Chapter 9. Rising Suspicion

Ferdi’s head was no better the next day; as a matter of fact, it was bad enough that he had difficulty gathering his thoughts. Rosemary noticed how unsteady he was as he rose from his bed, and despite his attempts to put her off, Ferdi found himself seated at the table, steaming cup of steeping herbs at hand, while the Bolgers bustled about their morning chores.

‘It’s naught,’ he mumbled again as his sister stopped to rest a hand on his shoulder and urge him to drink. ‘Just a weather ache, is all.’

‘There’s a storm blowing in, for certain,’ Hally said, stopping on Ferdi’s other side.

‘Feels to be a big one,’ Ferdi said, rubbing his hand across his face, massaging his temple, willing the ache to subside, which of course it did not. Ferdi had learned over the years that he must wait out the ache, for some days if need be. Once this weather change had passed them over, the ache would be gone. He clung to that knowledge, even as the pain in his head blew the thought to tatters. At least he was safely at Hally and Rosemary’s. The Bolgers would keep an eye on Faramir for him, for certain. They would not let anything happen to the son of the Thain while Ferdi was under the weather.

‘Drink,’ Rosemary urged again, and Ferdi lifted the cup to his lips, making a face at the taste. He drank down half the contents of the cup before his stomach rebelled.

‘No more,’ he whispered, shoving the mug away, and Rosemary understood. She knew about Ferdi’s bouts with head pain whenever a large weather change came, reminder of a ruffian’s club at the Battle of Bywater, compounded by the effects of a fall during a pony race years later. He would not be able to eat, or do much of anything, until the fit passed.

‘Why don’t you sleep it off?’ Hally said quietly. ‘We can put you in one of the bedrooms, close the door, keep the children quiet for the day.’

Ferdi started to shake his head but thought better of the gesture. ‘Farry,’ he said.

‘We’ll keep an eye on the lad,’ Rosemary replied soothingly.

‘Do you have a pencil, and a bit of paper you can spare?’ Ferdi whispered. Rosemary squeezed his shoulder and went to seek out a piece of the precious stuff; as a matter of fact, what she brought back was the last leaf from one of Ferdi’s letters to her. He’d filled only half that page before ending the letter, folding it up, sealing it and writing the direction on the outside blank paper.

‘Will this do?’ she asked. He nodded, tried to smile his thanks, took the pencil and paper from her hand and smoothed the page on the table. Parsley called to her mother with a question and Rosemary turned away as her brother began to write.

Ferdi wrote quickly despite his fragmented thoughts; he didn’t want anyone pausing to read over his shoulder, after all. He informed Tolly that he’d found Faramir, that they were safe in Woody End. He wrote of Farry’s injury, and that he’d continue as planned when the leg was healed. He hesitated, then wrote, “Keep the secret as long as you can.” He looked at the words, dissatisfied, but the ache in his head made it hard to think clearly. He licked the tip of the pencil, rubbed his head, and finished, “Should the Thain hear of this, and descend upon Woody End, I fear the consequences.”

He had a week yet, before the Thain was due to return to the Great Smials. He wouldn’t even be writing this note but for the fact that he feared his head would prevent his taking the lad on to Buckland as soon as he’d planned. He folded the paper to leave the outside blank and wrote “Tolibold Took, The Great Smials” upon the front.

Hally still stood behind him, having watched him write. Ferdi had no worries about spilt secrets; he knew that Hally had never bothered to learn to read. Now Ferdi turned and handed the folded missive to his brother-in-love. ‘Can you see that this gets to the Great Smials?’ he asked.

‘I’ll take it to the Stoat and Stout myself,’ Hally said, naming the nearest inn. ‘From there it can go by post.’ He was relieved that Ferdi was sending word to the Thain about his son. His worry had grown the previous day, when Ferdi made no move to inform anyone of his whereabouts, but now he was satisfied.

‘Make it quick post,’ Ferdi said, digging in his pocket.

Hally stayed his hand. ‘You can pay me for it later,’ he said. ‘I’ve enough coins for a quick post rider. You take yourself off to bed now, brother, before the children notice somewhat’s amiss with you and plague the daylights out of you trying to offer comfort.’

***

When Farry came in from morning chores, smiling at one of Robin’s funny stories, he saw no sign of Ferdibrand. Hope and dread stirred in him together. Perhaps Ferdi had taken himself off to the nearest inn, to send word to Farry’s father by post. This might be Farry’s best opportunity to get away, but it also meant his chances of escaping were diminishing rapidly. Of course he could ask no questions, but he listened closely as he sat down with the family to breakfast, and soon his questions were answered.

‘Hush, children,’ Rosemary said, as the plates were passed. ‘Your Uncle Ferdi is having a bad spell.’ Farry caught the glances towards the closed door, and realised that Ferdibrand had fallen ill, incredible as it seemed. His father’s special assistant hardly ever missed a day of work, or so it seemed to Faramir. There was a murmur of concern, but Hally assured the children that their uncle would be fine, he just needed quiet to sleep this day, and that was all.

Better and better, Farry thought. When the Bolgers were busy, he’d make himself busy as well. He could take a loaf from the sideboard, baked fresh this morning and set aside for a later meal. A chunk of cheese might be possible, and failing that he could stop by the shed where he’d seen hams hanging up and slice off a fair portion to take with him. Now that he knew how to milk a cow, he’d be able to find sustenance along the way, at least while he was in the Shire. How he’d eat once he passed the Bounds, now, that was a problem he didn’t care to contemplate. Perhaps he could hire himself out to one of the caravans of traders travelling the Great South Road. He found he didn’t mind hard work, not the way the Bolgers did things, with laughter and song. He had yet to hear any grumbles here.

It was easier to plan than to put into practice, he discovered. Whenever Faramir looked at Hally, he found the woodcarver looking back at him. After breakfast, Hally shouldered his bow and announced he was going out hunting, inviting Robin to come with him. The tween grinned, then said, ‘Can Farry come?’ It would be a treat for the poor little foundling.

‘I’d like that leg to have at least another day’s rest before he walks any distance,’ Rosemary said, having just finished that morning’s examination. Farry frowned. That did not fit his plans at all. Rosemary misread the frown and laughed, tousling his hair. ‘You’ll be going out to hunt before you know it,’ she said reassuringly. Farry ducked away from her touch. She thought about it later, and it bothered her. Why was the lad so wary?

Faramir noted that the bedroom door remained closed the rest of the day. Rosemary went in twice with a covered cup, emerging each time to tell the children that their uncle was resting and that he thanked them for their consideration in remaining quiet.

Though Robin and his father were gone, Buckthorn stuck to Faramir like fletching on a finely crafted arrow, through the teaching, elevenses, noontide chores, midday meal, time for play. During play time, Farry was happy to stay close to the hearth. Despite the bright fire, he felt chilled, and when time for afternoon chores came, he was reluctant to go out with Buckthorn. Of course he made no protest, but he shivered as they went out into the cold. All was still; no breeze stirred the trees about the clearing, but the sky was sullen and unsmiling above.

‘There’s a storm blowing up for certain,’ Buckthorn said soberly. ‘We’d better make sure we shut up everything fast. Wouldn’t want a cow to blow away, now, would we?’ He chopped extra wood and directed Farry to carry many more armloads into the house than on the previous day. Farry’s muscles protested this treatment; he was sore from all the unaccustomed exercise of the previous day, and there was an additional ache deep in his bones, which, together with the chill he felt, made the chore more onerous.

***

Ferdibrand slept restlessly in the soothing dark and quiet of the shuttered room. He drank down the herbs his sister brought him and settled back to sleep again. Several times when he wakened, he did not know where he was, and one of the times Rosemary wakened him to drink healing herbs, he stared at her in confusion until he remembered where he was and how he’d got there.

Though Rosemary carefully schooled her expression before returning to the children, she was alarmed. She had never seen Ferdi laid so low by one of his bad spells. She wondered whether they ought to send for a healer, but in truth, what could a healer do but advise quiet and rest?

Toward afternoon, Ferdi dreamed that Farry had run again, and he was tracking the lad while threatening black clouds followed close behind him. He could see Faramir ahead, and increased his pace to catch the lad, but his feet were mired in the muddy ground and the harder he tried, the heavier his feet grew. He opened his mouth to shout, but the rising wind tore his words away.

Suddenly he was there, where he’d seen Faramir last, on the bank of a stream, with no sign of the lad. He heard a laugh, and looking down, saw Faramir in the stream, floating along with the current. He saw the lad’s aim; he’d float to the Brandywine and down to the Sea, from thence to Gondor. It was all wrong, of course. Hobbits didn’t belong in water. He called a warning, but Faramir grinned back at him. ‘I’m all right!’ he shouted cheerily. ‘Da always said I could swim like a fish!’

As a matter of fact, something odd was happening to the lad. His skin was shining with more than water. Before Ferdi’s horrified gaze, the lad’s skin turned to silver scales, the merry gaze became a blank stare, and in the space of a breath a great fish wriggled free of Farry’s clothing, slapped its tail at Ferdi and slipped downstream.

‘No!’ Ferdi shouted. ‘Farry, no!’ He waded into the stream, his feet numbed by the icy water. He had to get the lad back. How would he ever explain this to Pippin? He stumbled, and looking down, saw to his horror that his own feet were beginning to gleam with a silvery sheen...

‘Ferdi?’ Rosemary’s calm, questioning voice broke into the dream.

Ferdibrand started up from the bed, his eyes wild. ‘I have to find Farry!’ he panted. ‘I must not lose him this way.’

‘Lose him?’ Rosemary echoed, bewildered.

Ferdi thrust her aside, stumbled to the door, stood swaying as he swept the room with an intense gaze. ‘Where is he?’ he demanded.

Just then the outer door opened to Buckthorn and Farry, arms full of wood. Ferdi relaxed to see the lad. ‘Not in the stream, then,’ he muttered. The Bolgers shot startled looks at their mother, who had crossed to take Ferdi’s arm. She didn’t miss the wary look that Farry gave her brother, and she began to wonder if he had good reason to fear Ferdibrand. Her brother was certainly not acting like himself.

‘Come, Ferdi,’ she said now, tugging at his arm, making her voice as soothing and gentle as she could. ‘Come and lie down. I’ll bring you a cool cloth for your head.’

He resisted a moment, his eyes fixed on the lad, then put his hand to his head. ‘Aye, Rosie,’ he said faintly. ‘I think I will lie me down awhile longer.’