Chapter Text
Frodo Baggins has always had the capacity to amaze me, to astound me, to make me question as to whether I am befuddled, confuzzled, or merely in a permanent state of bewilderment. But the day he sent word to me that he was to be found in the Michel Delving Lockholes, and I was not to do a thing about it, was one of the most memorable of those occasions. But I am ahead of myself. Here is how it all happened.
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The autumn had been sudden that year, and the first frost abrupt and intense. We were in for a cold one, no mistake, and the thick winter coats of the squirrels and hares were an unnecessary confirmation of same. I eyed the stack of wood in our shed and came to the rueful conclusion that it was lacking. There’s nothing worse than being a cord or two short, when the snow drifts reach the window, and it would not do in the least to have Bag End be anything other than the snug and comfortable sanctuary it generally was during those frozen and bleak months. In addition, there was my father, not to mention my sisters down the Row, to be thinking of, and so the matter became more pressing. The snowfalls had not yet begun, and the rains were frigid but still infrequent, so I informed Baggins that I would be taking a quick trip to the woods to the north along with my brother-in-law Tom Cotton, as well as Ned Proudfoot and a team of his best hobbits, to fill a couple of sleds with the largest load of firewood that we could manage. A long winter is much more manageable with a well-stocked woodshed, and I had an eye to making the gaffer’s equally as stocked as ours, not to mention the Cottons’ and the Widow’s sister’s, at the very least.
So it was early in the morning when Tom, Ned and I, and his lads likewise, set out. We planned on the Bottle and Bell, up Northfarthing way, to put us up for the night, and expected to be back the very next day, as we were. But when I at last gratefully returned to Bag End with a plentiful supply of wood, Baggins was nowhere to be seen. The Widow knew nothing of his whereabouts, and it was a fretful evening indeed, until at last, close to midnight, there was an unexpected rap on the door.
I had been, I must admit, pacing the hall, for there was no question of my going to bed until I knew what had become of my dearest friend. So I flung the door open hastily, and found a small bedraggled hobbit there, one of the pack to whom Baggins referred, affectionately enough, as the Bag End Irregulars.
“Dickon, lad, come on in! What news, my dear lad, what news?” I motioned the young hobbit in to the warmth of the hall.
However, he shook his head reluctantly. “Not to stay, sir,” he gave the snug room behind me a yearning glance. “Need to be a’givin’ you this.” His hand shot out from his soggy wrap with a grimy bit of folded paper. “They well may be on my track, you know, and they can’t be a-seein’ me here. Evening, Master Gamgee.” And with another quick bob, he was instantly lost into the dark damp night.
I had no time to quite grasp what he had said, however, as I hastened back to the warmth and bright light of the study, the better to examine the missive I held in my hands, for I was certain beyond any doubt that it was welcome word from Baggins.
From Baggins, it was indeed, but not as comforting as I had hoped. “Gamgee,” it read, in his familiar scrawling hand. “As you have undoubtedly noticed, I am not at home at the present. Instead, I am currently in residence at the Michel Delving Lockholes, not without reason, I assure you. As accommodations are a trifle austere, I would be ever so grateful if it would strike you to check on the general welfare of the unfortunates located here, and bring some blankets with you in doing so. I have no doubt, my dear, but that you will recognize me, and I hasten to reassure you that I am not nearly as wretched as I hope to appear. We may not have much of a chance to chat then, but it would be a rare pleasure to see you, my very dearest Gamgee. Your very own Frodo, who yearns for his own bed, and all that may be found within it, and who is extraordinarily glad Dickon never learned his letters.”
Certainly that answered some questions, but posed so very many others. It was a long and restless night, tired as I had been, and I was on my way early the next morning, with Tom Cotton’s cart, and several bundles in the back.
&&&&&
Fortunately, I had treated the eldest fauntling of a prominent Michel Delving family for spotted fever just a few weeks prior, so it was not entirely unexpected that I should make an appearance to check up on the lad. Without a doubt, my unexpected and flurried visit flustered his mother, Goodwife Boggs, no end, and delighted the young imp a great deal, since he had not forgotten my bag of boiled sweets. However, that was all immaterial to me. The hasty visit having been concluded, I immediately made my way to the Lockholes.
I paused a moment in the chill wind and stared at the grim barred door, an entrance that had been dug into the hillside during times long past any living soul’s memory, and had a quick guilty thought that perhaps I should make a habit of attending on the poor unfortunates here from time to time without the inducement of seeing Frodo. In truth, the place was empty more often than not, but the startled Shirriff assured me, as I made my way within to inquire as to the welfare of its occupants, that there were presently two souls in residence, and he would be that pleased if I’d see to the reedier of the pair.
Both captives were sharing the shabby chamber, but the Shirriff, upon entering with myself in tow, gave a meaningful nod in the direction of the sturdier of the two, and motioned that he should follow him out to the adjoining room, and allow myself some privacy with my patient. And indeed, as I had no doubt, it was Baggins in rags, huddled under a cloak on the make-shift cot in the far corner of the chill rude chamber. I hastened to his side to hear him mutter nearly inaudibly, “Wait until they have left, Gamgee. Have a care, my dear.”
Following his lead with some impatience, I laid down my bundle of thick woolen blankets and opened my bag with a good deal of fuss as I knelt at his side. “Good heavens, my dear fellow, that is a nasty cough, indeed! Let us have a look, then.”
Quickly picking up his cue, Baggins gave a wrenching hawk that caused me to quickly stifle a laugh. Being as he never given any indication of such a complaint the night before last, I had no doubt whatsoever in regards to its fraudulence. It was entirely effective, however, and the Shirriff and his captive immediately vanished, not without a stifled oath.
“Frodo, me dear,” I murmured as his distinctive gaze turned to me in his begrimed face, “what sort of playacting is all this? What, by our Lady, are you doing here?”
“In a moment, my dearest of Gamgees, but right now, there is a much more urgent matter. . .” and without another word, he swept me into his arms and gave me an impetuous yet loving kiss. “There, my dear, I just had to take advantage of the moment,” he gave me a rather diffident smile as we broke apart. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, my love. Has it really been only two nights? Well, then, to the matter at hand.”
“I’ve been asked to look into this matter by Mayor Whitfoot himself,” he continued, suddenly serious. “His smial was broken into three nights ago. Nothing valuable was taken, as far as he could tell, but his admittedly rather neglected library appeared to be ransacked, and he could not be entirely sure if a book had not been taken. The next night, the Mathom House was burglarized, and it was there that our good Shirriff Stoutfoot apprehended my present lodging companion. There is some doubt as to what was taken there, but as the miscreant appeared to be a gentlehobbit from parts unknown, the Mayor thought to retain my services to puzzle this matter out. I have presented myself to my present companion as a common thief in hopes of acquiring a patron. At this point, it would appear to require an additional night or two in this dismal location to gain his trust, and I’m really not sure if I can manage it, my dearest Gamgee. My patience with this sort of job has grown dismally short, when I consider the alternatives.”
“There, now, Frodo love, you know how you were pacing the floor from sheer boredom only a few days prior to this,” I couldn’t help but smile at his impatience. “You have very nearly finished outlining the map of the West Farthing with your darts on our study wall, you know. Give it one more day at least, me dear, and we’ll make up for lost time once you’re back.”
“I might manage one more night here, I suppose,” he murmured, giving me a sudden piercing glance that caused me to immediately rethink the advice I had just given him, “but that really is the limit, Sam.”
“Very well, then, whatever suits you, me dear,” I mumbled with a doubtlessly foolish smile, as I grasped his hands tightly and entirely unprofessionally. “I leave that decision entirely in your hands. Your most capable hands, I might add.”
But suddenly realizing our time together must necessarily be short, Baggins became completely business-like again and urgently muttered, “Make a visit to the bookseller on Broad Street, Gamgee. See if there is a book that has suddenly come into his possession without his knowledge. I rather suspect there is one.”
“On one condition, Baggins my love,” I tightened my grasp just slightly. “You need an accomplice. Conjure up any improbable role for me you wish, me dear, but I’ll feel much better about this whole matter if I’m tagging along.”
“As will I,” he gave me a sudden decidedly impudent smile. “Very well, then, Gamgee. I’ll thank you to remember that you have brought this entirely on yourself.”
There is no telling where the conversation would have headed at that point, but for the sound of the Shirriff and the other prisoner making their way back to the cell. With another wracking cough, Baggins quickly relapsed into the decrepit specimen that I had found when I had first arrived. I did not stay much longer, after lavishing my gifts of the cord of firewood, as well as the kettle and canister of tea that I had brought, on both prisoners. I had no further words after that with Baggins, but just before I left I could have sworn that he gave me a slow wink along with a quick smile.
&&&&&
I made a visit to the booksellers, as Baggins had wished, and not at all to my surprise, found a volume stuffed, spine facing inwards, on the small rack that was generally trundled out beside the door, to lure potential customers within. It was an unprepossessing and drab book entitled Lore of the West: A General History of the West Farthing and an Accounting of Its Most Prominent Families with Their Connections with Other Prominent Families Throughout the Shire, as Told to The Author by Those Listed Within. It appeared to be irredeemably dreary, as I glanced through it, but there really is no accounting for tastes, as I learned long ago. The proprietor gave it a puzzled glance, as if he couldn’t quite place it when I paid for it, but accepted my coin quickly enough.
I was undeniably curious as to what this volume had to do with Baggins and myself, as well as his mysterious co-captive. There were no answers for the present, and I had to resign myself to making my way through the frosty evening air back to Bag End, and spending a long impatient night awaiting further word from the hobbit I loved.
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The next morning, quite early, there was a quick scrawl delivered by a furtive Dickon. It was obvious that the note had been written in haste. “Most likely will arrive tomorrow morning,” it read. “Have a bag packed with the necessities for the both of us for a fortnight. The shabbier the better. Ever yours.”
Eagerly, I gulped down my second breakfast and put together just such a pack for myself and Baggins as well. The grey morning was promising a damp mizzle all day, and it had been quite cold the night before, so I decided that warmth was equally as essential as shabbiness. Fortunately, neither Baggins, nor myself, was much for luxury, so it was a relatively easy task. I packed traveling provisions and pipeweed as well, and did not forget the essential teapot.
But that only occupied the morning. The Widow had been accounted for, as I had informed her that Baggins and myself would be absent for a week or two, and it might be the ideal time in which to visit her sister. She was accustomed to not inquiring further regarding our unaccountable disappearances, and the dark grey clouds hovering on the horizon caused her to make up her mind promptly. She was gone shortly after luncheon.
So that left me alone in Bag End and with so very many hours during which to roam the smial impatiently, and wait. With nothing else in particular with which to occupy myself, I picked up the volume I’d bought from the bookseller, settled down by the fire in the study with a steaming pot of tea, and gave it another perusal.
The author, as far as I could see, first ventured forth with some generalities regarding the history of the West Farthing, not forgetting the ancient connection with Annuminas, throne city of the Kings of the West of distant memory, and then got down to his principal business, which was the enumeration of every possible Took and connection thereof that he could find. I had no idea that Baggins’ cousin’s family had been so prolific. Fair put the Gamgees to shame.
But I could only consider so many illustrious family connections before my eyes begin to droop, the volume slipped from my grasp, and it must not have been long thereafter that I fell into a sound slumber.
Apparently, it must have lasted for most of the afternoon, as I found myself awakening to a dark smial, with the fire very nearly out, and Baggins’ lips on my forehead. “Frodo!” I exclaimed with delight as I suddenly blinked myself awake, and threw my arms about his neck. It was a certain amount of time before I drew back and tried to query him.
But he was having none of it at the moment. “Later, my dear, later,” he murmured with a warm smile. “We must leave early in the morning and I will fill you in on the details before then. But until that time, my opinion regarding my bed and what might be found therein still stands.”
However, enticing as that thought was, I could feel him still shivering slightly from the frigid night, and my healer’s instincts were abruptly aroused. “Nothing sounds more gratifying, my dearest Baggins, but if we are to be off at such an unconscionable hour, I must insist on a hot bath and a hearty meal afore hand. Strictly speaking as your healer, of course.”
Weary as he obviously was, Baggins gave a pleased chuckle at my prescription, and murmured, “I’d never dream of disputing your wisdom, Gamgee. I leave myself entirely in your expert care.”
Nothing could prompt me into instant action faster than that statement, and even more the look that accompanied it, so I jumped to my feet, had a hot bath drawn in no time at all, and left him soaking blissfully in same as I hurried to the kitchen to see to a quick meal. Soon he was well wrapped in a robe at my side at the kitchen table, tucking eagerly into a pile of roasted potatoes, fried apples, cheese toast, and as many cups of steaming tea as any hobbit could ever wish for.
“I see you found the volume every bit as ponderous as I supposed it would be,” he mentioned at last, his mouth only still slightly full of potato. “And that was the correct volume, I might add. Excellent work, Gamgee.”
“It had been shoved in amongst the others with its spine in,” I knew my eartips were reddening at his praise, and distracted myself with pouring another mug of tea. “But start at the beginning, my love, I am entirely at a loss here.”
“That would be best, would it not?” Baggins pushed himself away from the table and the thoroughly emptied dishes. “I noticed the Widow is not in residence, so perhaps we should soak these? I do hate to have her justifiably take us to task. But a pipe would be just the thing right now, and would help me present the facts to you.
“Of course it would,” I laughed, knowing his habits so well. “Well, you might as well stir up the fire in the study, if it hasn’t gone out already, and I’ll rinse these in no time.”
I found Frodo, long legs stretched out and toes to the fire, puffing meditatively on his pipe, as soon as I entered the study. “Here are the facts as I now have them, Samwise,” he began as he stared into the fire and I sat at his side and drew out my own pipe. “The Shirriff stopped by not long after you had left, and mentioned that they had pinched a gentlehobbit a’burglin’ the Mathom House, to use his exact phrase. Not at all coincidentally, the Mayor’s own smial had been thoroughly gone through as well, at least the room he named as his library. All the contents were left in absolute disarray, but he could not be entirely sure that anything was missing. It would appear that the Mayor’s father was the scholar, not the Mayor himself, but he seemed to recollect a largish green leather book that he could not find, the very same volume that sent you so completely into the land of dreams this afternoon. When my cellmate was apprehended, it seemed to both the Mayor and the Sherriff that such an unusual crime wave must have had the same cause, and I have no doubt but they are correct as to that. The both of them thought to call me in, since I have an interest in such affairs, and better yet, certain connections with other gentlehobbits. The captive was loudly proclaiming his innocence, needless to mention, despite having been caught in a decidedly dodgy position, and making no end of threats regarding their positions, which of course made the both of them extremely nervous. We agreed that I should enter the scene in the guise of a common criminal and see if Basil Longleaf, as he names himself, would take the bait. And indeed he has, as I am to meet him at the Rat and Squirrel, a rather dubious inn at the crossroads of the Western Road and Michel Delving High Street, at sunset tomorrow. I have told him that I have an invaluable assistant, for larger jobs, and he requested that I bring him along as well.”
I could not help but raise an amused eyebrow at that news. “Burglar’s assistant, you say? Well, I suppose I can manage that.”
“Better yet,” he turned to me with what could not be described as anything other than an impish grin. “You are also quite mute, I’m afraid. Can’t utter a word. Thought it’d be best that way. At least we won’t have to worry about discrepancies in our stories.”
“Baggins! You never did tell him that!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I suppose that will make it easier, but really!”
“And I believe you will appreciate our alias,” he continued his grin widening. “You have the honor of smoking a pipe with Tobias Sandyman. And I am indeed delighted to be joined by my cousin, Bart Sandyman.”
“Mind you,” he added, suddenly serious again, “Someone posted bond for Longleaf and myself. The Shirriff said it was a hobbit who had kept his cloak well over his face, and gave no name.”
I said nothing, but there was something about this whole business that I did not care for at all.
&&&&&
And finally we did retire for the night. At long last, we found ourselves in our great feather bed, and lost ourselves once more in the delight that we found in each other. It was only as he started to reach out to pinch out the guttering candle, that he stopped and gave me a long look, drawing his hand back and running it tenderly down the side of my face. “I never thought to find such joy as this, my most beloved Samwise,” he spoke softly. “Life is uncertain and events may be unexpected, but whatever may befall us, always know that I have loved you with all my heart, and with all I have to give.”
“All you have to give is all I have ever wanted, Frodo my love,” I breathed, his hands tightly held to my heart. “As long as I can find you in my arms every night, nothing else matters to me at all. You may explain the particulars of this whole affair to me once more tomorrow morning, my dear, but for tonight, all I ask is that you hold me close and kiss me yet again. Let tomorrow take care of itself; somehow it always does.”
Words were few after that point, but I fell asleep sheltered against his lean frame, enclosed in his love, and supremely happy.
&&&&&
We left Bag End before dawn on a frosty morning. The one consideration that caused Baggins a moment’s pause, however, was the fate of the green-bound volume that had caused all this fuss. “Certainly we cannot have it found on our persons, as much as I might wish to study it carefully. And equally so, I would not have it found in Bag End. Any suggestions, Gamgee?”
“The tool shed,” I responded promptly. “It can easily be hidden there, even though I’d wager no one would ever think of looking for it there in the first place.”
“Capital suggestion!” he exclaimed with an approving nod. “Very well, then, I’ll leave you to take care of that, and it’s past time we set off. We shall have to step out smartly to meet our employer at the appointed time, and I hope you realize that I hold you and your very many charms entirely responsible for that.”
“I do try my very best to please,” I could not help but murmur, very nearly coyly, and with his characteristic laugh, he gave me a quick hug as we made our way down the glinting icy lane.
“And please you do, my dearest Gamgee, like no other hobbit ever has. But we must, alas, turn our attentions to this Longleaf fellow for the moment, and return to the subject of your allures at a later date. And rest quite assured, Gamgee, my love, I will do exactly that.”
“I will consider that a promise,” I breathed, and in the solitude of the frigid morning reached out and grasped his hand quite firmly. His hand closed about mine, and it wasn’t until we reached the outskirts of Michael Delving that our hands fell reluctantly apart.
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The Rat and Squirrel was, as Baggins had promised, a dubious inn indeed. It was dug into an ancient hummock at the side of the Western Road, and the entrance was sheltered by a thatched covering which the years and elements had rendered feeble shelter indeed. Smoke issued from a hole in the side of the hill, rather than a more substantial chimney, and everything visible about the establishment was grey, and irreparably dreary.
However, the afternoon light, faint as it had been, was fading, the evening was showing signs of becoming cold and frosty in the extreme, and my toes had lost all feeling about a mile back. It was not a welcoming hostelry, to be sure, but at this point I was quite willing to take my chances with any sort of ruffian the Rat and Squirrel might present to us for the chance of a hot meal, a foaming pint, and a dry floor on which to sleep. It was fortunate my expectations were not high, for the meal proved to be utterly tasteless, the brew well below Hobbiton standards, and the floor was clammy. More important than all these disappointments, however, was the hobbit who met us there.
Basil Longleaf sat alone at a table to the back of the crowded common room. An empty plate and a half-filled mug indicated that he had been waiting for us, as did the glower that greeted Baggins and myself as we entered. Baggins, in his guise as a lowly petty thief, immediately made his way to Longleaf, tugging me along by the corner of my cloak.
“Apologies, good sir,” he murmured, giving a quick bow to Longleaf. “It took longer to find me cousin than I thought.” Following Baggins’ lead, I gave a quick bob as well, but remained silent.
The glower turned to my direction. “Don’t say much, does he?” he grunted finally.
“Can’t,” Baggins explained succinctly. “Mute, he is. The best kind of co-conspirator, eh? But he’s strong and able, and he’ll do anything for ‘is old cousin, won’t he?” he added, throwing an arm about my shoulder.
I nodded enthusiastically, silently congratulating Baggins for thinking of this dodge. I had to admit I was not much of an actor, but this role I might be able to manage.
Longleaf grunted once again, and then pointed to the seats next to him but did not, I noticed, offer us anything in the way of refreshment. “I want the both of you to do a bit of work for me Hobbiton way,” he finally muttered, taking another swig from his mug. “I understand that you are from the part of the Shire, but I would expect that not a word of this will be shared. After all, those who posted bond for the both of us are very powerful, I can assure you, and they would not take kindly at all to their business being spread about.”
“You may rely entirely on me, good sir,” Baggins ducked his head humbly. “I’d still be in those nasty lockholes if it ain’t been for you. And as for my cousin, well, you ain’t got nothing to worry about him”
He gave us another sharp look, and I tried to look as cowed as possible. I had no doubts that he would be an ugly customer if crossed, and at the moment, Baggins’ mission was more important than our pride.
“There’s a couple of things I want,” he continued, lowering his voice, although it appeared to me that the other patrons were paying no attention to us. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow before you leave. Even in a place like this, one can’t be too careful. I expect your job to be completed by three nights from tonight. I will meet you here at that time”
Although this did not seem to be sufficient information, Baggins refrained from asking any questions but nodded deferentially and I, of course, did the same. “One more word,” he lowered his voice even more, but the menacing look he gave us suddenly made my blood run cold. “I would not advise failing in your mission. Those who disappoint my friends tend to have accidents. Nasty painful fatal accidents. Your only chance to quit this business is right now. Let me know if that is your choice, and that will be the end of our acquaintance.”
I must confess I was actually hoping that Baggins would see reason here and agree, but of course he did not. It was, rather, as if the fellow had presented catnip to the hearth cat. His expression remained passive and timid, but I could sense the slightest quiver of excitement, and knew the game was, indeed, afoot.
&&&&&
Longleaf retired shortly thereafter to a private room, something I would not have credited this inn as having. Baggins and I finished our meager meal, which was all that could be purchased, and unenthusiastically sipped the house brew. The other patrons, a surly crowd, eyed us suspiciously and we returned the favor. However, Longleaf’s patronage was sufficient to keep any of them from bothering us or even speaking to us for that matter, and after an hour or so, some customers left, and the rest of us curled up on the dank muddy floor, and tried our best to sleep. Baggins and I did not attempt to lie near what was left of the guttering fire, but found a secluded back corner.
I very nearly forgot my character then, not to mention all the questions I to ask him being on my mind, but Baggins fortunately foresaw that, and with a flash of a smile, laid a finger to my lips. “Not here, my dear,” he murmured very quietly. “I do not trust any hobbit here. But tomorrow will be quite interesting indeed, and we need to get what rest we can.”
I knew he was right, so I sighed, closed my eyes, and tried my best to follow his example. But it was a very long and tedious night.
&&&&&
The next morning, first breakfast consisted of a dry heel of bread and a bit of unmistakably moldy cheese. Longleaf issued from his room shortly after a tray with a far more sumptuous breakfast had been deferentially left at his door. Wiping a last bit of sausage from his lips, he motioned to us, as he passed, and indicated the front door.
Snow had begun to fall, as we stepped outside, and a sharp wind blew from the north. If we were to go anywhere today, the time to begin would be now, and even Longleaf seemed to have a sense of urgency. “It’s Tooks I’m interested in,” he muttered harshly, producing a pipe from his pocket. “I hear tell there’s one Hobbiton way, although he doesn’t go by that name. It’s your job to find him. There’s two things I want. A large green leather-bound book and a weskit of a silvery nature. These are the articles that you must produce in three days’ time. And I will remind you again that you are both now in my employ, and that my colleagues and I do not take failure at all kindly. Good day.” And with that abrupt threat, he turned and re-entered the inn, leaving us to stare at each other in the swirl of snow.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Frodo,” and I am not at all sure that my voice was steady, “but I believe we’ve just been hired to burgle ourselves.”