CHAPTER FIVE: INTERACTING WITH HOBBITS
"You can do it, Dewey," Malcolm assured his brother.
"But I'll be killing Bambi," the boy whimpered as he tried to hold the bow steady.
"That's not Bambi," Reese told him, "That's Bambi's mutant stepfather, who goes around eating small children."
Dewey turned and stared at his brother. "Do you really expect me to believe that garbage."
"Then believe this, Dewey," Malcolm hissed. "That deer is at least two good meals for all of us. You're the one who started this stuff about picking up homeless people. Now we have to feed them."
"I can't do it."
"It's either that or delicious dried vegetable stew . . . again."
The arrow sped true to its target.
(For all you animal rights activist, the deer was in an over-populated area for its species. Also, Dewey was trained in the skill of archery and as the description of the shot clearly indicates the deer died painlessly and in a humane manner. Also note that the deer was shot for the purpose of food, and that everyone cleaned up after themselves, helping to preserve our natural resources for future generations.)
"It's a good thing we remembered to bring trash bags," Dewey said in an environmentally conscious manner.
"Shut up Dewey."
*
"Do you think we're in the right place?" Reese asked. "These people are all so small."
"They're hobbits, like those guys we met in Rivendell," Malcolm reminded him.
"That's cool. I'd be in heaven if I went to school here. I could boss everybody around."
"I don't know. They run pretty fast. You wouldn't catch them."
Reese thought for a minute and agreed. "Anyway, there's a house."
"No, it isn't," Malcolm said. "That's only a root cellar or something."
"They have a lot of cellars with no houses," Dewey commented.
"Those cellars have windows," Reese added.
"Shut up, Dewey. You may be right, Reese. That could be how they live. We must be in the Shire."
"May I help you big folk?" an old hobbit called out as the wagon rolled up. "Gregan Longbottom's the name, and you look like you want to do business."
Reese smiled back. "We've got plenty of goods, but we're having trouble finding people who want them.
Gregan smiled widely. "Then maybe you should try hobbits. Show me what you carry, and we may be able to make a trade. I have some of the finest pipeweed in the South Farthing, and some tell me it's the best in the Shire."
"I told you this was the Shire," whispered Dewey.
"Shut up. Dewey," Reese said, then turned to the hobbit. "I don't know much about pipeweed, but I do have six kegs of root beer."
Gregan gave a quizzical look as some of his helpers and family stopped to listen. "Is it strong. I've never heard of that kind of beer."
"It's not real beer," Reese laughed. "Even kids can drink it. Especially kids."
Some of the younger hobbits began making noises at that, and Gregan was forced to hush them up. "You've made me curious, big fellow. I'll trade you untried one keg for one barrel of my best pipeweed. We'll try it out over a good meal and then get down to business."
"Done," Reese said before Malcolm could say anything. At Malcolm's look he replied, "don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
I think Reese is lying.
Gregan stepped up to Reese as he climbed off the wagon." Why don't we go inside and talk while my boys help unload the wagon." When Malcolm walked up to join them, Gregan looked at him sharply. "Shouldn't you mind your horses first?"
Why's he yelling at me? I'm the one in charge.
As Malcolm opened his mouth, Reese spoke up. "There is another matter," he said as he pointed to the cart holding the newlyweds and their four children. "We had plenty of room, and we're helping them get to the west."
What's going on? Reese turned that around so smoothly, it's like he actually has a brain.
The hobbit looked at the two boys and shook his head. "That's something I've never seen. A pair of traders with hearts. I'll wager you didn't charge them for passage either."
"The horses are taken care of," Dewey said. "Thanks for helping."
"That's good," Reese said, "Now take care of the cart."
Gregan looked at Malcolm. "Shouldn't you be helping?"
Malcolm shrugged his shoulders and walked after Dewey.
This is terrible. There won't be anything left by the time Reese is done making a deal. I still remember the poker game.
*
"That was great," Reese said as they finished eating. "I'd give you the horses and the wagon for another meal like that."
"You've made my wife proud with those words," Gregan whispered, "But if I know her, all you need to do is wait for the next meal." Both laughed cheerfully as Malcolm looked on.
"This is amazing. Reese has this guy eating out of the palm of his hand."
"Excuse me," Malcolm said.
"I'm talking with your brother, young man," Gregan said. "Please don't interrupt."
"Malcolm," Reese said firmly, "maybe you should take Dewey outside and check on the horses."
The two younger boys were ushered out of the house and found themselves in the afternoon sun. Malcolm looked back at the round door as it closed behind him, and sighed. He was willing to bet double or nothing that they would have nothing left by morning.
*
"You're big people aren't you," a young hobbit said as he walked up to Malcolm and Dewey. "I've seen big people before. You can always tell big people because of their height."
"Yeah," Malcolm said. "That's why we're called big people."
"My brother says that all big people are clumsy," the hobbit added, "and they always make a lot of noise. You're not making a lot of noise. Are you sick or something? I had a frog that was sick but it turned out that it was a toad. You don't look sick. Are you contagious."
Before Malcolm could answer, two other hobbits walked up. They were a little older and obviously brothers of the young hobbit.
"Dewly, what are you doing?" the older hobbit asked, as he smacked him in the back of the head.
"You're not supposed to hit me."
"Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Cry to Mom?"
As though inspired by the suggestion, Dewly ran off screaming toward a hobbit hole. As he reached the door, his mother came out, saw him and ushered him inside. "YOU," she shouted at the older hobbit, "GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW. WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT HITTING YOUR BROTHER."
"That was strange," Dewey said to the one remaining hobbit.
"Mom is always yelling about something. It's not like we do anything really wrong. Did Dewly ask you? About eating?"
"No,"
"Oh, we're supposed to ask if you want to join us for late lunch. Grandfather's talking business with your boss and he doesn't want you to go hungry."
Great. Now Reese is our boss.
The two boys followed the hobbit back to his hole.
This kid looks awfully familiar.
"This is my brother Dewey, and I'm Malcolm."
"That's weird," the boy laughed. "My name's Malco. I saw you come in with a cart and a wagon. Are you rich?"
"Not really. We seem to be getting by, though."
"I wish I was older. Then I could do the things I want to do, instead of being bossed around all the time."
"I know what you mean," Malcolm assured him. "But don't worry. Things will get better."
Malco looked Malcolm in the eye and said, "Do you know what the best thing about childhood is? At some point, it stops."
I knew this kid was familiar.
*
Dewey looked at his brother while they were washing up before eating. "Malcolm, why don't you ever relax."
"What are you talking about, Dewey?" Malcolm said accusingly.
"That," Dewey said sternly. "You're always yelling. You don't think we can do anything. You're worse than Reese ever was."
"You don't understand anything, Dewey. We're lost. We've been lost for weeks. We don't even have a place to live. I hate it, not having a home."
"We have a home," Dewey said softly.
"Sleeping under the wagon is not a home."
"Yes it is. It's our home. As long as we have the wagon we have someplace to go."
"Why don't you ask Reese how he feels?" Malcolm said sarcastically.
"He likes it."
"He does?"
Dewey put his arm on Malcolm's shoulder. "We all miss Mom and Dad and Francis, but Reese and I know we have to deal with it."
"I don't . . ." Malcolm began to say, but Dewey held up his hand to stop him.
"If there's anyway to get home, you'll find it. You're smart. But until then, this is what we have. Go with it, Malcolm."
I guess I have been a jerk.
"Dewey, I'm sorry. I thought you guys didn't care. When did you become so smart?"
"I'm only ten, but I've watched a lot of soap operas."
"Cool."
*
"You're still out here?" Reese asked, taking the pipe out of his mouth.
"It was nice out. We fell asleep," Malcolm said. "What are you doing with a pipe?"
"Gregan gave it to me. It makes me look professional."
"Oh," Malcolm said, then asked curiously, "What's it like? Smoking a pipe, I mean."
Reese shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I've never tried. But it is a nice pipe. And the wagon's loaded and ready to go."
"Yaaaahh," Dewey yelled.
"Reese. What do you mean the wagon's loaded?"
"You said we should never leave a place empty. I worked out a deal. We now own twelve barrels of Longbottom Leaf, the finest pipeweed in the Shire."
"And?" Malcolm asked hopefully, but with little hope.
"And the names and places of several people who might like them."
"And?"
"And we don't have any money, but we also have plenty of food."
"Actually, that sounds pretty good."
"I've got to know, Reese. How did you do this? Those kegs couldn't bring us that much money."
"Promise you won't tell Mom?"
"Guaranteed."
"Do you know how much these elvin cloaks are worth?"
NO, not my cloak?
"Don't cry, Malcolm," Dewey said. "At least YOU still have boots." Dewey looked at Malcolm seriously, and said, "You still have something to do. You promised."
"Yeah," Malcolm said as he walked over to the cart.
"Do we have to go now?" an alert and active young boy asked as he saw Malcolm approach.
"Yeah, Terrin. Can I talk to your dad?"
Terrin smiled as he called out for the man.
"Should we unload the cart, now?" he asked. "You have already been more than generous to us."
"It all worked out," Malcolm said. "None of us know how to cook. Can I ask you a favor?"
"Anything, my young friend."
"Well, you said you were going close to the Grey Havens. There's an elf there named Galdor. He lent us the cart and horse for as long as we needed." Malcolm nodded to the wagon. "It would help us both out if you could return the cart for me."
"Thank you, Malcolm," the man said warmly, and hugged the now embarrassed boy. "If there is anything else I can do for you please let me know."
"That was a nice thing you did," Gregan said as he walked up behind Malcolm. Malcolm simply nodded as the cart rolled down the road to the west. He smiled at Malcolm, and added, "too bad you gave them all of your food."
What?
*
"What?" the hobbit asked of his younger brother.
"Mom told you to watch me, Malco."
"That doesn't mean I have to hold your hand, Dewly. This is why everybody teases you."
I remember this. This is the way Dewey used to act when we were younger. Do you want to know a scary thought. Think about Malco's friends. Yeah, Hobbit Geeks.
"Hey, Malco," Malcolm said in a friendly manner.
"You're still here?"
"Yeah, I was being nice and accidently gave away all our food."
Malco laughed. "Your brother said you were the smart one."
"Well. If you're supposed to be so smart, think of a solution."
"That's easy," Malco told him. "Sell something of value. Information. Do you know anything we don't know?"
"A lot of things," Malcolm replied, "but most of them nobody wants to know."
"You could sneak into the crops."
"I'm bigger than everyone else in this place. Look, kid," Malcolm said, "This is the way it is. I don't have any talents that your people would want. I can memorize numbers instantly, add them, divide them, do anything, but that doesn't help anyone who's trying to grow corn."
"Come with me," the hobbit said urgently, grabbing Malcolm's hand.
"Where are we going," Malcolm demanded as he found himself running down the road.
"Gregan Longbottom"
"But he hates me."
"Grandfather hates me, too."
*
"That was truly wonderful," Gregan Longbottom said. "You are a wizard with numbers, Malcolm, and I find that amazing for big people."
"Thank you, but you should know that your grandson can do the same thing."
"You are right," Gregan admitted. "The boy tried to tell me but I wouldn't listen. I guess I didn't want to believe that someone that much younger than me was that much smarter."
"I know what he's going through. He just wants to be treated like a normal kid, who just happens to be good with numbers."
"You're right again, even if you are big folk," Gregan laughed.
"So, Grandfather," Malco said slyly, "I guess you'll talk to Mom about that teacher you don't care for."
"I will, indeed. I'll eat my words and tell her I was completely wrong about your special classes."
Damn. I'm still going to that school.
"Uh, thanks Grandfather."
*
"And remember," Reese said, "the key is staying there and telling them you saw everything. Nobody ever blames the eyewitness."
"Thanks," the hobbit said, "I'll let you know how it went the next time you come." Joyfully, the young lad ran off.
"What was that?" Malcolm asked.
"Malco's brother. I was giving him some tips on how to brighten up his school days."
"They never worked for you. You always got into trouble."
"That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy doing them."
It's weird, but that makes sense.
