quick as a weasel the Man turned to meet her rush, but lost his balance in his crouched position.

Hobbit lasses can throw stones as well as any hobbit lad... Nell hurled the bottle with all her strength and it smashed, on target, against the ruffian’s head. He half-rose, extending a menacing hand towards her, and then crumpled to the floor.

----
A/N: Thanks to Llinos for suggesting spider venom!





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