17. Making Plans

Pippin continued to work daily with the healers, exercising and strengthening the bad leg. Each day, supported between Reginard and Ferdibrand, the Thain was able to walk a few steps further along the way from bedroom to study. When he tired and began to sag against them, they would link arms to form a chair and carry him the rest of the way, joking and laughing all the way.

Healer Woodruff had been quite put out with him, though Reginard claimed full responsibility. She was grim and thin-lipped for a week after the first experiment, and only grudgingly admitted that Reginard had been right in this instance.

'I don't know why you don't put him in to replace me as healer,' she grumbled. 'You listen more to him than you do to me.'

'He told me I couldn't pay him enough to be a healer,' the Thain commented equably.

'No, you couldn't pay me enough to be your healer,' the steward corrected.

'Right!' Woodruff snapped. Her expression softened as she followed them down the corridor after the therapy session. Of course, since she was behind them, they couldn't see her face. His progress was still slow, but one couldn't deny that the Thain was progressing. They made it further than the previous day, before the leg collapsed and refused to be moved.

'Up we go,' Ferdibrand called out. He made a great show of moaning as he and Regi lifted Pippin between them. 'Hoi, cousin, you're going to have to stop letting your wife stuff you the way she does, that, or we'll have to round up two more hobbits to help get you to your desk!'

'I'm going to tell the kitchen to stop making seedcake,' Regi warned.

'Take away my seedcake! Never!' the Thain maintained. 'I'll walk the whole way first!'

'I'd like to see you try,' Ferdi baited him.

'You just watch...' the Thain said, as they turned the corner and Woodruff lost sight of them. She shook her head, smiling. It was good to hear the Thain laugh again.

***

Once settled in his chair, Pippin set immediately to business. He had a sense of urgency as the First of June approached, the deadline by which he must satisfy the delegation of Tooklanders as to his adequacy as Thain. If he were forced out, there was much to be done before leaving the whole weight on Regi's shoulders. And if Regi remained firm in his resolve not to step up as Thain, then who? How had his father maintained his position after becoming bedridden, he wondered. Sheer force of personality, he supposed.

He didn't care enough about the Thainship to grasp it the way his father had. It was a challenge, yes, and he felt the responsibility keenly. And, he must admit to himself, he hoped he might make a difference. In truth, he'd enjoyed the last six, no, seven years, now. He wasn't sure what he'd do with himself if he stepped down from his office. He wasn't the type to retire and go fishing the rest of his life. There wasn't much call for knights of Gondor with gimpy legs, though.

As if guessing his thoughts, Ferdibrand said, 'Well, we could always switch places, you know.'

'What's that?' Pippin asked.

'I could be Thain, you could be chancellor. The pay is right.'

'We neither of us draws a salary,' Pippin said dryly.

'Exactly! Much less paperwork to worry about,' Ferdibrand said smoothly.

'Only one problem I can see,' Reginard said.

'What's that?'

'The people would never take you on as Thain, Ferdi, your reputation precedes you.'

'You think...? I figured they'd have forgotten all about that by now.'

'Tooks have a long memory, lad,' Regi said, looking at him from under his eyebrows. 'A long memory, indeed.'

***

Mayor Samwise read the letter from the Steward at Great Smials through again. Rose noticed the furrow on his brow as she freshened his tea.

'What is it, Sam?' she asked. 'Children! Finish clearing the table and wash up now!'

'Yes, Mum!' they caroled together, and soon the table was cleared of all but the Mayor's teacup, a new cloth deftly laid, and cheerful sounds of washing up came from the kitchen.

'What's the news from Tuckborough?' Rose asked as she settled again with a bit of mending.

'They request the presence of the Mayor of the Shire to open the annual pony races on the First of June.'

'Don't you have to speak at the Strawberry Festival in Southfarthing on that date?' Rose asked, eyes on her needle.

'Yes,' Sam said slowly. 'But a letter also came from Buckland today...' he took a folded paper from his pocket and slid it over to Rose.

She put down her sewing to pick it up, glad that Mr Frodo had taken it into his head to insist that she learn to read, glanced quickly through the contents, her eyebrows rising.

'Well, that's a pickle, and no mistake!' she said, sliding the paper back to Sam, who folded it and put it securely back into an inner pocket. 'So the Master of Buckland plans to attend the pony races at Tuckborough...'

'His family does. He'll come if he can find the time,' Samwise corrected.

Head bent to her sewing, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. 'Now, Sam,' she began.

'You know what I mean, Rosie lass,' Sam said. 'He cannot come in his official capacity, as if he's been invited to pull Mr Pippin's waggon out of a ditch.'

'Very well, then, we'll take the official line,' she said, 'but you know he'll be there.'

'Yes,' Sam said, nodding slowly. 'And so will we.'

'You'll decline the Strawberry Festival? They'll be put out.'

'No doubt,' Sam said calmly. 'There was a Strawberry Festival last year, and there'll be another next year, and they don't really need the Mayor there to cut the ribbon... besides, I hear the annual Tookland pony races ought to be quite exciting this year.'

Rose laughed. 'We ought to encourage half the hobbits of Hobbiton to attend, then.'

'Yes,' Sam agreed, 'and all of Bywater, as well.'