Chapter 6 - The Search Begins

24 Rethe - Evening
 

Merry and Pippin may have given in to despair, but Saradoc was far from it.

He and his brother took the children to Esmeralda. Under the circumstances, they felt it best for Pippin to remain in the family quarters and room with Merry. They had to be prodded into changing out of their wet clothes and into their nightshirts, and coaxed again to get into bed to try to sleep. Esmeralda gave them some tea mixed with chamomile and willow bark to help them relax, and finally she was able to soothe them to sleep by humming a lullaby she’d not had need for since Merry was ten. When they were at last resting peacefully in each other’s arms, she returned to the sitting room, where her husband filled her in on the results of the search, and the counsel began.

Saradoc was of two minds. On the one hand, Frodo had clearly been upset about something. His sweet and gentle cousin was not the type to dismantle a room. Something had unhinged him and that had been enough to send him from the Hall into the cold, dark night. The question there was why didn’t he return when it began to rain? This is what worried Saradoc the most, for he believed his cousin could still be injured and in need of help. Frodo just got farther from the Hall that Saradoc had hoped.

On the other hand, he remembered Merry’s words in the dining hall about having failed Frodo in some way and his own initial fear that Frodo had left purposely. He shook his head, not wanting to believe it. Merimac saw the conflict and denial in his brother’s face, and voiced the fear that he could not. “Perhaps this was all a ruse Sara. He may have been planning this from the start and saw the storm as an opportunity to get away unnoticed. I’m sorry to say it, brother, but I’ve been expecting something like this ever since Bilbo left.”

Saradoc hung his head and sighed deeply. When he spoke, his voice was soft and weak with exhaustion. “I know, Mac. I have as well.”

Esmeralda shook her head. “No, Sara. Frodo’s always worn his emotions for all to see. We would have known if he was planning to leave. And let’s not overlook the fact that he took nothing with him. Frodo’s done enough wandering to know better than that if that was indeed his intention. Then there’s the room: there’s no cause for that. No, I think your first guess is the correct one. Something upset him and he ran off.”

But something clicked in Merimac’s mind. The final piece of the puzzle had slipped into place. “How would we know if he took nothing with him?” he asked. “The room is in shambles.”

Saradoc shook his head. “No, Esme’s right. There was no cause to destroy the room. For that reason alone, I cannot assume that Frodo planned to leave.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done such a thing,” Merimac countered.

“Please, Mac,” Saradoc said, his temper on this subject short. “That was over thirty years ago, and he’d just lost his parents. It was a perfectly natural reaction.”

“You consider what he did that night natural?” Merimac asked.

Saradoc fixed him with a dark, warning glare. “Those wounds are healed. Frodo would not attempt something like that again.” Merimac nodded, and the Master dropped his gaze and stared into the fire. “But, there was the smial and his dream…” he said a minute later. He shook his head to try to clear it; his mind was racing in too many directions at once for him to keep track of his thoughts. “Let’s start from the beginning. I had Merry tell me everything that they had done since Frodo’s arrival.”

He recounted to his wife and brother what he had learned during the search. The revelation that Frodo had known all along where the smial lay hid was a hard one for the others to digest. Merimac listened attentively and grew more convinced of his theory. Esmeralda simply grew more worried.

“The poor lad’s been at unease since he arrived it sounds,” she said. “But he was fine at tea yesterday. He told us – ”

“That he’s been familiarizing himself with the surrounding areas again,” Merimac interrupted. “For what purpose would he do that? He’s never bothered on previous visits. He was feeling out the land, figuring out his best route out of Buckland. Why would he take Merry and Pippin to all his old haunts? They would cling to the hope that he may be at one of those unknown places of his, waiting out the storm. Unless of course they aren’t unknown and we can go to them ourselves to see that he’s not there. And the smial… Even if that did upset him, why would he visit his parents’ graveside so early? The anniversary of their death is still two weeks away.”

“He was saying good-bye and we didn’t even know it,” Saradoc said, his tone neutral and flat.

“That could explain his light mood at the graveyard. He knew he would never have to see it again.”

“No!” Esmeralda exclaimed. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She began pacing. “No. I see your point, Mac, but it’s wrong. There’s still the room. There’s still the fact that he left here with nothing. Pippin said that both his and Frodo’s clothes were strung about.”

“Perhaps he already had a pack stowed away somewhere,” Merimac said. “He did disappear the other morning and was gone for quite a while before Merry found him. All of the things he brought with him are in his room, you say. But he’s always forgetting things here when he leaves. Perhaps they weren’t forgotten, but left purposely? And as for his room, tell me brother, how long would it have taken you to believe that something was wrong if not for the room? Too long, as far as Merry and Pippin are concerned. They may have gone in search of Frodo before you ever decided to do anything. Frodo would have known this. He wouldn’t want them out there by themselves.”

Saradoc sunk into his chair. What his brother said made perfect sense. Frodo was sharp in his observations and close in his intentions. If he had been truly planning something like this, would they really have known? Saradoc doubted it. They simply did not spend enough time around their cousin to know when he was up to something. But even given that, Frodo was not cold-hearted or discourteous. He would not simply disappear.

As though reading her husband’s mind, Esmeralda turned on her brother-in-law, her features desperate and cold. “If Frodo was planning to leave, he would have said something, to one of us. Even Bilbo said good-bye,” she argued.

“The second time,” Merimac said simply. He was staring gravely into his untouched teacup, hating the words coming from his mouth but unable to deny them. “No, Esme. You’re wrong. He would not have said anything. He knew there was too great a risk that Merry and Pippin would follow him.”

“And he knew it would break their hearts if he left without notice,” she countered. “He would never do that to them.”

Merimac turned to his brother. “It’s ten miles to the East Road and the Gate, fifteen to Haysend, and he’s been gone for nearly a day. You can search for him in Buckland and through all the Four Farthings, but you will not find him Sara. He’s already left the Shire.”

“We will search,” Saradoc vowed. He was not going to give up just yet. Even if Merimac was right and Frodo had planned to leave them, he would not have left in the manner that he had, of that the Master was certain. He clung to that certainty stubbornly. “Whatever the reason for his leaving, he could still be hurt somewhere. The storm is greater than any of us expected, and he’s still largely unfamiliar with the lands outside Bucklebury. I want search parties to go out at the dawn hour, rain or shine. They will alert anyone they come across; we must get word out. The Bounders must be alerted immediately.”

“I already took care of that,” Merimac said. “I stopped at Crickhollow during my search and Seredic agreed to get word to the Bounders post haste. I also ordered that their watch be doubled as soon as may be. I hope you don’t mind.”

Saradoc shook his head, too tired to say anything, knowing that his gratitude would come across as agitation if he tried. Merimac had given up before the search was even complete, but Saradoc could not. Not yet.

Neither could Esmeralda. Her heart was breaking with all this talk of Frodo leaving and her denial was strong still. She stopped her pacing as a slight glimmer of hope dawned on her. “What if he went home?” she said. “Maybe he just went home.”

Saradoc nodded. It couldn’t hurt anything to try. “Someone will have to go over the bridge and rise the alarm. The Shirriffs could help get the word out. They’ll be going around to check on storm damage.”

Merimac nodded and stood. “They’d be in Frogmorton, first Highday of the season. I’ll go now.” He had no hope of finding Frodo, but if it would ease Esmeralda’s mind, he would go.

“No Mac. You may go in the morning, brother. It’s too dangerous right now.”

“It’ll be just as dangerous in the morning, if not more so,” he countered. “Don’t worry about me. I can hold my own in a rainstorm, but it’s a day’s journey to Frogmorton by way of the bridge and we cannot afford to lose any more time.”

Merimac took his leave before his brother could argue further. He was already mapping out his route in his mind’s eye. He could shorten the trip if he took the ferry across the river and cut through the forests to The Yale on the Stock Road. He could then cut across the fields to Frogmorton. It would be a miserable journey, and he knew just the hearty pony for the task.  

25 Rethe

Dawn brought neither rain nor shine, but a chilling cold and heavy grey skies. All who could be spared joined the search, either by choice or appointment. So it was that sixty hobbits in all were called to the dining hall in the early morning hours. They sat bleary-eyed, yawning into their eggs and toast and sipping on steaming cups of tea. Few words were spoken and many folks had to be prevented from falling asleep into their plates by the steadying hands of their neighbors.

After the meal, Saradoc stood at the head table next to a large map of Buckland that had been brought in from the library. On it were drawn lines, dividing the Eastmarch into six sections. He rapped on the wood floor with his walking stick. The sound, loud and booming in the near empty and uncommonly quiet room, alerted everyone at last to full awareness. He waited until he had everyone’s attention, then gave his orders.

The sixty hobbits were divided into six groups of ten. Each group was assigned a region of Buckland. Two groups would search west of Buckland Road to the river, one north of Buck Hill, the other south. East of the Road the remaining four would search. Two would go north, searching the area between the Road and Crickhollow Lane, using the route to Newbury as a dividing line. The final two would go due east and south, using the farmlands that ran south to Standelf as a border for their assigned areas.

The Eastmarch was small and a rider on pony could travel from one end of Buckland Road to the other in a day’s time at a quick pace. Going slowly and carefully, and mostly on foot, Saradoc figured it would not take any one group more than two to three days to search their assigned section. Once their section was searched, the northbound groups were to meet at the Gate and return to the Hall as one. The southbound groups would meet at Haysend. With luck, in no more than four days, they would all be back at the Hall and they would know the outcome of the search.

In each group he placed those who would know the assigned land best. The fisherhobbits would be part of the westward groups. He regretted Merimac’s absence now, but they would have to make due without his knowledgeable brother. In the northbound groups he placed those who often went to the Gate or Newbury, or who visited Crickhollow regularly. This included the guests who lived in those areas and knew it well. The hobbits from Standelf were placed in the group searching south through the farmlands. Saradoc would lead the final group.

“I want every crag, quarry, streambed, woodland, bog and field searched thoroughly. Alert all who you come across, knock on doors if you come across no one. It’s possible someone may have already found him and is nursing him back to health. If anyone finds a valid trail or lead, I want to be alerted immediately.”

With that, the conference ended. They stood as one and filed out of Brandy Hall. They went to the stables, where everything had already been prepared. Six pony-traps supplied with provisions, cooking gear and cutlery, tents and sleeping rolls awaited them. The searchers placed their packs in the carts, and from each group, a driver took up the reins and led the ponies to the Road.  

Seredic Brandybuck left Crickhollow before dawn. He rode to Newbury and from there on to the Gate on the East Road, never stopping his progress. His sons, wanting to help, had gone to alert the bounders on the High Hay, but he wanted to make the journey to the Bridge himself. While kindly old Hob may listen to his sons, he knew the guards at the Gate would be more inclined to listen to someone of authority than they would to a couple of tweens. He reached his destination by late morning.

“Hoy there,” called the bounder on duty. “Who are you and how may I help you?” he asked officially but pleasantly.

“I am Seredic Brandybuck of Brandy Hall, and you may help me by telling me if you’ve seen any hobbits pass out of these gates in the last two days,” Seredic said. “The Master’s in search of a missing cousin.”

The bounder shook his head. “Couldn’t say myself. I just started this post.”

“Then find the ones that were posted here and ask them.”

“They’re sleeping, sir.”

“Then wake them up,” Seredic commanded. “I’m here on authority of the Master and unless you want to see yourself dismissed, you will find the ones who can answer my question and bring them here post haste.” This wasn’t technically true, as he had come on the order of the Master’s brother, but what the bounder didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Plus, the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could return to Crickhollow and begin work on clearing up the damage left by the storm.

The bounder jumped up from his seat and rushed off to the guardhouse. A few minutes later, two tired-looking hobbits came out and approached the rider.

“What’s this about a missing who?” asked one of the guards with a yawn.

Seredic explained the situation as best he understood it and described Frodo to them. “No other hobbit quite like him. He has a fair complexion, dark hair and pale eyes.”

The guards shook their heads. “You’d have to be out of your mind to go about in a storm like we just had, begging your pardon for saying so, sir. Besides, no one gets in or out of these gates without us knowing it, and we saw no one.”

Seredic nodded. “Well, if you do see anyone who fits that description, run a message to Brandy Hall immediately. I want all the bounders informed by the end of the day and your numbers doubled as soon as may be.”

“Yes sir,” the bounders said with a bow.

His duty done, Seredic left the guards standing at the Gate and returned to Crickhollow.  

Once the search parties reached the Road, they separated and branched out to begin their task.

Saradoc’s group included Merry and Pippin. They had refused to be left behind and made it clear that they would go out on their own if need be. For their own safety, Saradoc and Esmeralda had yielded. Esmeralda, feeling it best to keep Paladin and Eglantine informed on the activities of their son, penned a letter to Great Smials and sent it by Quick Post.

Also riding with Saradoc were Berilac, who had willingly taken his father’s place in the search; Marmadas Brandybuck and his son Merimas; Milo Burrows, his eldest son Mosco and his brother-in-law Porto Baggins, who was also visiting from Hobbiton. Porto was not particularly close to Frodo and thought his distant cousin more than a little odd, but he was a Baggins and that was enough for him. He had volunteered immediately. The final member of their group was Ivory’s brother, Gordibrand, who had only come at his sister’s bidding to keep Berilac company.

They were to search the lands east of Buck Hill, between the Road and the Hedge, and south through the open fields east of the farmlands. They already knew that most of Frodo’s haunts lay out this way and it seemed the most promising area to search.

Progress was slow. Except for the driver, Merimas, they were all on foot. The ground was sodden, muddy and full of many puddles and shallow trenches. They had to be careful of their steps, and the trap gave the ponies difficulties over the uneven terrain. There were also many smials and houses in the lands closest to Buckhill and Bucklebury, and they had many doors to knock upon. They bypassed Bucklebury itself; the remaining hobbits at Brandy Hall would sweep the town after first breakfast.

They searched again the lands from yesterday, just in case something had been overlooked in the dark and rain. Merry and Pippin pointed out the other places Frodo had taken them to earlier last week. None of them gave any clues, though Saradoc noticed immediately the theme that wove them all together, a theme made brazenly clear by the vacant smial – isolation and neglect. This knowledge stung him deeply and he began again to feel that somehow they had failed in their keeping and care of Frodo.

They stopped at noon for lunch and some rest. The adults sat together, making plans. Marmadas suggested they spread out in a line so they were each a tenth of a mile apart to increase their search area. The land from here to the Hedge was mostly flat and they would be able to see anything lying upon the ground easily enough. This would also increase their search area three-fold. Milo and Porto declined, saying a tenth of a mile was too far apart. Smaller clues might be missed, they reasoned. In the end Saradoc agreed to line out at twenty feet apart. While he was in favor of increasing their search area, he didn’t want them so far apart should it start raining again.

The tweens meanwhile sat and munched quietly on their bread and cheese. Merimas was not happy to be searching for the hobbit who had ditched his sister at the Feast. By his way of seeing it, the fact that Frodo had chosen a storm to escape into only proved that Mad Baggins’s heir had cracked at last. Mosco shared this opinion, though he was kinder in his judgment; Frodo was simply taking after the cousin who had reared him through his tweens. He only hoped Merry and Pippin would not take it too hard when everyone returned to Brandy Hall once again empty-handed. Gordibrand had yet to make up his mind how he thought the search would end, though he was at least pleased to have this opportunity to get to know the lad who was courting his sister. Berilac, for his part, had come to a similar conclusion as his father. Frodo had planned this and no one would ever find him.

Merry and Pippin sat apart from the others, but close to each other. For the first time in his life, Pippin found he was not particularly hungry and only picked at his food as he leaned against his friend for comfort. He was certain they would find Frodo around here somewhere, and he was extra careful to check every possible square inch for more hidden retreats. He had even insisted on trying to lift all the floorboards in the shed by the windmill, thinking that maybe there was a room hidden underneath the ground, but only the board that Frodo had shown them proved to be loose.

Merry ate only out of habit, his mind numb still to the shock that Frodo was missing. In his mind, he kept returning to his earliest memories, when Frodo would slip out and disappear for hours on end. He clung to those memories, insisting that this was no different. He kept telling himself that he would not be surprised to return to Brandy Hall and find Frodo already there, waiting for them and wondering why they had made such a fuss. He imagined many different scenarios in which they would greet each other and then laugh over the confusion and uproar. He took a steadying breath and gave up eating. He wrapped an arm around Pippin and the two sat staring into the fire until they broke camp a half hour later.  

Merimac rode into Frogmorton just after three o’clock. He had ridden all night and day, stopping only to eat a quick breakfast at sunrise (or what would have been sunrise but for the clouds still looming overhead, blocking the sun) and again at midday for a small elevenses. The journey had been difficult and he was exhausted.

His first challenge last night had been convincing his pony to board the ferry, which was bobbing up and down violently on the swift-flowing Brandywine. Then he had to navigate the river, fighting the current that threatened to carry him away downstream in a heartbeat. He had managed to just barely meet the dock at the other side of the river, and the pony had jumped off gratefully. He had followed quickly after, and just a second later, a mighty wave came by, the force of it yanking the ferry rope out of his hand, burning the skin of his palm. The last he saw of the ferry it was bobbing helplessly down the river, spinning madly with the current.

He mounted his pony and rode past the ferry gate and up the lane towards the forest. He was just registering his close call and good luck when he heard the oddest noise behind him. It was akin to a stampede, but louder, fiercer and more relentless. He turned in time to see the flash flood come down from the northern part of the Eastfarthing. Within mere seconds, the dock was completely submerged and the banks overflowed. The ferry, wherever it was, would be nothing but splinters by now. Stunned beyond thought, Merimac quickly checked his pony into a gallop and rode away from the river as fast as the beast could take him.

The forest was not much better than the river however. The quarries had become ponds and he was forced to ride around them. By the time the rain stopped, he was soaked, shivering and ready to sleep. He had not rested much the night before due to the Feast and had spent much of the day either cleaning or searching. But he pushed on and by the time he stopped to eat, he could see the Stock Road and The Yale on the horizon.

After breakfast, he hurried on his way. By his reckoning, it would be near six o’clock. He was pleased with his progress; he was already more than halfway there. This encouraged him to continue without rest. Even the pony seemed to sense the end of their journey in the near distance and gamely trotted on without any qualms.

He passed many hobbits out in the fields, cleaning up the storm’s mess. They waved at him curiously and politely. He nodded back and spoke only simple words of greeting that would not force him to slow down and engage in conversation. The number of working hobbits in the fields and on the road increased as he approached Frogmorton and he found it more difficult to continue to cut through people’s fields. He found a path and followed that to a road, calling his apologies to the owner of one farm who stared after him with a befuddled expression. He reached the East Road at last and was soon blessed with the sight of The Floating Log Inn standing benevolently in front of him.

He stabled the pony and went inside for a bite to eat and a sip of ale. While he waited for his order, he asked about the shirriffs. The barkeep took him to their rooms after he finished his meager snack, and soon he was face to face with the Captain himself. Most of the shirriffs had already gone out to work, but a few remained in the room with the Captain. They were looking over a map and getting their assignments when Merimac knocked upon the doorframe.

“Can I help you?” the Captain asked, polite but curious. Who was this important fellow in fine garb looking like a drowned rat upon his doorstep?

Merimac realized what a sight he must be by now, but was too tired to apologize for his appearance. He turned to the other shirriffs in the room and acknowledged them with a nod of his head before stating his name and purpose. “I am Merimac Brandybuck of Brandy Hall, brother of the Master of Buckland.” At this, the shirriffs stood up taller and their curious expressions now had a hint of excitement in them as well. Merimac continued, pretending not to notice this change. He explained quickly the situation. “There’s a slim hope he may have simply returned home. I came to ask if you could pass the word around while you go about your business, that any hobbit who comes across Mr. Baggins of the Hill send word to the Master immediately.”

“Of course,” the Captain started to say, but was interrupted by a young shirriff, barely out of his tweens. “Would that be Frodo Baggins?” he asked.

“It would be,” Merimac confirmed, and was shocked to see the young lad’s complexion pale.

“Robin?” the Captain asked. “What is it?”

“I know him,” Robin explained. “Well, I don’t know him, not really, but my best friend Sam Gamgee does. He’s Mr. Baggins’ gardener. Oh Captain, it’s going to tear him apart to find out his master’s missing. Please, sir, I hate to impose being as it’s my first week and all, but please let me go to Hobbiton and break the news to him myself. I know the town better than Gib does anyway. He could take my assignment at Stock.”

The Captain didn’t respond right away, but turned back to Merimac. “You said a slim hope. Why only a slim one?”

“Well, it’s believed he may be injured and thus would not have come this far,” Merimac explained. “It’s also believed he may have been leaving the Shire, and not returning home at all. But the Master is adamant that Buckland be searched high and low before we give up hope. He does not ask for you to do any searching, only that you send word that folk keep their eyes opened.”

The Captain nodded. “News like that will travel fast indeed. There won’t be a hobbit between here and Michel Delving who doesn’t know by the end of the day. We’ll spread the word. And Robin, get you on a pony and out to Hobbiton, and mind you find one that travels faster than rumors fly. Don’t forget to send Gib back this way, and I expect you to get to work once you’ve got there and seen to your friend.”

“Thank you Captain. Good day sir,” Robin said, bowing to the Captain and Merimac. He left the room swiftly.

Merimac turned to the Captain. “I thank you as well Captain. Now, if you don’t mind, I will take my leave. I’ve been traveling all night and morning, and I need some rest.”

The Captain waited until Merimac was out of the door and down the hall before turning to the remaining shirriffs. “Well, now, if that isn’t news from Bree I don’t know what is.”  

The afternoon brought no clues or signs of Frodo, and the searchers finally stopped at sundown to eat dinner and set up camp. Saradoc and Marmadas consulted a map and with Milo and Porto they plotted out their course for tomorrow while the lads went in search of firewood.

Two hours later, everyone was asleep, except for Merry and Pippin. They sat up next to the dying fire, bathed in the pale blue light of the blazing stars and half-moon above. Pippin stared up at the stars, feeling slightly better for their presence. At least the clouds have moved on and they would not have to worry about more rain for a while. Merry also looked at the sky but his mood was bitter.

“It’s as though they’re mocking us,” he said quietly, so as not to wake up anyone. “Look at those stars. Frodo could stare at a sky like that all night and never feel the cold.”

Pippin placed a comforting hand on Merry’s shoulder, unsure of what to say. He knew what his friend was feeling, but he couldn’t help but think the stars a good sign. He stared up at Eärendil shining brightly above and he could not feel despair. “And maybe he is looking at the sky, finding his way back to us. He’s just lost Merry. He’ll be back.”

Merry only nodded. He lay down in his sleeping roll and closed his eyes to the stars, wondering why Frodo had even left in the first place.

To be continued…