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Matchmakers  by Pearl Took

Matchmakers

There they were again. That same group of lads that Pippin had been noticing of late running about the White City. The hobbit knight watched from the doorway of a shop he had been about to leave. The lads ran by followed a bit later by an out of breath fruit vendor.

“Thieves! Little dirty, scrounging thieves,” the man tired to yell after the lads but his volume was impaired by his labored breathing. The vendor stopped, leaning his hands on his knees as he bent to ease the stitch in his side.

“Sir?” Pippin said walking over to the man. “Do you know anything about those lads?”

The man shook his head before standing straighter to draw in a deeper breath. “No.” He drew another breath, finally turning to look at who had approached him. It seemed a bit of a farce that a lad would be wearing a uniform. His eyes suddenly widened. No, this had to be the halfling the new King had knighted.

“No, Sir. I don’t know a one of them, though this is the second time this week that they have stolen from the bins outside my shop. Might you be able to have some of the King’s men see to dealin’ with them, Sir Knight.”

Pippin wasn’t pleased with the sound of the King’s men “dealing with” the lads. Granted, they oughtn’t be stealing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling these boys had good reason, despite the fact that they also seemed to be having great fun making off with their booty. Pippin set his lips in a firm line. He fully intended to find out more about that group of lads.

“I’ll do what I can,” he told the man handing him enough coin to more than cover the price of the stolen goods. As the hobbit made his way to the house he shared with the other Companions of the Ring, a plan started to form in his head.


Pippin went to Strider that evening to request some days with no duty. It was an odd request as previously he had insisted that he be given regular hours of duty the same as every other Citadel Guard. Odder yet was his refusal to give any real reason for the request. All he would say was that he had some matters that had arisen that needed looking into further, and he would give the King a full report when he himself knew the whole of the situation. His hobbit knight had asked for no favors to this point, so King Elessar gladly granted Sir Peregrin’s request. He would have no official duties to perform until such time as he felt the matters at hand had been properly attended to.


It was in the late afternoon a few of days later that a small group of boys of various ages stood in the deep shadow of a narrow alley. The tallest nodded his head toward a curly haired youth out in the street near a vegetable seller’s cart.

“He’s good,” Berthar whispered to the boys behind him. “He’s pocketed a bunch of carrots, three potatoes and an onion and the old peddler doesn’t even suspect.”

Cunrad nodded, though it was rather pointless as he was behind Berthar. “It was the same at the bakers. A loaf of bread and a sack of biscuits with no one as much as batting an eye.”

Malger leaned forward and sniggered. “And look at him. Looks to not have a care in the world. Like he’s not even worried about getting caught.”

“I think we’ve a new friend.” Berthar turned and winked at the lads, gave them a nod and in an instant the alley was empty.

Pippin had watched the boys for the last few days, dressed in clothes he had borrowed from Bergil so as to look like just any other Gondorian lad. The boys met in a busy market square in the second circle of the city late enough in the morning that the market was crowded. They would then go separate ways to spend the day stealing as much food as they could, eating some as they went but saving most to share for one big meal in the early evening. Pippin had silently followed them. They cooked over a small fire in a hidden open spot amongst some of the destroyed buildings that had not yet been cleared away. Then, before the light faded into dusk, they would put out the fire , lest the glow of it give their hiding spot away, and disperse to spend the night in whatever nook or cranny they could find. Not a one of them went to a house.

Despite how he looked to the group of lads, Pippin was more afraid than he had ever been before when, back home in the Shire, he had been out on a lark of pinching a bit of goods to eat. He had started out just a Took lad who happened to be related to the family of the Master of Brandy Hall. Important enough but not too much so. Then it had been a bit touchier when he was the son of The Took and Thain, but even then it was thought in the Shire that lads would be lads. Now, however . . . now he was a knight of the realm of Gondor, personal friend of the High King Elessar. He hadn’t been able to stand even small thoughts of what might happen should he be caught stealing from merchants.

Pippin rounded a corner and went a short ways down a narrow lane when Berthar suddenly appeared, blocking the way. Pippin stopped short with a start, turned as if to flee only to find the rest of the boys blocking his escape. He drew himself up to his full height to squarely face Berthar.

“Yer blockin’ ma way,” the curly haired lad said.

“You’ve an odd way of talking and I can stand where I want.” Berthar retorted.

“I’m from north o’ here, from beyond the Grey Wood, and yer still blockin’ ma way.” At least, Pippin thought, the part of being from somewhere north wasn’t a total lie.

Berthar took a step closer. He couldn’t make a good guess of the boy’s age, but he was definitely shorter. Berthar easily looked down at the curly haired boy. “You’ve nowhere you’re going, so why say I’m blockin’ yer way?” he mocked the shorter boy’s way of speaking.

Suddenly, the smaller lad was gone. Quick as a frightened piglet, he had ducked and run past Berthar.

“Wait!” Berthar yelled then, waving the other boys to follow, ran after the boy.

He didn’t get far. Just around the first turn in the narrow lane, Berthar tripped and fell . . . over the curly haired lad. He had laid down across the lane to trip his pursuer, then quickly stood over the bigger boy. The new boy made sure the group’s downed leader lay between himself and the rest of the boys as they rounded the bend.

“Now, this seems a bit more fair ta me. Rather than all ‘o you boxin’ me in.”

Berthar made a grab at the stranger’s ankle, getting his hand stomped upon by the lad’s bare foot for his efforts. He stifled his yelp of pain and the others stepped back a step.

“Yer slow!” The stranger snapped, then the look in his eyes softened. “I didn’ want ta do that.” The tone in the curly haired lad’s voice sounded sincere. “I jus don’ know what ya all are after me for. I’ve done nought ta hurt any o’ ya. Well . . . ‘til just now.”

“You’re good,” Cunrad said. “That’s all. We’ve been watching you and, well, you’ve not even been noticed by the merchants, let alone caught.”

The new lad blushed a bit. “I’ve had practice, o’ a sort. We raised sheep and ya have ta sneak up on ’em a bit ta catch ‘em fer shearin’. I learned to move calm but have quick hands.”

The group of boys all nodded, that sounded reasonable to them.

“Can I get up?” Berthar asked.

“Aye.”

The barefooted lad put out his hand and helped the bigger boy up.

“I’m guessing you have a name,” Berthar said as he dusted himself off.

“Adalgrim, at yer service,” Pippin replied while in his head he was hoping his Grandfather’s honor wasn’t being too horribly offended by the number of lies his progeny was telling, including the borrowing of his name.

Berthar’s eyebrows rose. “At my service, eh. Well, someone taught you manners.”

“Even farm lads know their manners, or ought.”

“Well said,” Cunrad put in. “But we need to be moving along before we attract attention. We all know what to do, I’ve got Adalgrum.”

In an instant, only Cunrad and Adalgrim stood in the lane. Just as quickly, the larger boy had the smaller pinned against a wall.

“We’ve agreed to let you join us, but I swear to you, you’ll pay dearly if you give anyone word of where we meet.”

“Not a word.” the curly haired boy said firmly, looking Cunrad steadily in the eyes. “And it’s Adalgrim not Adalgrum.”

Cunrad looked the lad over as he backed away. “It should be Adalgrime by the look of you.” He laughed a bit as he draped his arm over the newcomer’s shoulders. “Come along, Grimy, it’s time for supper.”





        

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