Chapter 88. Wolf Trap

A very drunken hobbit called for another mug, and Barliman Butterbur brought the beer to the table himself. 'This is the last for you, little Sir,' he said. 'I'm afraid you've about reached your limit.'

The hobbit blinked up at him. 'Nonsense,' he snapped, then grinned. 'The night is still young, why, 'tis not even middle night, yet! I don't have to start back for Buckland until the dawn light!'

'Ye'r from the Shire, then,' a Big Man said, sitting down beside him. He picked up the coin the hobbit had dropped on the table, pressing it back into the unsteady hand, and said, 'This one's on me, Barliman. And keep the drinks coming. I won't let him fall on his head.'

'Very well, Ban, but I do not think you're doing him a favour.'

'He's not here alone, is he?'

'No, he's here with the Master of Buckland and his party.'

'Well, they'll make sure he gets home all right on the morrow,' Ban said easily. 'Let him have some fun, now. He probably doesn't get to enjoy the brew at the Pony very often.'

'Not just the Shire,' the hobbit bleared, in answer to the Man's earlier statement. 'Buckland!'

'Buckland, is it? Something pretty special about Buckland?'

'You don't know Buckland?' the hobbit said, blinking. 'No, of course you don't, King's edict and all.'

'Tell me about it,' Ban said encouragingly, sipping at his own mug.

Two rounds later, the two were laughing uproariously, but then the hobbit sobered. 'That King...' he said darkly. He shook his head. 'Greedy son of a Took.'

'Son of a what?' Ban said.

'Well, not really, the Tooks are decent folk compared to that greedy King,' the hobbit muttered. 'D'you know, he said two waggons of gold wasn't enough? He wants another!'

'Really?' Ban said, a gleam in his eye.

'Yesh,' the hobbit slurred. 'Another whole waggon of gold... as if it weren't trouble enough to... trouble to get two waggons from Tookland to the ships without... without trouble.'

'With a heavy guard they should have no trouble,' Ban said.

'That'sh what the Master said, but the Thain...' Merimas Brandybuck looked at the Man through one eye, decided to try the other to see if it might be working better. He dropped his voice to a loud whisper. 'The Thain, he'sh a tricksy sort.'

'Is he now?' Ban said encouragingly.

The drunken hobbit looked around surreptitiously, to make sure they were not being overheard. 'He ish,' he said conspiratorially. 'One waggon, one hobbit driving, no escort to tip ruffians to the fact that it'sh the gold, you see? Guardsmen riding a little ahead, but not in sight, just as if it were any ol' patrol, y'know, guardsmen riding a ways behind, to catch up quickly if there'sh trouble...'

'But not in sight,' Ban said softly. 'They'd have to be some ways back for that,' he added.

'Yesh, but if the driver blowsh his horn they'll come at a gallop,' the hobbit said wisely. He winked at the Man with difficulty. 'Don't tell a soul,' he said.

'Mum's the word,' Ban said back to him with a wink of his own. He signalled to Barliman for another round, and soon afterwards left the hobbit, head resting on the table, snoring comfortably.

***

The leader of the ruffians fixed the others with a bright eye. 'Nothing will go wrong this time!' he said. 'They'll have guardsmen riding before and after, but not in sight. They'll be waiting for the call of a horn to come riding to the rescue, and of course, they'll never hear one, because we'll have the driver before he can blow an alarm. We'll take the waggon and the gold into the woods before they know what's happened.' He would see to things personally, this time. He still did not know exactly what had gone wrong with the attack on the first two waggons of gold, but he'd make sure they'd take the third waggon, and make the little rat of a driver pay dearly for the loss of four good Men.

'So when is this to take place?' another ruffian asked.

'Soon, it sounded like. The ships are ready to sail. It must be happening in the next day or two.'

'How will we know which waggon? We cannot waylay every waggon that travels that road!' someone protested.

Ban sighed, trying to hold onto his patience. Did none of these have a brain save himself? 'Not every waggon,' he said. 'We just lie in wait until we see a group of guardsmen ride by, followed by a heavy-loaded waggon. That's the one with the prize. Then we come out of the woods, pretending to be guardsmen scouting, kill the driver before he can sound the alarm, and disappear into the woods again with the gold.'

He looked around. 'Any questions?' No one spoke. 'All right, then,' he said. 'Get into your fancy togs, polish your boots so that you look like proper King's Men, and let us ride grimly into the Shire and join the search for ruffians.'

***

The plan went much as Ban had expected. They waited in the woods beside the road, watching, patient now, despite the icy cold. Gold would buy a lot of warmth.

A party of guardsmen rode by, and they stiffened, but no waggon followed and they relaxed again. Another group of guardsmen accompanied several waggons of hobbits going towards Tuckborough, no cause for celebration, the gold would be travelling from Tuckborough, not towards.

Mid-morning, another group of guardsmen passed, and the ruffians watched them go by with jaded eyes, tired of waiting, only to stiffen as a slow waggon, drawn by a six-pony team, plodded into sight, lone hobbit driving. Ban motioned his men to mount up, and soon they rode out of the woods and up to the driver.

'What are you doing here?' the hobbit demanded, hand on the horn at his side. He was a fat little thing, Ban saw, well muffled in a cloak, but well-padded for all that; and he'd thought they'd had a famine here in the Shire. This little fellow had eaten well enough, but of course, he had the gold to do so. Not much longer, to be sure.

'We were scouting in the woods, making sure there were no ruffians lurking to trouble you,' Ban said easily, swinging down from his horse. The hobbit relaxed, nodded. 'Have you seen anything suspicious?'

'No,' the hobbit started to say, when Ban suddenly pulled his sword and seized him, ready to cut his throat while his men jumped down to grab the ponies... but for the startling sight of the tarpaulins being thrown back to reveal a waggonload of lurking guardsmen, true Kingsmen, weapons drawn.

Two of his men who were still astride kicked their horses into flight, only to be cut down by arrows that flashed from the woods behind the waggon, for the archers had caught up quickly once the waggon halted.

Two others on the ground were also struck down, one as he foolishly tried to run at the archers with his sword out, the other as he tried to run away.

Ban held the hobbit by one arm, blade to his captive's throat. 'Put down your weapons!' he shouted, 'or watch him bleed!'

'Shoot! Shoot!' Ferdibrand Took cried frantically, as the blade pressed harder. The archers stood, arrows nocked, bowstrings taut, ready, but still hesitating. Ferdi felt a momentary annoyance; they had never failed him before.

'Stop yer squeaks, you little rat!' the false guardsman growled, 'or I'll take your head off completely!'

'Be my guest,' Ferdi said through gritted teeth, trying not to move his jaw against the pressing blade. 'They'll not need to hold their shot, then.' He felt the blade move, exerting slightly less pressure; something trickled down his throat, whether blood or sweat he did not know.

The ruffian, crouching behind the hobbit, backed slowly away from the guardsmen in the waggon, pulling Ferdi with him by the hold on his arm and the blade beneath his chin. 'Don't move,' he warned them. 'I can cut off an ear of his, or some other piece, and still have him for a shield.' He glared down into Ferdi's face. 'Would you like me to start by putting out your eyes?' he snarled. Ferdi made no answer, meeting the Man's gaze steadily, with infuriating calm. The Man cursed, and then the hobbit gasped as the ruffian jerked at his arm, twisting it cruelly.

'Stay back, or I'll pull the wings right off this fly,' he said, sneering at the watchers.

'What do you want?' Bergil said quietly from the waggon.

'A horse, and safe passage, and maybe I'll drop this rat in one piece on the trail when I'm well away,' the ruffian hissed. He jerked at the arm again, and Ferdi cried out involuntarily. 'How about it? This wing seems to be coming loose...'

'Ban, take me with you,' a wounded ruffian said. The rest were dead.

'You'll only slow me down,' Ferdi's captor retorted.

In the shadow of the trees behind them, Regi reached Tolibold, the Tooks' finest archer. 'Shoot him!' he whispered.

'The arrow will go through him into Ferdi,' Tolly protested, not taking his eyes from the ruffian, fingers steady on the arrow they cradled.

'Ferdi's got the mithril coat on, and padding underneath it,' Regi reminded him. 'If you shot direct at him, I doubt the coat would stop the arrow, whatever the dwarf says, but if it passes through the ruffian first...'

At another cry from Ferdibrand, Tolly nodded, set his chin, squeezed his eyes, ('Right through the heart,' Regi muttered) took a deep breath and let it out, and released the arrow.

The ruffian staggered, loosing the hobbit, who fell face first onto the road, then struggled to crawl away, dragging the useless arm.

The guardsmen erupted from the waggon, weapons at the ready, but the ruffian had already fallen to his knees, sword hanging loosely, and before any reached him he fell the rest of the way, to lie dead upon the road.

Regi reached Ferdi, who gasped a warning. 'Don't touch my arm!'

'Easy, Ferdi,' he said, helping the other into a sitting position. 'Looks as if he pulled it from the socket.'

'You don't need to tell me,' Ferdi gritted.

One of the hobbit archers picked up the horn from where it had fallen and blew a long blast to summon the guardsmen riding ahead of the waggon. The guardsmen following behind kicked their mounts into a gallop and soon arrived at the scene.

Regi pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and absently dabbed at the blood trickling down Ferdi's neck. 'We've got to put it back in, you know,' he murmured. 'The sooner, the better.' He looked up. 'Bergil!' he cracked. 'We could use a Man about now.' Bergil's strength might replace the arm more quickly and easily than a hobbit's.

As Regi murmured encouragement to Ferdi, another guardsman provided a counter-pull while Bergil restored the arm to its proper place. Ferdi, face white, sweating profusely despite the frigid temperature, gave a gasp and fainted. They quickly formed a makeshift sling and bound the arm securely to his side.

'There,' Bergil said. 'I think that's done it. We'd better get him to the King.' He turned to check the progress of his men; the bodies of the false guardsmen had been loaded onto the waggon, the wounds of the one survivor had been bound up and he was now sitting in the waggon under guard. The hobbits had un-nocked their arrows, though they had not unstrung their bows and looked ready for further trouble. 'Head back to the inn!' he called, and picking up Ferdi, led the march.

Back at the inn, the King carefully removed the bindings, the cloak, the shirt, the mithril mail, and the heavy padding beneath, there to cushion any swordblow against the shirt, they'd hoped. It had done its job in absorbing the impact of the arrow that passed through the ruffian; Ferdi had not even a bruise, only a torn place in his cloak where the arrow had protruded from the ruffian's chest.

The King immobilised the arm, warning him that it would take some time for the damage to heal, and that he might not enjoy full use of it even then, but he took the news philosophically. 'I'm better off than I might be, had those ruffians had their way,' he said. He gave a wry grin in place of his usual shrug.

The King did not tell what methods his guardsmen employed to gain information from the surviving ruffian, and the hobbits did not ask. They accepted the news that these were the last of an organised band, of whom the one called "Ban" had been the leader. There were no more missing guardsmen's uniforms to be accounted for. It seemed the emergency was over.