Poison in the Citadel by Kathryn Ramage

It was a cold and dreary February afternoon in the Shire. Though it had not snowed nor rained, the sky had been overcast all day and the gray light was already beginning to fade. In spite of the weather, Sam was out in the garden. Although spring was still weeks away, the first daffodils were coming up and needed careful tending, he said, but he'd been so restless shut up in the house lately that both Frodo and Rosie suspected this was mainly an excuse for Sam to go outdoors and keep himself busy.

At dusk, Frodo came out, wearing a woolen shawl thrown over his shoulders. He found Sam on his hands and knees in the flower bed beneath the study window. "Will you come into the house?" he requested. "Rosie-"

"Rosie-?" Sam looked up from his work in alarm. "It's not her time?"

Frodo laughed. "No, not yet. Rosie's fine." As the anticipated date for the baby's birth drew nearer, Sam grew more anxious with every day. "She's just put the kettle on, and tea will be ready in a few minutes. She says to come in if you want yours. Aren't you freezing out here?" Sam was, in fact, working with his coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled up, while Frodo was shivering under his shawl.

"I'll be in just as soon as I finish this bit," Sam answered. "But you'd better go back inside now, Frodo, have your tea and not wait for me. You'll catch your death if you stand out here much longer, and we can't have you getting sick now, can we?"

"No, we can't," Frodo agreed, pleased at Sam's fussing over his health. Most of Sam's fussing these days was focused on Rosie and the about-to-be-born baby. He turned to go in, when a glimmer of white moving through the thickening mists in the valley below the Hill caught his attention. "What's that?"

Sam looked up. Both of them could now hear the oddly muted sound of hooves echoing from the lane. In another moment, they saw that a rider was indeed heading toward Bag End on a white horse; the rider wore a gray cloak, but beneath it, he was clad in white.

Frodo burst into a smile. "Gandalf!" he cried. Instead of going into the house, he ran down the front steps to the gate. Sam left the last of his spring bulbs to follow. "Hullo!" Frodo called out and, as the wizard came closer, "I must say, this is a delightful surprise. What brings you back to the Shire?"

Gandalf dismounted from Shadowfax and let the unsaddled and unbridled horse trot away. "I've come directly from Minas Tirith in all haste, with a special message for you, Frodo. The King requests your assistance."

"Assistance?" echoed Frodo, stunned by this remarkable announcement. "Wh- What do you mean?"

"There have been two baffling murders in the city," the wizard explained. "A councilor and his son have been poisoned, and the citadel Guard are unable to find a culprit, or indeed any reason why these two should be killed. Aragorn has heard of your investigations here, and hopes that your experience will allow you to find an answer where others cannot. If you agree to return with me to Minas Tirith without delay, you will be appointed the King's Special Investigator, and any aid you require will be placed at your disposal."

Frodo was alarmed at how far his reputation had carried, and at what he was being asked to do. "But, Gandalf, I couldn't possibly..."

Before he could say more, Sam spoke up, "Begging your pardon, Mr. Gandalf, but Frodo oughtn't be out in this cold so long--he's fair turning blue. Whyn't you talk this over over a nice fire and a cup o' tea instead?"

Gandalf nodded solemnly, but there was a twinkle of understanding in his eye. "Of course, Sam. My errand is not so urgent that we must discuss it in the road on such a day." With the skirt of the wizard's cloak cast around Frodo's shoulders to keep him warm, they went into the house. Rosie, who'd been watching Gandalf's arrival from the window, had put out another teacup for this unexpected and notable visitor and quickly raided the pantry for extra seedcakes. Sam made Frodo comfortable before the parlor fire, brought him his tea, then left him to speak to Gandalf alone, although he looked anxious as he shut the door behind himself.

"Was it you who told Aragorn about my work, Gandalf?" Frodo asked between sips of tea.

"No, it was Merry who recommended you."

"Merry? So he did find his way to Minas Tirith." Frodo was relieved to know this; he'd been worried about his cousin for months. "How is he? We haven't heard a word from him since he left Buckland last summer. To think that he made it all that way by himself!"

"Not alone," Gandalf told him. "He arrived in the city last autumn with a traveling troupe of conjurers and jounglers, managed by a strange, small Man."

Frodo smiled. "Mr. Grimmold's circus?"

"They're gone from the city now, but their performances were very popular while they were there. Merry has stayed on. He's looked after my house for me, since business with the Elves kept me in Lothlorien for most of the winter."

"I hope he's happy," said Frodo. "He wasn't very happy in the Shire, you know. It was a quarrel with his father that sent him off..." Frodo didn't know how much he could tell Gandalf about Merry's problems with his father. Wizards were unimaginably old and had seen a great deal, and no doubt knew a great many things beyond even the brightest hobbit's comprehension, but they never married nor had love-affairs as far as Frodo knew. Would Gandalf understand about the love between Merry and Pippin, or between Sam and himself? He only said, "But he was restless to be away before that."

"I guessed that something of the sort must have prompted him to come so far," Gandalf said. "He's never explained his reasons. I wouldn't call him unhappy, but I believe he's lonely. I suspect he suggested your services as much to bring you to the city as to assist in finding the poisoner." Gandalf returned to the reason for his journey. "Will you come, Frodo? Speed is of the essence. I will ride for Minas Tirith in the morning; Shadowfax's swiftest pace can convey us there in ten days."

"But, Gandalf, I can't do it!" Frodo protested. "It's not that I don't wish to help, but surely there must be better investigators in Minas Tirith, Men who know more about the city and its people than I do. I wouldn't have the first idea of where to begin. I may pass for a great detective in the Shire, but that's because I know the people here so well. I understand hobbits. I don't know a thing about investigating Big Folk!"

"You undervalue your abilities, Frodo," the wizard answered. "I think I have an idea of their true worth. I've seen you at your work. You made your way into the heart of a secret that had not been touched in thousands of years, and dwelt upon the minds of Elves--which are much less fathomable to hobbits than the minds of Men! The 'Big Folk,' you'll find, are not so different from hobbits in their motivations. They have the same loves and hates, ambitions, greeds, fears, desires. Their reasons for committing murder are much the same. The captain of the citadel Guard may know the ways of the city better than you do, but as a soldier and keeper of the peace. This type of crime is beyond his scope. Poisoning is a subtle crime, and requires an investigation of equal subtlety."

"You're very subtle yourself," Frodo responded with an affectionate smile. "I daresay you could discover who has committed these murders more quickly than I could. You were there when they happened, weren't you?"

Gandalf shook his head. "I returned to Minas Tirith only after the first murder had been committed. I know little of the matter, but I will aid you all I can, Frodo."

Frodo was not convinced that he could do this, but the summons was difficult to refuse. More than one friend was calling upon him for help. "I suppose I must go, if I am needed." He lifted his eyes to the wizard's. "Very well, Gandalf. If you believe I can solve these murders, I will try my best to."

The wizard smiled. "You have never disappointed me yet."
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