Chapter 62. Conundrum

There were no hobbits stirring on the road or the farmsteads he passed on either side. The only moving creatures were a few listless chickens scratching in the dust, and cows gathered at a gate mooing to be milked, though no one answered their summons. Pippin saw an unattended plow left in the middle of one field, and his feelings of unease grew apace.

Riding through the middle of Bucklebury, he saw no one, no hobbit lads and lasses playing in the morning sun, no laundry flapping from the lines, no hobbits going about their business in the cool of the day.

The hoofs of his pony rang eerily on the quiet stones as he rode into the yard of Brandy Hall. He slid from the pony with a shout that went unanswered. He led his pony to the trough by the stable door, to find it dry. Tying up the pony in the shade, he ventured into the stables, to be met by loud complaining from the ponies there, and not a few protesting kicks against stall walls or doors, but no hobbits. Going to pat the nearest head thrust over a stall door, he took in the filthy bedding, the empty manger, the dry water bucket. The pony had not been tended in two days, perhaps three.

Not having the strength to haul one water bucket, not to mention over a hundred, he did the only thing he could think of. Going down the line of stalls, he released the latches on the stall doors and swung them wide to free the ponies. There was a general stampede for the River, where the ponies jostled at the bank to drink, then turned back to crop the browning grass eagerly.

Knees weak with more than the lingering fever, Pippin turned his steps to the Hall. This was much worse than Tookland. He feared what he would find within. The Hall was deathly silent. Reluctantly, he raised his voice in a shout, and was surprised to hear an answer coming from the direction of the great room. Stumbling in his haste, he hurried there, to pause on the threshold. Brandybucks and servants of the Hall were laid out from one wall to the other, crowded together with barely room for the few watchers to pick their way.

One watcher said weakly to another, 'It's the Thain!' and slowly made his way to the door. Pippin almost didn't recognise Doderic Brandybuck, with his sunken cheeks and too-bright eyes. 'Have you come to bring us aid, then?' he said.

'Is all of Buckland down with fever?' Pippin asked.

The other nodded, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. 'The sick are tending the sicker,' he said. 'There's no one well, that I know of.'

'Where's the Master?' the Thain asked.

'Same bed he was in when you left,' Doderic answered. He staggered, and Pippin caught him and eased him down. 'Just need to rest a minute,' the engineer muttered. 'Then I've got to get back to work.' Pippin patted his shoulder and turned away. 'Tell Merry we're holding our own,' Doderic called after him, 'at least, we're trying to hold our own.'

'Where's the Steward?' Pippin turned back to ask.

'Last I saw him was in the Master's study,' Doderic answered. Pippin nodded and went to the study. Berilac might have more answers for him than Merry, if Merry was still abed. There was no one in the study, however, so he decided to look in on the Master before seeking further for the steward.

There were no hobbits in the corridors as he walked; Pippin guessed they were probably all bedded down on the floor of the great room, or nearly all.

He opened the bedroom door to see Berilac in the chair by the bed, hunched over, holding Merry's hand, talking hoarsely.

'How did you get here?' Pippin asked.

Berilac broke off, turned to see the Thain. 'I crawled,' he said flatly. 'No one fit to carry me here, not steady enough walking on two sticks, didn't want to fall and break a leg all over again.'

'You look terrible,' Pippin said.

Berilac eyed him. 'You're no tray of teacakes, yourself,' he answered. He turned back to the bed, squeezing the unresponsive hand. 'Merry,' he said. 'Pip's here.' His voice broke, and he raised his free hand to his face. 'We've lost him, Pippin,' he said. 'Whatever will I tell Estella?'

Pippin moved to the bed then, as quickly as he could, scanning the occupant. 'He's breathing,' he protested. 'It's all right, Berilac, he's still with us.'

The other shook his head. 'He's cold, Pippin, cold as death, and he doesn't move. He hasn't spoken since yesterday. I can't get him to drink anything. He's going to...'

'No!' Pippin broke in. 'No,' he said more softly. 'We're not going to let that happen, Berilac. We're not going to let the Darkness take him.'

He leaned over the bed, taking Merry's face between his hands. 'Merry,' he said. 'There are clouds to the West, first I've seen since spring. The rains will come again, Merry. And the King has waggons on the way, filled with food.' At least he hoped so. He had forgot to hear the message Bergil brought from the King. He looked to Berilac. 'Where's Estella? Is she all right?'

'She's in her own bed,' Berilac answered.

'Is she well enough to come?'

'I don't know,' the steward said. 'I've been here since yesterday, haven't seen a soul.'

Pippin nodded. 'I'll bring her if I can.' He rose a little too abruptly and had to deal with the dizziness before he could go. 'Help will be coming,' he said to Berilac. 'I left a King's messenger at the North Gate.' He looked back at Merry. 'Keep talking to him. I'll be right back.'

He was as good as his word, finding Estella weak, but over the fever. He steadied her on their way to Merry's bed, warning her of Merry's condition.

'It's not March!' she protested, then swallowed hard. 'I know,' she said. 'We've had this conversation before...' Stifling her fear, she asked, 'Is he gone?'

'We might be able to call him back,' Pippin said. 'Failing that, the King is in Bree... his messenger waits at the North Gate. Men on horses can ride much more swiftly than hobbits on ponies... the messenger could get to Bree and the King reach the Hall in half a day, perhaps.'

She nodded, thinking how much could go wrong in half a day.

Entering the room, Pippin supported Estella to the bed, easing her down. She stretched out next to her husband, pressing close, putting her arms around him. 'Merry,' she said. 'I'm here now. Stay with us, beloved.' He made no sign, but continued to breathe. That was something, at least.

Pippin nodded. 'I'm off,' he said. 'I'm going to ride as fast as I can to the gate and send for the King.'

'Hurry,' Berilac said, and Estella added her own plea.

'I'll be back as soon as I can,' Pippin promised, and left the room, and the Hall.

***

Bergil had stirred up soup using dried meat and a packet of dried vegetables he'd been carrying, for a good soldier always keeps food on hand, in case of unforeseen events. He added extra water to stretch the amount to feed the six ill hobbit guards as well as himself. Several of them were too weak to feed themselves, so he and Hob Hayward propped them up and fed them. None seemed to notice that there was a Man in the room, helping the Shirriff to care for them.

They had left the gate open, and when he had just finished feeding the last hobbit and wrapping him in blankets against the fever chills that shook him, Bergil heard the clatter of horses without. A rough voice shouted, and he recognised a sergeant from the King's guard. Sighing, he rose and walked out of the guardhouse to the gate.

'What're you doing there, Bergil?' the grizzled old guardsman asked in consternation. 'You know better than to pass the gateway!'

'The hobbits are in the middle of an epidemic, Terlon. Keep back! Don't you see the quarantine sign?'

The sergeant swore. 'Quarantine? What're you doing there, then?'

'I was exposed outside the gate when the Ernil i Pheriannath rode up,' Bergil explained. 'He asked me to help, so if I'm in violation of the King's edict, well, then, he is as well, since he's the one who invited me in.'

'How long did he say you'd have to stay?' Terlon asked.

'A few days, at least.'

'The King sent us to find why you didn't return in the middle night,' the sergeant said. 'He's a bit on edge. Sent us off at a right smart pace. Wouldn't be surprised to see him turn up himself later.'

'Well, I--' Bergil broke off at a shout behind him. Turning, he saw a hobbit lad on a plow pony, riding with no saddle and only a rope from the halter to guide the beast.

'Help!' the lad shouted again. 'Please help us...' Bergil caught him as he fell from the pony, fever-glazed eyes staring into the tall guardsman's.

'What is it, lad?' Bergil said.

'We're out of water. I couldn't haul the bucket from the well, 'tis too heavy. Marigold's pleading for water something awful, and I cannot get Dad to answer me, nor Mum either. Please help...' the young hobbit's voice trailed off but his eyes kept pleading. Bergil looked up at the sergeant helplessly.

'The King's edict...' the sergeant said slowly. 'O... hang the King's edict, and the King for that matter, if it comes to that... at least, I'll be hung if I'm going to stand by and do nothing.' He crossed the gap between the guardsmen and Bergil, crouching to address the young hobbit. 'Show us where you live, lad,' he said. 'We'll get water from the well for you.' Turning, he shouted at the guardsmen to send one of their number back to Bree to tell the King, the others to mount their horses, ride through the gate and bring his horse along. 'You stay here, Bergil,' he said. 'If anyone else happens by, you can tell them what's what.' He placed the young hobbit on the saddle before him and the group of guardsmen started down the road into Buckland.