Notes to Readers:

Thanks for the comments! Funny how reviews are so motivating; I always seem to find more to write when I find them in my mailbox... and the writing goes so much slower when it seems as if no one is reading... odd, eh? You do not know how grateful I am for the steady supply of reviews. And the Muse has gone to Hawaii, and left no forwarding address. Good thing I finished "FirstBorn". Hope she comes back.

Xena, thanks for the faithful review. Yes, intended a bit of deja vu there, with Ferdi and the boys. Bet he was wishing someone else had done the same for him and Pippin all those years ago. O, and as to racing, I used to be quite horse-crazy for a number of years. Even visited some horse-racing museum in Saratoga, New York, a very long time ago. All I remember now was a huge portrait of some famous Thoroughbred, painted by someone who painted presidents. Sargent? Don't know anymore. Read voraciously about racing, among the books, every "Black Stallion" book known to mankind. Don't know how accurate they are. The first one was written by a teenager, in science class, in high school, I do believe. (Read an interview with Walter Farley, the author. So, young writers, look at what he did! Take hope!)

ElveNDestiNy, welcome. Pull up a chair, and how do you like your tea? Glad you've read all the way through, it shows gumption. Or something. What does it say about me, that I write this many chapters? I shudder to think.

FantasyFan, I am glad the lads didn't burn down the stables, that would have been just too much. I don't think Ferdi told anyone what he saw, so while they might have suspected the culprits, I don't know that they really *knew*. As to "silks", I thought I read somewhere that they're not silk, just like pinks are not really pink but red. I could be wrong, though. Hmmm. Bright colours do really come in handy in horse racing, to tell one rider from another. So many horses are brown. Perhaps the Master of Racing keeps a supply of silks on hand, for riders to use in the Pony Races? Dunno. May have to change the detail if the beta reader quibbles.

runaround, i must admit your musing gave me a turn. i really don't enjoy hurting the characters, but i sure enjoy the character growth and healing that comes afterwards... Without conflict, you have a bunch of people sitting around eating and talking about dull, boring things. Hmmm, sounds like hobbits. Seriously, I was taught that stories need tension and conflict in order to be interesting, and as I do not enjoy writing arguments and fights and unpleasant people (it pains me to write of orcs and ruffians), I tend to fall back on accidents and such to generate dynamic tension. Whew. Enough author-speak for one day.

Ff.net permitting, expect an update in this story every other day until we reach the end (chapter 59, yes, the ending is written, and a very lovely one if I do say so myself. Still smiling. Gonna go read it over again. Please don't neglect to review the last chapter, no reviews at the end of a story leave the Muse pensive and pouting). Angst warning: expect intermittent showers in this story, and in "Merlin".

A new chapter to "Merlin" will be added in between updates to "Flames", in case you are following that story.

NEWS FLASH: The new stories are coming along. "FirstBorn" is written through chapter 9, finished, while "Shire" is up to chapter 4 already. Plugging right along. In addition, I have been introduced to the fine art of drabble writing. A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words, no more, no less. You can find the two I've managed thus far at www*livejournal*com, and my user name is Lindelea1 (hey! just like ffnet! Guess I'll stop singing the blues now... "Secret A-gent man, Secret A-gent man! They've given you a number, and taken away your name!")

***

55. Interference

Ferdibrand was vaguely aware of a whispered argument nearby; he appreciated that they were keeping their voices down, but wished they'd take the discussion somewhere else entirely. Gradually he became aware that he was the subject of discussion.

'...won't have you bothering him, whatever are you thinking of?'

'You'd be rousing him yourself, soon; with that blow to the head I imagine you'll waken him every hour or two through the day and into the night.'

'Yes, but...' Ferdi finally identified the protestor as Healer Woodruff, as vehement as a mother cat defending her kitten.

Another voice Ferdi did not recognise spoke. 'I only wish to ask him a few questions. This cannot wait, we must deal with it before the gossip starts to spread like wildfire; we must fight that fire with facts. He would want it resolved as quickly as possible, himself, I'm sure.'

Ferdi moaned and moved restlessly, his bow arm surprisingly stiff and aching deeply, though the pain was eclipsed by the throbbing in his skull.

'Ferdi?' Woodruff's voice spoke close to him, warm and gentle, somehow soothing and sustaining. 'Ferdi, are you with us?'

'Go away,' he said fretfully. 'Leave me be.'

'Ferdi, I need you to waken,' the healer persisted. 'Just for a moment, then you can go back to sleep.'

'I do not know what is the matter with you healers,' he grumbled. 'When I feel fit enough to rise, you say, "Stay in the bed!" and when all I want is a bit of rest you tell me to wake.'

'Ferdi,' Pippin's voice said close to his other ear, 'Fatty here needs to ask you a question or two.'

'Fine,' Ferdi said bitterly. 'Why don't you serve tea and crumpets whilst you're at it? We shall have a nice gossip over our teacups.' He put his good hand to his head and groaned. 'Please,' he whispered. 'Leave me be.'

'Ferdibrand.' It was the voice he hadn't recognised at first. 'Ferdi, what happened?'

'What do you mean?' Ferdi said, opening his eyes, only to shut them hastily again. The room spun even with his eyes shut, but at least he didn't see double with his lids down.

'What do you remember of the race?' the voice persisted.

'What race?' Ferdi asked, and heard a bitten-off exclamation from the Thain.

'He doesn't remember racing?'

'What do you remember?' Healer Woodruff said smoothly.

'There was more than one race,' Ferdi grumbled. 'Which one is it that you're not clear about?'

'The last one,' the voice, presumably "Fatty", said. "Fatty" who? Could it be Fredegar Bolger? And if so, what was he doing, asking questions? Wondering hurt Ferdi's head. Perhaps if he answered the questions they would go away and leave him alone.

'The last one?' he said. 'I was riding Socks, it was his semi-final race...'

'That's right,' Pippin said encouragingly, and a hand squeezed his shoulder gently.

'I... we... had a false start,' Ferdi said. He was beginning to feel nauseous as well as dizzy. 'We lined up again, and started, and...'

'Yes...?' Fatty said. 'Go on.'

'I...' Ferdi said, swallowing hard. He had begun to sweat, and Woodruff broke in.

'Are you feeling nauseated, Ferdi?'

He clamped his jaw and nodded.

'All right, that's enough,' the healer snapped, but Fatty persisted.

'Do you remember the accident?'

Ferdi took a few shallow breaths to steady his stomach. 'Accident?' he said, puzzled.

'What happened after the start?' Fatty pressed.

Ferdi opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again.

'Ferdi?' Pippin said.

'I... I don't know,' Ferdi answered, frustrated. 'I remember reaching the first turn, but...' It was like walking down a tunnel, only to find a door blocking his way.

'You don't remember anything after that?' Woodruff said.

Ferdi started to shake his head, but that hurt too much, so he contented himself with a whispered, 'No.'

'That's enough,' the healer said more gently. 'It's all right, Ferdi, you get some rest.'

'That's what I was trying to do in the first place,' he said bad-temperedly.

Pippin's hand squeezed his shoulder again. 'We'll talk later,' the Thain said quietly, but Ferdi didn't answer, as sleep crept over him again.

***

Fredegar Bolger sat back and sighed. 'I had hoped to hear his own version of the events.' He slapped his hands gently on his thighs and rose heavily from the chair. 'Ah, well,' he said. 'Plenty more witnesses to interview.' He looked keenly at the healer. 'I want to know immediately when he wakens again.'

'Yes, sir,' Woodruff said grudgingly. She turned to Hilly, standing uneasily by the door. 'Hilly, you keep watch now. Call me if his breathing changes, or if he spews, or if he wakens. I'll be back to rouse him again in an hour or two.'

'Yes'm,' Hilly answered. He sat quietly by the bed, watching Ferdi sleep, until the healer returned. She woke the reluctant Ferdibrand, asked him a few questions, and left again. Since Fatty Bolger did not put in an appearance, Hilly divined that Woodruff had not deigned to notify him that she had wakened Ferdi.

Hilly thought Ferdi had gone back to sleep, when the injured hobbit spoke, startling him.

'What was that all about?'

'What do you mean?' Hilly asked cautiously.

'Fatty Bolger was in here a moment ago, asking questions. What's it about?' A moment ago? O, he must mean the interview more than an hour before.

Hilly tried to put him off, but he persisted, and Hilly figured it was either send for Woodruff or answer Ferdi's questions. Knowing how Ferdi felt about healers, he thought he'd pursue the latter course.

'Congratulations,' he began.

'What for?' Ferdi asked.

'Penny is the fastest pony in Tookland. Her flowers are hanging right over there,' Hilly said, 'except for the mouthful or two she managed to snatch whilst the trophy was being presented.' Ferdi opened his eyes to see the garlands hanging from one of the pegs on the wall, and smiled weakly, closing his eyes again.

'Wish I'd been there to see it,' he said.

'It was quite the fat purse,' Hilly continued. 'There were so many entries this year, you know.'

'I know,' Ferdi said. 'A fat purse, eh? That might come in handy.'

'You'd think so,' Hilly said. 'Others think so too. There was a complaint lodged after the race.'

'Complaint?' Ferdi said.

'O aye,' Hilly answered. 'Evidently Hornblower Bracegirdle is accusing you of bumping him in the semi-final race, causing the accident.' And of course, if it could be proven that Ferdi had deliberately bumped him, Ferdi would have to pay him damages. Those damages would be high, seeing as how Hornblower's pony had broken a leg and had to be destroyed.

'I bumped him?' Ferdi asked in amazement.

'He says you bumped him,' Hilly emphasised. He sat a moment, then muttered to himself. 'Old Blow-hard. Wish he'd go blow his horn someplace else.'

'That doesn't help matters any,' Ferdi reproved.

Hilly went on. 'Fatty's been given charge of the investigation. The Thain excused himself on account of owning the pony you were riding, and he asked Odovacar Bolger to preside, but old Odo excused himself, for personal reasons, he said. I dunno, perhaps he had a wager on.'

'So they settled on Fatty, as a gentlehobbit, and an uninterested party.'

'Yes,' Hilly answered, 'and he's doing a thorough job of it. He's talked to every rider in the race, not just Hornblower and yourself, and all the hobbits who were watching by that part of the racecourse.'

'That's good,' Ferdi said, but Hilly was silent. 'What is it?' Ferdi said at last. 'Something's bothering you.'

'He talked to me,' Hilly said quietly. 'I don't like the questions he asked.'

'What questions?' Ferdi said.

Hilly was quiet for a moment, then said, 'Are you sure you don't remember anything after the first turn?'

Ferdi thought back, though it made his head ache more fiercely. 'No,' he said slowly, then, 'Hilly, you don't believe I would deliberately bump another rider? Does Fatty think so?'

'I don't know,' Hilly said. 'I just know that the questions he's asking... Ferdi, he asked about the ban that old Thain Paladin pronounced on you, and the rumour Pimpernel started, that you could not be trusted with children. He asked about your conduct, and how much you drink of an evening at the Duck, and even if you place wagers on pony races and the tournament and other contests...'

Ferdi was silent. It did sound as if Fatty were looking into his character. It shouldn't worry him; he had always done his best to walk rightly, but... he'd been damaged by unfounded gossip before. "The talk" could make or break a hobbit, and it had done him more harm than good, over the years.

He knew that he wouldn't deliberately bump another pony in a race... he knew he wouldn't. He just wished that he could remember what had actually happened...