The next morning, Frodo accompanied Sam to the fairfields. This long, flat expanse, which lay on the eastern end of town beyond the last of the downs, was where hobbits from all over the Shire congregated every seven years to elect their mayor, where harvest fairs were held in the autumns, and where pony were raced on Highdays and holidays during the summer months. The huge Lithetide crowd of racing fanciers had not yet assembled, and they easily located Milo, Merry, and Pippin, with Milo's eldest son, fifteen-year-old Mosco, who was just beginning to take an interest in racing himself. This little party, having finished their breakfast at the inn just across the road, had come out early to find a choice spot beneath the trees along the fence to claim as their own for the day. When they saw Sam and Frodo, they shouted out "Haloo!" and waved their arms. Merry got up to meet them halfway, and gave Frodo a fierce hug.
"Everybody at Brandy Hall misses you," Merry told Frodo as they walked back to join the others; Sam trailed behind them, scowling. "Uncle Dino has nobody to play golf with anymore. Pippin tries, and so does Dodi, but they aren't very good at it. Mother's especially sorry you went away. You know she and the aunties always thought you were a good influence on me."
"And I'm not!" Pippin piped up, and when Frodo came closer, gave him a hug too. "I've tried to be respectable, for Merry's sake. No going out to Bucklebury and getting too drunk to walk home, the way we used to. No parties, except for at Dodi's and Issy's. Luckily, we don't have to worry so much about our reputations here in Michel Delving where there aren't any relatives to disapprove. Milo's very good about minding his own business."
"Oh, I don't care at all what you lads get up to," Milo replied, "as long as you don't pry into my private affairs, I'll be glad to stay out of yours." Further greetings were exchanged between Milo, Mosco, Frodo, and Sam, and they all settled down onto the blankets spread on the grass.
"We'll be going down to Tuckborough after the races are over, but I can't stay away from Brandy Hall too long," said Merry. "Uncle Merry's looking after things for me while I'm gone. Why don't you come for a visit when I get home, Frodo? And Sam too, of course," he quickly included Frodo's companion, who was watching the two of them closely. "Mother will be so happy to have you back again, if only for a few days, and Melly's still at the Hall with her baby and I'm sure she'd love to see you."
"We don't know when she's going back to Evvy," Pippin added. "Nobody likes to ask."
"Are you joining us today, Frodo?" asked Milo.
"No, I only came in hopes of seeing Lad before the races begin." Frodo looked around the field, but Lad was not in sight. "Where is he?"
"We haven't seen him yet. He's probably at the stables, tending Fleetfoot. We're only in one race this morning, and another in the afternoon."
"I've heard your pony hasn't been doing so well lately. Are you worried about his chances of winning today?"
"Oh, our Fleet's still a good, fast pony," Milo replied with a lack of concern that Frodo believed was genuine. "He hasn't gone lame, and he's not off his feed. He's a sensitive creature--all the best racing ponies are. It's been a long winter, and I'm sure he'll pick up when he gets used to running again. This holiday is a great occasion, but I've decided it's best not to push him to do too much before he's ready. There's still plenty of time this season."
"A lot of people must be upset over his performance of late," Frodo ventured.
"What if they are?" responded Milo. "There's no surety in gambling. I've learned that too well from my own bouts of bad luck! There's no point in grumbling when you lose. It won't win you your money back. You can only give it up, or try again and hope for better luck the next time."
"You haven't been... troubled by poor losers?"
"Oh, an angry look or two after a race," Milo laughed.
"No one's threatened you?"
Milo laughed again, but gave Frodo a curious look as he answered, "Of course not! Most hobbits behave themselves better than that, and the rest of us at the races wouldn't put up with it."
Frodo was certain that Milo hadn't been bothered by the same people who were threatening Lad. Was this simply because Milo wouldn't put up with threats, as he'd claimed he wouldn't? And if it was so serious a breach of proper racing behavior, why did Lad?
The crowds began to grow thicker. Ponies and their riders were assembling at the end of the course to start the first race of the morning, but Frodo had still not seen Lad. He made his farewells to his cousins, promising to join them for dinner, and left Sam with them. He returned to the market square, which was now crowded with women managing booths and tables full of knitted and crocheted works, embroidered cushions and samplers, woven wicker baskets, painted china and other arts and crafts. There were also potted flowers and jars of jams, pickles, and preserves in abundance. Frodo wandered from exhibit to exhibit, accepting free samples of wares when they were offered and purchasing a few gifts for Elanor and Rosie.
He hoped that Sam would send Lad to find him at the White Chestnut at lunch-time, but it was well before midday when Lad appeared in the square, flanked by a pair of large, young hobbits Frodo didn't know. Lad wore a particularly glum expression, and Frodo asked, "How did Fleetfoot do this morning?" already anticipating the answer.
"He lost," said Lad, then introduced his surly-looking companions. "Frodo, this is Ulfodo Longchalk, and his brother Udo. I've brought them, just as you asked me to. I told them what you said."
Frodo suggested they go into the inn, where they could speak more privately. Now that he had met these 'racing toughs' who were making so much trouble for Lad, he was surprised by them. They were not working-class hobbits of the lowest social order and roughest manners, as Frodo had imagined; although he had never met them before, he recognized the name of Longchalk as that of a prominent, local gentlehobbit, a rival of Mayor Whitfoot's. Mr. Longchalk had stood up against the Mayor in the last two elections, and lost both times. These youths must be his sons.
Inside the inn, the common room was bustling with ladies taking mid-morning refreshment. At Frodo's request, the four of them were shown into a small sitting-room near the room he and Sam were staying in.
"So you're Mr. Baggins, the famous detective," said Udo as he took a seat on the settle before an unlit fireplace. His brother stood by the door. "I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I can't under these circumstances."
"You should be investigating this cousin of yours," said Ulfodo.
"Frodo isn't my cousin," Lad told them.
"You're married to his cousin, aren't you?" Ulfodo responded. "The lovely former Miss Baggins of Hobbiton. Cousins-in-law, if not in blood. It's the same thing."
"Perhaps that's why he's on your side, Lad," added his brother.
"I'm not on anyone's 'side,'" Frodo protested. They had scarcely begun, but already he felt as if the conversation were heading in the wrong direction and slipping away from him. "I only want what's just and fair for everyone concerned. You can't go around making unfounded accusations against Lad." He tried to head the conversation in the direction he had planned. "If you have any proof that Lad's pony's recent losses have been anything but pure matters of chance, bring it forward."
"Otherwise, shut your mouths and leave me be!" said Lad, growing bolder now that he had reinforcements with him.
"You can't call it true or just when the fastest pony in this part of the Shire suddenly runs slow," Ulfodo replied.
"What exactly is it you think Lad's done?" asked Frodo. "You must surely think it's his doing alone. I've spoken with my cousin, Milo Burrows, and he knows nothing of you and your accusations."
"A lad like Lad, who knows everything there is to know about ponies and their ways, must have all sorts of clever tricks up his sleeve to make a pony go faster or slower as he pleases," said Udo. "Whatever he's up to, it's going to stop."
Frodo didn't like the sound of this. "What do you mean?"
Udo explained, "After this morning's loss, the odds on that so-called Fleetfoot can only go up before the holiday's done. Don't think we haven't guessed what'll happen then, when nobody but Lad and his best friends will wager on that pony's winning. Well, you won't get your win today, Lad. You've run your last race, and here you'll sit 'til it's over and done with."
"You won't get past us, not 'til we see our money," his brother added. "We've lost lots of money because of this trickery, and it's only fair we get it back. I'm sorry you've been caught up in this, Mr. Baggins, but if you're standing by Lad and taking his part, we can't have you running out to warn Mr. Burrows and yours and Lad's other friends. Unless you'll pay what Lad owes us. It's all the same."
"Think it over," said Udo, and rose from his seat. The two brothers went out, shutting the door abruptly.
Frodo immediately leapt up to follow. When he tried the door, he found it apparently barricaded from the outside.
"Have they locked us in?" asked Lad.
"No, but there's a chair or bench or something against the other side." He gave the door a shove. "Come help me."
Lad rose to help him push, but they were firmly shut in until the inn servant who had brought them to the room, hearing the banging, came to pull the chair away and free them. The Longchalk brothers were not in sight in the windowless corridor.
"Did you see the two gentlemen who came in with us?" Frodo asked the servant.
"Yes, sir. They went out."
"Where-?" Lad wondered, as puzzled as Frodo by this odd action following the Longchalks' ultimatum. Were they prisoners? If they were, where had their captors gone?
They walked down to the end of the hallway, to the point where the tunnel widened out into the entry-way outside the common room. From there, they could see Ulfodo stationed at the inn's front door, watching. When he saw them, he scowled and moved to block the way out.
Lad sank back against the curving wall of the tunnel with a groan. "Udo's probably at the back door," he said in dismay. "They said we wouldn't get past them, and they meant it."
"Don't despair. There's another way out," Frodo told him, and put a hand on Lad's arm. "Come with me." He turned and quickly went back down the hall to the room he and Sam were staying in, Lad at his heels. Once he'd unlocked the door, Frodo went in and crossed to the window on the opposite side of the room; he unlatched the casement and opened it to climb out.
The inn only had a few rooms, all on the same side of the hill it tunneled through, and the row of round windows opened onto a steep, grassy slope. Below was a narrow lane, and in it stood another hobbit whom Frodo didn't know. At the sound of the window opening, this hobbit looked up and came to stand directly beneath them.
"Who is that?" Frodo asked Lad.
"That's Urgo Longchalk, their elder brother."
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