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A Conspiracy of Hobbits  by Dreamflower

Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 4, “A Shortcut to Mushrooms”

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CHAPTER 24

Merry went out to the stables and saddled one of the ponies. He was really beginning to feel quite alarmed. Though he still thought it barely possible they had lingered at an inn--and if that was so, he’d wring their necks for all this worry--it did not seem very likely any longer. Frodo knew the urgency of what he was doing, and though his cousin was unaware of it, so did Sam and Pippin.

As he rode past Brandy Hall and down to the Ferry, he ticked off other possibilities in his mind. Least dire, they had taken shelter to wait the rain out, and it had lasted longer west of the River. Not too likely. They had *not* taken shelter from the rain, and soaked through, either Pippin or Frodo had  become sick. Not Sam. Sam never got sick.

One of them had fallen and been injured. Pip was always climbing trees. Merry shuddered. He hadn’t just been trying to make Fatty feel better when he’d admitted to his fear of heights. Well, he had, but still, it was true. He remembered his terror when Pip was eight, and had gone up too high to come down. He screamed for Merry, who had gotten no further than the lowest branch before he, too, was paralyzed with fear. Frodo had to fetch both of them down. It was the first time in his life he had been truly angry at his Pip. What if Pippin had climbed a tree for some reason along the way, and fallen out?

He rode down to the River, and told the hobbit on duty at the Ferry landing that he would take himself across and leave it on the other side for his return. This was not something that was usually allowed, but he was, after all, the Son of the Hall, and there was no argument.

He led his pony aboard, and took up the pole. It was getting late.

Another possibility: they were lost. And if they were lost, it was because they were away from the road. Even away from the road, Pippin knew the area fairly well, and though it was some years past, Frodo should as well. If they were far enough away from the road to be lost, there was only one possible reason. Someone was after them.

And this led to the last possibility he wished to think of--the one that made his stomach clench.

Someone had found them.

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Sam was none too sure of this old Farmer Maggot, even if Mr. Pippin did vouch for him. Imagine him beating poor little Master Frodo, and setting those great dogs on him! Granted he should not’ve been trespassing after mushrooms, but lads will be lads, after all. Was a few mushrooms call to go beating on a little hobbit lad? Disgraceful, Sam thought it. Why when he caught little ones pilfering in the gardens, he just hauled them home to their parents by one ear. That usually did the trick. Well, his ale was none too bad, anyhow. Really, it was pretty good. He sipped quietly, as the old farmer told them of his encounter with the Black Rider, as they had come to think of their mysterious pursuer.

The farmer had come to the end of his tale, and was talking with Mr. Frodo now, guessing about why someone would be looking for him. Those guesses of his were a little too close for comfort, Sam thought. From the look on Mr. Frodo’s face, he thought so too.

But now Farmer Maggot was giving them an invitation. “I’ve a notion. It’s near sundown already, and we are going to have our supper; for we mostly go to bed after the Sun. If you and Mr. Peregrin and all could stay and have a bite with us, we would be pleased.”

From the smells issuing forth from the kitchen, Sam thought his stomach would be pleased as well, but he knew they could not stay. Mr. Merry was going to be frantic with worry as it was.

“And so should we!” said Frodo. “But we must be going at once, I’m afraid. Even now it will be dark before we can reach the Ferry.”

“Ah! but wait a minute! I was going to say: after a bit of supper, I’ll get out a small waggon, and I’ll drive you all to the Ferry. That will save you a good step, and it might also save you trouble of another sort.”

Now that was more like it, thought Sam, beginning to feel a bit more well disposed toward the farmer. He noticed the hopeful look on Mr. Pippin’s face, as well. The tweenager was probably right hungry. That lad was a bottomless pit. He hoped now that Mr. Frodo would say yes.

“In that case, Farmer Maggot, I will gratefully accept your invitation. We have been tramping for two days now, and would be glad to shorten the journey.”

Pippin grinned and gave a little bounce in his chair, and even Sam sighed and leaned back in his seat. It would be good to have a bit of rest and some good hobbit cooking.

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When Merry reached the western bank of the River, he hesitated. Which way should he go to look? He could head south, towards Rushey; or he could head north toward Stock; or he could continue west toward the Stockbrook.

After a bit of thought, he decided to head towards Stock. That was the most logical and likely way for them to have come. Pippin was pretty fond of The Golden Perch, and they would possibly have taken a meal there if they had come that way.

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Supper was plentiful and well cooked. Pippin thought he had never eaten such delicious mushrooms and bacon. And there had been a chicken pie and a huge pot of beans and potatoes cooked with a meaty ham-bone. Bashed neeps. Baked onions. Brown bread. Newly whipped butter. Soft farm cheese. For a sweet, pears and apples cooked with honey and raisins. The tweenager gave a contented sigh and patted his tummy. Tight as a drum. He probably wouldn’t be hungry again for a couple of hours, at least. He looked across the table at Frodo and Sam. They looked fairly sated as well.

Right now the guests were taking their ease with an after-dinner smoke while Farmer Maggot and his sons hitched up the waggon. A few minutes later one of them came to say all was ready, and the three guests rose to take their leave.

Frodo took one of the stout farmwife’s hands in both of his, and with a slight bow and a twinkle in his blue eyes, said, “We thank you for your kind hospitality and for a most excellent supper, Mrs. Maggot.”

She blushed and laughed and, surprisingly, showed a dimple that must have been a devastating feature in her youth. “Oh, now, Mr. Baggins, it’s always nice to have company. You take care of yourself over there in Buckland.”

It was dusk in the yard, when the guests came out. They threw their packs on board and climbed in. The farmer sat in the driving-seat, and whipped up his two stout ponies. His wife stood in the light of the open door.

“You be careful of yourself, Maggot!” she called. “Don’t go arguing with any foreigners, and come straight back!”

“I will!” said he, and drove out of the gate. There was now no breath of wind stirring; the night was still and quiet, and a chill was in the air. They went without lights and took it slowly. After a mile or two the lane came to an end, crossing a deep dike, and climbing a short slope up on to the high-banked causeway.

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There had been no sign of the walking party in the direction of Stock, nor had anyone he had asked seen sign of them. Now Merry was retracing his steps, back to the Ferry, trying to convince himself that perhaps they had simply missed one another. And they could have come along after he had left to go look for them. If he told himself that long enough, would he believe it?

Fog.

He was going to have to give up and go back. He couldn’t keep searching in the fog. It was chilly and damp. He pulled his scarf up over his chin. Clip-clop, clip-clop, the hoofs of his pony seemed loud to his ears. He could barely discern the entrance to the Ferry lane when he heard the rumble of a waggon.

A voice called out of the mist, “Hallo there!”

Merry stopped. That sounded like old Maggot. What was he doing out on a night like this?

“Now there,” said the farmer striding forward. “Don’t you come a step nearer! What do you want, and where are you going?”

That was strange. The old farmer sounded downright frightened. “I want Mr. Baggins! Have you seen him?” asked Merry as he uncovered his dark lantern.

“Mr. Merry!” he cried.

“Yes, of course! Who did you think it was?”

Frodo sprang out of the waggon to greet him. “So there you are at last!” said Merry. “I was beginning to wonder if you would turn up at all today, and I was just going back to supper. When it grew foggy I came across and rode up towards Stock to see if you had fallen in any ditches. But I’m blest if I know which way you have come. Where did you find them, Mr. Maggot? In your duck-pond?”

“No, I caught ‘em trespassing,” said the farmer, “and nearly set my dogs on ‘em; but they’ll tell you all the story, I’ve no doubt. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo and all, I’d best be turning for home. Mrs. Maggot will be worriting with the night getting thick.”

Pippin and Sam clambered out of the waggon, retrieving their packs, and Frodo’s as Farmer Maggot made his farewells to them, and lit the lanterns on the waggon. They would be only too glad to finish with this journey and see the inside of Crickhollow.

Just as the farmer was starting to get back in his seat, he stopped, and reached in to bring out a large basket. “I was nearly forgetting. Mrs. Maggot put this up for Mr. Baggins, with her compliments.” He handed it down and moved off, followed by a chorus of thanks and good-nights.

They watched the pale rings of light round his lanterns as they dwindled into the foggy night. Suddenly Frodo laughed: from the covered basket he held, the scent of mushrooms was rising.

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