Hidden Chronicles Chapter 10
The Creature from the Woods
Filibert looked once more at the set of heavy footprints leading away from Araminta’s hut in the direction of the High Woods, and remembering the look of terror on Araminta’s face upon discovering the figure rummaging in her kitchen he was by no means certain that they should follow it without seeking help first. However, he could see that Araminta, remarkable hobbit that she was, had quickly recovered and was set upon going after a fellow creature clearly in need of comfort and sustenance. “Go to the kitchen,” she ordered, “and grab that sack it dropped. Put some more food in it.” Filibert did as he was asked and while he did so the little healer busied herself gathering some of her salves and potions which, along with an assortment of other items from her medicine bag, she stashed somewhere within the folds of her dress. Within minutes the pair were setting off across the snow.
As they trudged towards the distant trees. they were able to examine the footprints left by the creature more closely. They were larger than a hobbit’s and there were no toeprints visible, suggesting some kind of covering on the feet, which ruled out the possibility that it was any kind of wild animal besides which, in the brief moment that she had seen it, Araminta was sure that it had stood on two legs. Surely no elf would leave footprints so heavy and Araminta insisted it had been too tall for a dwarf. Perhaps some kind of orc or goblin then – but Filibert remembered that this same creature had shown kindness to the boy who had been lost in the woods when he had first come to Hidden, and surely none of that kind would show such compassion. The two were still speculating when they arrived at the edge of the woods.
As they did so a figure emerged from the trees and greeted them with a cheery wave. Startled for a moment, they relaxed when they saw it was Adzo Tiptree, one of the woodcutters from the nearby lumber camp which supplied the village with much of its winter fuel as well as with building materials. Filibert showed Adzo the trail of footprints leading into the trees and asked him if he’d seen anything, but Adzo said he hadn’t as he’d been busy collecting a cartload of firewood to take back to the village. Filibert noticed that Adzo seemed nervous when shown the footprints and asked him if he’d ever seen anything of a strange creature living in the woods while he went about his work. At first the woodcutter became very anxious and said he didn’t like to talk about such things but on further questioning he eventually admitted that he and his brother Ringo had both seen something in the woods, as well as hearing strange cries and sobbing on more than one occasion. “I saw it once in the mist – ten feet tall it were, I swears, and terrible to behold – but we don’t go any deeper into the woods than we needs these days!” The hobbit was clearly shaken by the recollection and swiftly bade them farewell and left to collect his cart and return home as soon as possible.
Filibert and Araminta cautiously followed the trail into the woods. The footprints were less distinct here with less snow on the ground in the shelter of the trees and before long the trail ended altogether near a place where they found a crude firepit scraped out in the mossy earth and surrounded by a ring of broken rocks. The ashes were cold, and scattered about nearby they found the bones of various small creatures. “Well, that’s it,” said Filibert. “We can’t go on or we’ll be lost in the woods.” You may know from stories you have read that hobbits are notoriously bad at finding their way through woods and forests, though their sense of direction in open country is excellent. “Nonsense,” said Araminta, and from within the folds of her dress she produced a white bandage from which she tore a strip and hung it from the low branch of a nearby tree. “There,” she cried triumphantly, “we’ll make our own trail back to here. Now come along,” and taking Filibert by the arm she urged him on. So it was, hanging strips of bandage from trees and bushes along the way, that they made their way deeper into the woods.
They came next to a small clearing at the centre of which stood a rough shelter made from branches woven together and looking inside they could see a bed of dried leaves and grasses and a pile of animal skins. “This must be the place where I found the lost boy,” cried Filibert. “Yes, I’m sure it is. This must be the creature’s home!”
“Well if if it is his home there’s no sign of him,” Araminta replied, clearly disappointed.
“Now if I remember rightly there’s a cliff face over there, just through those trees. Yes, I can see it, look,” said Filibert.
The two hobbits made their way to where he had pointed and, sure enough, the trees gave way here to a sheer cliff face, rising higher than the eye could see. These cliffs formed the western end of Hidden and closed the village off from the rest of the Shire, taking over from the two impenetrable hedges which formed the northern and southern boundaries. At the cliff’s highest point the waters of the Roaring Falls spilled down into the deep gorge which formed the start of the course of the River Swashing which flowed through the length of the village before disappearing into the boggy and impassable Slue at the eastern end.
“Look at this,” cried the sharp-eyed Filibert and led them to a place where someone had been digging into the granite face, although they had been able to penetrate no more than a few feet. Next to the shallow opening, among the scattered rock shards, lay a broken pickaxe of the sort used by miners and treasure seekers. “He must have been mad if he thought he could dig his way out of here with that,” Filibert said.
“Aye, mad, or desperate,” Araminta sighed. “Maybe both!”
The two hobbits realised that they could go no further and started to make their way back to the creature’s shelter when they were stopped in their tracks by the sound of sobbing coming from a nearby thicket. The sobbing stopped for a moment and was replaced by a cry so chilling that Filibert’s blood ran cold, though he could not tell if it was a cry of pain or fear or madness.
Araminta did not hesitate. She plunged into the dense bushes at once and when he followed Filibert found her kneeling beside a shivering creature dressed in thin rags. At first Filibert could not tell what it was but on closer inspection he realised he was looking at a man, albeit one who had suffered greatly and was in desperate straits. He was tall, even for one of his race, though not the ten-footer Adzo had claimed he had seen. The flesh hung loosely from his bones, and it was clear that he was close to starving. His visage was a truly terrible sight, contorted into a grimace of pain barely concealed by his unkempt hair and beard. Araminta held a phial and was trying to persuade him to drink a little of the potion it held and all the time she was stroking his forehead and crooning softly, uttering soft words to calm him. However, when he saw Filibert he started and tried to rise from where he lay, a look of pure terror on his face. Araminta rose and pushed Filibert back out of the creature’s sight.
“He’s clearly terrified of you,” she said. “We need to get him back to my hut – he needs food and rest and medicine – but I can’t get him back on my own. Give me some time with him – I’ve got something to calm him – and then we’ll try to get him out of here.” Araminta took the sack of food and disappeared into the bushes once more, leaving Filibert to wait and wonder once more at the kindness and bravery of this woman he called his friend, but for whom he had begun to have feelings such as he had never felt before.
By the time Araminta emerged from the thicket, with the man leaning heavily on her arm, it was nearing dusk. Whatever she had given him had calmed him so much that his eyes were glazed over and he barely looked at Filibert. She had fed him and he seemed to have regained enough strength to be able to put one foot in front of the other. So it was that with the two hobbits supporting him, one on either side, they were able to find their way to the edge of the woods, following first the white bandages hung from branches which showed up in the fading light and then the footprints in the snow which were now only just visible in the faint beams of moonlight which shone through the gaps in the treetops.
Once in the open they could see their way easily enough by the light of a waning moon, though it was hard going for the weary hobbits supporting the man across the snow-covered ground. He seemed to barely notice his surroundings and did not resist, but at one point there came into view, silhouetted in the moonlight, the ‘Big House’, the home of ‘The Maister’ and upon seeing it he at once tried to free himself from the hobbits and lunged as if to run but instead fell to the ground cowering and crying out in fear. It was only with great difficulty that Araminta was able to coax him to his feet once more and they at last brought him to her hut.
“You should go now,” she said. “I don’t know why, but he’s clearly afraid of you and he needs to be calm. I will tend to him and give him the rest he needs until we can decide what to do with him.”
“But I can’t leave you alone with him,” Filibert protested. “You don’t know what he might do. We should fetch Dudo and let him deal with him.”
“No,” insisted Araminta. “He needs the care I can give him. Please promise me, Filibert, that you’ll tell no-one. Let this be our secret for now.”
Filibert gazed at her helplessly. “I promise,” he stuttered, and, as he made his way back to The Smials, he once again found himself somewhat perplexed by the power she seemed to hold over him.
It was quite late by the time Filibert arrived back at his at his own front door in the Old Smials. After a quick supper he went straight to bed, for the next day was a work day, it being the first of the three days of the week when the children of Hidden were expected to attend the village school. Even though he was quite exhausted he did not sleep soundly, for the day’s events had thrown up too many questions which kept going round and round in his head. Who was that wild creature from the woods and how did he get there? Could it be that he, like Filibert himself, had arrived in Hidden from the outside and, if so, was it by accident or design? Had he come here deliberately, for some reason of his own or had he been brought here by an unknown hand for some hidden purpose? What did seem clear to Filibert was that something had gone badly wrong and the man had been driven to madness and despair in his futile attempts to escape this place. And of course, all these questions led Filibert to contemplate his own situation more closely, for he had never once given up on his belief that there must be a way for him to return to his old home in The Shire and today’s events made him more determined than ever to find it.
In the schoolroom the next day some of Filibert’s pupils may have noticed that their teacher was not quite as alert as usual and at one point when little Rose Buggins approached his desk to ask him a question about a tricky bit of multiplication, she swears that he was fast asleep, but that kindly child had not the heart to wake him. I am afraid that some others were less sympathetic and were quick to take the opportunity to engage in all manner of shenanigans which would not normally be acceptable in that classroom, but I will leave the details to the reader’s imagination. When the school day finally ended and the children had departed for their homes Filibert set out at once along the road across the river and made his way to Araminta’s hut.
She must have seen him coming for she came out to meet him before he reached her door. In answer to his urgent question, she quickly reassured him that she was quite unharmed and that the man from the woods posed no threat to her – indeed, he was quite passive in her presence and had allowed her to apply salves to the many cuts and scratches on his body. She had fed him broth and given him more of the potion she had used to coax him from his hiding place which had calmed him enough to allow them to bring him back to her hut. He had slept but on several occasions in the night he had woken, uttering terrible screams and cries as might come from some nightmare, and only her soothing words had lulled him back to sleep.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t come in Filibert,” she said. “He is clearly afraid of almost everything and if he sees you or anyone else there is no knowing what he might do. For some reason he has accepted me and I must continue to care for him and give him the food and medicine he needs if he is to recover physically. Only then can we decide what to do about him. As for his mind – who can say? I have no easy cure for madness, and I fear it may be too late!”
Filibert looked at her helplessly and she smiled at him.
“I know you want to help,” she said. “But you can’t. Please keep our secret and I will send a message when he is stronger, and you can come then and we will think about what to do together.”
With that she suddenly planted an affectionate kiss on Filibert’s cheek and returned quickly to her hut, leaving the blushing hobbit in a state of consternation.
Hidden Chronicles Chapter 11
Noises in the Night
That night Filibert did sleep soundly as the needs of his body for rest took precedence over the turmoil that filled his head. The next two days were school days, and his evenings were occupied with the preparation of lessons and with marking the children’s work. Folk often forget that a schoolmaster’s work does not end at the close of the school day. But still there was no word from Araminta and with nothing to distract him from his concerns Filibert found that his thoughts turned once more to his desire to find some way of leaving the village of Hidden and resuming his old life.
So it was that he re-visited the places he had explored so many times before, especially in those days immediately after he arrived. He examined every inch of The Hedge, paying special attention to that place where a hole had opened and he had climbed through from the lane where he had been abandoned by that crafty carter, but it seemed as impenetrable as ever and offered no hope of escape. He was clearly unsettled by his concerns for Araminta, too, and this led him to search ever more frantically as if, however illogical it may seem to us, he thought that if he could find a way out it would solve the problem of what to do about the wild man from the woods.
He ventured once more into the Slue seeking some secret path through the marshes and he gazed up at the cliffs at the western end of the village, hoping in vain that he might spy there some concealed footholds that would allow him to scale those heights. Frustrated in these explorations he took to asking some of the villagers if they had ever heard of any way out of the village but for the most part he was met with blank stares and expressions of surprise that anyone would want to leave. One or two even questioned whether there really was an ‘outside’. His friend Dudo Underfoot, the village watchman who had found Filibert on that fateful day, was insistent that he had noticed no gap in the Hedge either before or after Dudo’s appearance which happened, as he said, “as if by magic!” Dudo looked at Filibert pityingly.
“I don’t know why it is,” he said, “but like I told you at the time we only receive visitors here in Hidden, but they can never leave. Come to think of it, I can’t remember us actually having any visitors before you arrived, but that is what we have always been told.”
“But told by who?” exclaimed Filibert, suddenly excited. Dudo pondered for a moment.
“Well that I wouldn’t rightly know,” admitted Dudo. “I suppose it’d be the Big House – you know, The Maister – that’s who usually tells us stuff like that.”
Filibert sighed. The grounds of The Big House were completely encircled by spiked railings and the only way in lay through a set of tall iron gates which seemed to be permanently closed. On more than one occasion he had approached, hoping to get a better look at that grey granite edifice and the intriguing array of limestone carvings, depicting all manner of creatures, faces and symbols which adorned its otherwise grim frontage. He had never got any further than the boundary, but with nowhere else left to explore he once more made his way across the river and, leaving the path where it came closest to where the tall tower at the building’s western end rose above the scattered trees, he made his way to those gates once more.
The result was the same. Within moments of his drawing near a sturdily built hobbit emerged from the building accompanied by two fierce-looking black dogs.
“Be off with you,” he cried. “No one visits here unless they’ve business with The Maister, and if ye had any, I’d know about it!”
This, Filibert knew, was Alwin Mugwort, the Maister’s steward, a surly fellow who was rarely seen in the village and, when he was, was given a wide berth by the villagers. It seemed that his main job was to deter unwanted visitors to the Big House, although what his other responsibilities might be none could tell. His wife, Oleander, was the Maister’s housekeeper. A sour-faced woman with a sharp tongue, she did visit the village regularly and, so it was said, she brought the Maister’s orders on various matters either by passing them to Aunty Prue at The Shop or by posting them directly, written on parchment in an ornate copperplate hand, on the village noticeboard. The dogs pressed their muzzles through the bars of the gate and growled menacingly.
“Be off, I says,” repeated Alwin. “If I has to tell you agin I’ll open the gate and let ‘em loose on ye! The Maister don’t appreciate folks coming round here poking their noses into his affairs.” With little option but to do as he was asked Filibert turned and made his way back to the village.
Crossing the bridge, he came to The Green and paused for a moment, deep in thought. Surely there must be someone who knew the secret of how he got here and, more to the point, how he might leave. Over to his left amongst a small group of cottages one, slightly larger than the others and with a brick built shed attached, stood out. This was, of course, The Shop, very much at the centre of village life, a place where villagers could exchange their wares and all manner of items they had crafted. Also, more importantly, here they could request items from ‘outside’, which could not be obtained in the village but which only The Shop’s proprietor, Aunty Prue, was able to procure, though no-one knew how she was able to do this.
Of course, Filibert suddenly thought to himself, why didn’t I think of it before? If anyone knows the secret way in and out of this place Aunty Prue will know. Not only had she found all manner of items for the school, including a whole set of books for the children’s library, but she allowed Filibert to send letters to one person outside the village – that person being me, his cousin Wybert, which is how I can tell you these tales.
Filibert at once made his way to The Shop and found Aunty Prue’s young nephew and assistant Colum Whitlock dozing at the shop counter. He woke with a start but relaxed when he saw that it was Filibert who had entered and not his aunt, who was unforgiving of shop assistants who fall asleep at their posts. He said that she was in the parlour and that Filibert should go right through.
Aunty Prue greeted him with a cheery smile and an offer of tea but as soon as he started to ask her his questions her demeanour changed rapidly and he flinched in the face of her steely gaze.
“Now you listen to me, Master Diggle, and listen well. I told you when you came that no one leaves and you had to get used to it. We reckoned there’d be a good reason for it and the whole village knows now what that reason is – them children is very lucky to have you as their teacher. As to how I gets stuff from the ‘outside’ that’s my business and no one else’s! You’re one of us now and I reckons you’ve plenty of reasons to want to stay. You’ve made a lot of friends here, especially that Miss Araminta Digroot – as good-natured and fine-looking a woman as a fellow of your age could hope to meet, am I right?”
Her face softened when she saw Filibert redden slightly at this, and she allowed herself a momentary smile before addressing him once more in a tone of voice that brooked no contradiction.
“You’d be well advised to stop going round asking these sort of questions, Master Diggle, because if you don’t there’s no telling what might happen! There now, you’ve been told.”
Formidable lady as she was, she looked quite flustered at the degree of ferocity she had mustered to issue her warning, and she ushered Filibert out of the room without so much as a goodbye.
Filibert made his way home in a state of utter confusion. He found he had little appetite for his supper and spent the evening pacing his living room, tormented by the questions which whirled round and round in his head. He lay on his bed and tried to sleep but he could not. He could not accept that his search for a way to leave the village was at an end even though he could see no way to take it forward. He worried, too, about Araminta, alone with the wild man from the woods and he found himself strangely disturbed by what Aunty Prue had said about her – indeed, he realised that if he were to leave, he would miss her company badly. He found himself wondering too about Aunty Prue’s strongly worded warning and what it might mean. Realising that he would not sleep he put on his coat, took a small lantern and went outside hoping that a walk in the night air might clear his head.
It was cold and snow still lay on the ground in places, even inside the village. There was no moon and by the light of his lantern Filibert made his way to The Green passing near to The Singing Badger which, long since closed, lay in darkness. There was not a soul abroad. He found himself near the centre of The Green where the Horn of Hidden, used to rouse the villagers in case of fire or other emergencies, hung on its post next to the village noticeboard. It was from here that he heard a low rumble coming from the direction of the bridge that crossed the river and he saw, in the light of their lantern, two indistinct figures pushing a handcart. He realised that the noise he had heard was the sound of the wheels on the stone cobbles of the bridge. Curious, he quickly extinguished his own lantern and watched their slow progress across The Green and into The Shop. Excited now, he waited and watched in the shadows in the hope that they might emerge, and sure enough before too long they did and Filibert deduced by their much faster progress that whatever had been in the cart had been unloaded and it was now empty.
It was too dark for Filibert to make out anything by which he might identify either of the two figures but it was easy enough to follow the light of the lantern one of them carried and as he made his own way across the bridge he saw them take the path to the left. There was no need for him to risk being spotted by lighting his own lantern for this path was familiar to him. They continued until Filibert saw a faint glow above the trees to his left and he knew that it came from the windows at the top of the tower of the Big House which overlooked the entire village. I bet that’s where they are headed, he thought to himself.
However, to his surprise, they carried on past it, and on too past the path which branched off and led up to the High Woods. This brought them to a place where the track turned sharply to the left and brought them near to the river once more and to the watermill where Bill Bakewell ground flour for the village bakers. The mill lay in darkness now, for Bill and his wife lived in a large cottage back in the village along with their many children. Could this be the final destination for the mysterious pair? But no, they carried on at the same steady pace and Filibert heard the wheels of the cart crossing the wooden bridge leading back to the other side of the river and saw the light from their lantern disappearing across the fields on that side. As he himself reached the bridge he saw a flickering light from a low building up ahead and it was towards that light that they made their way.
It was the village forge, which lay close by the cottage of Durnir Ironhammer, the dwarf blacksmith, a craftsman of undoubted skill who provided an essential service to the villagers. Not only was Durnir the only dwarf in the village but, as Filibert had discovered for himself, he was a dwarf of few words, and no-one could claim to have ever really got to know him or to know how he came to be there. As the pair reached the forge, they opened the door wide to admit the handcart and, silhouetted against the light that shone from within, Filibert saw that one was taller and broader than any hobbit and he guessed that this must be Durnir himself. The other was a slim hobbit, but who it might be Filibert could not tell.
The pair entered the building and, cautiously, Filibert approached and peered around the wide door which had been left ajar. Peering inside he saw the furnace, which was not lit, an anvil and a workbench with a heavy vice attached. Various buckets, filled with water, were placed around the floor and an array of hammers and other tools hung from the walls. Of the handcart and its pushers there was no sign. Filibert entered and he noticed at the far end of the room an open trap door and, drawing closer, he saw that it opened on to a ramp leading down to what he assumed must be a cellar. While he was wondering whether he dared venture further he heard voices from below.
“By my beard, I’ve seen snails move faster than you, lad. We ain’t got all night!”
“We’d be quicker if he could carry a bit more,” a second voice added. “I needs to get back to the pony: she’ll be fretting if I leaves her alone too long out there.”
Filibert recognised the gruff tones of the dwarf blacksmith straight away. He knew he had heard the second voice somewhere too, but he couldn’t quite remember where or when.
“One more trip through the tunnel,” Durnir said. “There’s not much left in your cart.”
“Aye, that’s if the lad’s up to it,” replied the second voice unkindly. “Are ye sure ye don’t need a nap first., laddie?”
“I’m doing my best,” complained a new voice. “I’m not as strong as you and my ma says I’ve a weak constitution.”
This brought a chuckle from the others as the voices faded into the distance.
Filibert recognised this third voice straight away too, for he had heard it earlier that very day at The Shop. It was Colum, Aunty Prue’s nephew and assistant, and it at once became clear to him how she was able to obtain things only available outside the village. He realised too that a tunnel might provide a means of escape, although he would have to devise a way of getting past Durnir, and he couldn’t be sure what he would find at the other end. Clearly it led to a place where a cart and a pony lay waiting, presumably the property of that mysterious second voice, and suddenly he knew where he had heard it before too, telling a tale of singing badgers in the bar of the Floating Log in Frogmorton. It was the carter who had tricked him, stolen his purse and left him abandoned by the gap in the Hedge which had closed behind him.
No sooner than he had this thought than Filibert heard footsteps and voices returning, presumably from the tunnel leading from Durnir’s cellar. Elated by what he had discovered, he quickly left the forge and started to make his way across the field in the direction of the wooden bridge. For the first time since his arrival he felt that he made real progress in uncovering some of the secrets of this place and a real possibility of escape, even if he could still not explain the mysterious gap in The Hedge that had closed behind him.
Full of hope he lit his lantern and crossed the wooden bridge. Tomorrow he would make his plans. Suddenly his arms were seized in a strong grip and some sort of sack was thrown over his head. His hands were firmly tied behind his back and he was pushed forward, stumbling blindly.
“Move!” urged a rough sounding voice. “Ye’ve an appointment to keep!”
