Chapter 3

Aragorn handed a shaking Merry to Gandalf, who put a steadying hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.  The Ranger caught up the torch Boromir held out to him.  Climbing swiftly up besides the Elf, he sank to his hands and knees and peered into the dark tunnel. 

Gimli had been examining the ledge and now called up to them, “This looks like a guard-walk.  The wooden grate would have covered a drain for mopping the walk.  The drain would be very narrow.”

“Pippin!  Pippin, can you hear me?” Aragorn angled the torch in the small opening, but the brand only illuminated three dusty stone walls and one dust-free one. 

“None of us can fit down that hole, Aragorn,” Legolas said.  “Pippin is the smallest of the halflings; perhaps Frodo might be able to push himself down it but not hurt as he is.”

“Help!”  a small and frightened voice drifted up to them. 

“Pippin!  Are you hurt?”  Aragorn would have given a score of filled water-skins to be able to see down that hole.  Merry cried out inarticulately and Sam grasped his hand.  Frodo started to climb to his feet then froze as his face turned deathly white.  Gritting his teeth, he remained on the ground, silent, his eyes huge.

“No … no, I don’t think so.  I slid down and tore my jacket.  I’m all right!  But I can’t climb up!”  Pippin’s voice sounded thin and strained.

“Very good, Pippin,”  Aragorn called to him, striving to keep his tone steady and comforting. “Take a deep breath and try again.”

Faint scrambling sounds met their ears.  They ceased.  Then there was a thud and a weak “oof!” 

“Pippin!

“I’m all right!  I tried to put my back against the other side and walk up, but I can’t.  The sides go almost straight up, Strider!”  The young hobbit’s voice had been rising with each word and the last was delivered in a sob.

“Stay calm, Pippin.  We’ll have you out of there shortly.  Just give us a few moments.”

The Ranger climbed down the wall and rejoined the others.  Legolas remained at the opening and continued to comfort the frightened youngster, asking him questions and urging him to talk to stay his panic.  The Elf held the torch above the entry so that the hobbit could see it, and the faint light far above helped to anchor Pippin and calm him.

“Rope!”  said Sam.  “We want it an’ we haven’t got it.  Can we tie our clothes or blankets together and pull ‘im up?”

“If this is as it seems, then there is an easier way.”  All eyes turned to the Dwarf.  “The drain would be part of the city’s drainage system.  If Pippin finds the water channel, then he could just walk until he comes out in one of the maintenance junctions.”

Gandalf frowned, thinking.  “How far would that be?  Could he traverse the channel safely without light?”

The Dwarf rumbled into his beard, considering.  “Not far.  Dwarrowdelf  was a great realm, once.  It was built to support a great many people.  Dwarves take great pride in all aspects of engineering; even the drainage channels would be smooth and level.”  He folded his thick arms and stared up at the walk again.  “And the young one need not walk in darkness.  The cleaners would use torches, cut to half their normal length.  The small ones gathered fallen torches earlier.  We could saw a few in half and drop them down to him.”

“Where are these maintenance areas?  How would we meet up with him there?”  Frodo’s voice did not betray the pain he must have been feeling, but his eyes were tight and his face very pale.  Aragorn felt a pang when he saw the hobbit had freed himself from the influence of Gimli’s ring; he knew the Ring-bearer well enough now to know that Frodo would not accept the oblivion from pain the technique offered if it meant he was also unaware of Pippin’s situation.

“They would have been spaced at regular intervals along the drainage channels.   There are entrances to the maintenance areas all along the galleries; we have passed many.  The design of this city was very precise; very symmetrical.  We need only to agree to go one direction or the other and Pippin go the same, and we will meet him at the first junction.”

Their discussion was interrupted by a faint, “What are you lot doing up there?  I want out!”

At that, Merry tore himself from Sam’s grasp and scrambled up the tumbled wall.  Sam took a step after him then turned back as Frodo again tried to gain his feet and sank down with a cry.  Sam caught his master’s arm as Frodo started to curl in on himself, and began to murmur to him softly.

Aragorn exchanged glances with Gandalf then climbed back up the hole.  Pulling himself up over the edge, he almost rammed his face into the soles of two large, dirty hairy feet as Merry knelt over the hole, sticking his head down as far as he could reach.  Whatever words the two were exchanging were muffled by Merry’s head.  When Aragorn prodded the hairy feet, Merry scooted to the side.  The hobbit raised himself up then unfastened his cloak, followed by his jacket.

“Merry, what are you doing?” the Ranger asked as Merry unbuttoned his bright yellow waistcoat. 

“I’m going after him.  You can throw down the torches and we’ll meet you at the junction.”  He leaned down and called softly, “I’m coming, Pip!”

So saying, Merry took hold of Legolas’ arms and the Elf braced himself and started to lower the halfling into the hole.   Aragorn bit back his objection, and in a moment, saw that he had been right.  Though Merry twisted and pushed, he could not force himself down the hole.  His chest and shoulders were simply too broad.  When Merry began to bleed from abrasions on his ribs, Aragorn told Legolas to pull the protesting hobbit up.

Far below, Pippin yelped as the light from the torch again became visible. “Oi!  What’s happening?”

“It won’t work, Merry. You can’t fit.  We’ll have to do it Gimli’s way.”  Aragorn stuck his head down as Merry had done, hoping it would keep the sounds from carrying.  “Pippin, Merry won’t fit down the hole.  You are going to have to walk to where we can meet you.  It isn’t far, Pippin.  We are going to throw down some torches to you; one will certainly stay lit until you can pick it up.  All right?”

There was a long silence, then a weak “All right… ”  A pitiful sniff followed, and Merry shut his eyes and groaned. 

Below them, Gimli and Gandalf had worked out the directions.  These were called up to Merry, who relayed them to Pippin.  When they were certain he understood, Merry collected the sawn-off torches from Sam, who had cut them while they were speaking and climbed up with them.  Merry leaned down again and instructed Pippin to feel along the walls until he found the two channel openings.  Running his hands along the sides, Pippin quickly found the narrow openings and wasted no time ducking into one as the first torch was dropped carefully down.  The flame extinguished as it fell.  So did the second.  The third one fell lit and remained so while Pippin snatched it up.  He was so relieved to have light that he forgot to move out of the way and when Merry dropped the fourth one, it bounced and whacked his shin.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!” 

Now those on the ledge could see the young hobbit … or the top half of him anyway as he held the torch up.  Pippin’s green-gold eyes were enormous in his strained face.  He was shivering and the torch trembled wildly in his grip. 

“Mr. Merry!”  Merry turned from the hole to see the top of Sam’s curly head rising over the lip of the ledge.  “We put together a few things for Mr. Pippin.  Here, take ‘em.”

Merry accepted the sack and opened it.  Inside, neatly packed, was Frodo’s spare cloak, a small hard loaf of bread, cheese, dried apples, and Gimli’s water-skin.  Right on cue, he heard, “Merry, I’m hungry.”

Merry edged to the lip and called softly, “Thank you.”  Then (after warning Pippin) he dropped the sack.

“You are welcome, young hobbit.”  Gimli crested the ledge and joined them.  Below them, juggling the torch, Pippin had recovered the dropped sack and donned the extra cloak.  He was tearing into the bread and they heard his small crow of delight as he discovered the honey that Sam had spread on it.  The Dwarf grinned, his dark eyes twinkling.  Turning to Merry, Legolas and Aragorn, he said, “There is one more thing Pippin should know… “ 

Gimli positioned himself over the drain.  “Pippin!”

The youngster looked up, sticky breadcrumbs at the side of his mouth.  “Ummph?”

“Pippin, what you are caught in is a drainage tunnel for waste-water.”  Pippin nodded, he understood that.  The Dwarf considered how to phrase his next item of information.  “All types of waste-water, Pippin.”

Those above saw Pippin pale as he understood what the Dwarf was delicately trying to say.  He looked about him quickly and edged up against the wall, where the ground was higher.  "You mean I’m in a sewage tunnel?”

If the situation had not been so serious, those above would have laughed at the combination of indignation and apprehension in Pippin’s voice.  Indeed, Gimli laughed and tried to turn it into a cough.  “A very old and long-unused sewage tunnel, Pippin.  There is nothing to fear.  I just wanted you to know so that you would not be tempted to explore or tarry along your way.”

Pippin crammed the rest of the bread back into the sack and took a quick swing of Gimli’s water-skin, forgetting he held the torch and nearly setting his hair on fire.  Holding the burning brand farther away, he rubbed at the stickiness on his face.  The dust on his small hands combined with the smeared honey to make him look like he was growing a beard.  “No fear of that!  Why are you all standing there?   Why don’t you get a move on?”

This time the Dwarf did laugh, a deep rumbling chortle, and beside him, Legolas struggled to school his expression.  Aragorn sat back and laughed softly.  “Pippin,” he murmured, “only you … only you…” Pippin took no offense.  He was already far down the chosen direction and still accelerating.

* * * * *

The mood of the remaining Fellowship was much lighter as they packed themselves up and set out after the young hobbit.  Gimli did not know exactly where the first junction would be but said he doubted it would be more than a quarter-hour’s walk.  Pippin would almost certainly arrive ahead of them and had been told to climb the stairs and wait for them just inside the door.

Gimli’s comment that the junction areas often contained water-cisterns gave them hope that perhaps Pippin’s accident would turn serendipitous.  The water-cisterns, great stone reservoirs, were designed to hold the funneled rainwater that supplied the city in times of drought.  Enough rain had fallen that perhaps some remained in the storage tanks.  The Company’s thirst had receded in the swirl of activity following Pippin’s fall, but now had returned two-fold.  Leaning over to pick up Frodo, Aragorn noted that the burns were crusting, indicating the hobbit was becoming dehydrated.  As he pulled the hobbit up, Frodo dug his small hands into the Ranger’s arms and hid his face against Aragorn’s chest, shuddering until he could regain control of himself.  All of them, but especially the Ring-bearer, needed water very soon.

Acting as rearguard and carrying one of the torches, Boromir paused for a moment and stared back into  the debris-laden space they had just quitted.  The small fire had been extinguished and no longer cast unexpected shadows about them.  Yet he had, for a moment, thought he had seen something move in the darkness.  Something large but very quick.  Turning, the man waved the torch and watched as the light danced over the tumbled benches and the broken masonry.  Nothing… 

Hurrying after the subdued light of Gandalf’s staff, he never saw the luminescent eyes that followed.

* TBC *