Chapter Text
When one was many, many thousands of years old, the nature of things was a lot clearer. Human history was not so much a progression as a cycle. Civilisations rose, civilisations fell. Things were discovered, and rediscovered, and re-rediscovered. Sometimes, for a few decades or a few centuries, humanity would claw itself in the right direction – and then, always, the boulder rolled down the hill, and it was back to the blood, and the fighting. Beauty, followed by ugliness.
And through it all, humans themselves flaring briefly and then dying, like struck matches. The cycle went on. They all began to blur into one.
It was easy, under the circumstances, to withdraw from the world for a time. He had once spent a whole century in a cabin in the forests of central Russia. He’d lived for three decades on a tiny island in the Pacific without seeing a single human. For the past seventy years, he’d lived in his little house in his little city, with his books and his own thoughts, avoiding everyone but his order. This time, as every time, he had said to himself, this is it. I’m finished with them.
He should have known better. The world had a habit of finding its way back into his bubble, no matter how long and hard he tried to keep it out. That Tuesday evening, the world came back in the form of half a brick through his kitchen window.
The half a brick smashed through the window pane, bounced off the sink with a ringing of metal, and landed dustily on the floor, startling Gandalf with such intensity that he nearly dropped his tea, which would have been a great shame, its being his last tea bag and his being very averse to going out for more.
Jumping up from his chair, he slammed his hands down upon the table and with the fury of a rudely awakened dragon shouted, “hey!”
Outside, a scuffling of feet.
He marched to the broken window and hauled it up with a screech of old wood. There, in the bare yard beside his house, stood the culprit. A scrawny, ginger-haired teenage boy, holding, if Gandalf wasn’t mistaken, the other half of the brick.
“What do you think you’re doing to my house?” he rumbled.
The boy’s expression had changed from shock at being caught to incredulity. He said, “you live in there?” His eyes scanned the house, from the window where Gandalf stood to the brown-paper-lined window of his study, and back. “Um. Ew.”
“Are you going to explain yourself or aren’t you?” barked Gandalf.
“So are you like, an urban hermit?” said the boy.
“That’s beside the point.” As a matter of fact, urban hermit was a fairly accurate description of his persuasions, but he wasn’t about to admit it to this little monster.
“Are you a squatter?” said the boy. “Because squatting’s illegal.”
“I am not a squatter,” said Gandalf. “This is my house and you’ve – you’ve broken it! What do you have to say for yourself?
The boy cocked his head to the side like a puzzled dog and said, “I’d say I did you a favour.”
“That’s it,” said Gandalf, and heaved the window all the way up.
As soon as he saw what Gandalf meant to do the boy’s eyes went wide. He dropped the half brick and bolted around the house.
It had been a long time since he’d done anything as absurd as climb out a window, and his joints were a bit creaky, but he was far fitter than he looked to human eyes. He hopped down to the dusty concrete of the yard and pelted after the boy.
Gandalf caught him in the act of climbing the fence into the back alley and grabbing him by the back of his shirt hauled him down. “Oh no you don’t,” he said as the boy howled.
“Let go of me!” he said.
“Where are your parents?” said Gandalf.
The boy pouted, still wrestling him. “I’m an orphan.”
“Where do you live?” said Gandalf.
“I’m homeless.” The boy went limp, hanging from his shirt in Gandalf’s grip like a sad little puppet. “You can’t be angry at me. I’m a homeless orphan.”
“Very well,” said Gandalf. “In that case, how about you and I go and talk to the police?” So saying, he began to heave the boy in the direction of the street.
“Hey – no!” said the boy as he was dragged bodily around the corner. “No!” He squirmed in Gandalf’s grip. “Not the police!”
“No?” said Gandalf.
“No!” said the boy.
“Then tell me where you live,” said Gandalf.
The boy stared up at him, a furious glower of betrayal. He pointed at the house next door. “That one.”
“I see.” Gandalf released his shirt.” Lead on.”
When he’d last interacted with his neighbours at number six, the house had been occupied by a very congenial Pakistani family. He’d already guessed that they had moved on, but the sour-faced woman with the cigarette who answered the door was a surprise. This had always been such a friendly street, with friendly people. That was why he had chosen it.
“Ah, madam,” said Gandalf. “I’m very afraid your son just put a brick through my kitchen window.”
The woman put her cigarette to her mouth. She said, “he’s not my son.”
“Oh?” said Gandalf.
“Told you,” said the boy. “I’m an orphan,” he added in high, melodramatic tones.
“You’re not an orphan, Peregrin,” said the woman. “Stop telling people you’re an orphan.”
The boy, Peregrin, pouted. “In my defence,” he said, “it was only half a brick.”
The woman turned to Gandalf and said, very wearily, “I’m his foster mother. I’ll pay for the window.”
“That would be appreciated,” said Gandalf.
“Let me know how much,” said the woman, and looking at Peregrin she ducked her head as if to say get in here, you.
Peregrin gave Gandalf a reproachful sort of look. In return Gandalf gave him a shove over the threshold.
The door shut behind him. Gandalf was down the steps and a few paces along the street when he heard the shouting start, muffled and voiceless through the closed door, and for a moment he wavered.
It wasn’t his problem, he told himself. The boy deserved a scolding.
He thought of the look in Peregrin’s eyes as he’d gone into the house. He shook himself, and went on home.
*
Rain was pattering down upon his umbrella. Muddy, leaf-flecked water flowed down the sloping street, sloshing into the drain. Gandalf stomped along in his rubber boots, whistling, feeling rather good. He liked grey, rainy days. They suited his nature.
Up ahead, just beyond the drain, someone was sitting on the curb. A hunched, dark figure. He looked them over from a distance. They were sitting alert, rocking slightly on their damp perch. Small, and slight. He drew closer, guessing who it was long before he was close enough to say for sure.
He might have decided to forego contact with humanity at large indefinitely, but he still had duties. He had a purpose, in the world. He had taken an oath. He walked past his front steps, tramping down the road towards the boy.
As he got close, the boy turned to look at him. His eyes, peering out from beneath his navy blue hood and a tuft of hair dark with rain, were bright and furious. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
“What are you doing, Peregrin?” said Gandalf.
“Sitting,” said Peregrin. “What are you doing?”
“Walking,” said Gandalf. “Why on earth are you sitting outside in the rain?”
Peregrin turned his face away and hugged his knees, resuming his uneasy rocking. He mumbled.
“What was that?” said Gandalf. “Speak up, lad.”
“I said,” said Peregrin, “my foster mother said get out of my house and don’t come back, so I got out.”
“Ah,” said Gandalf. “What brought that on?”
Peregrin made no pretence. “I called her an ugly cow,” he said to his knees. “Which she is.”
“So you sat down in the rain?” said Gandalf.
“It was dry when I sat down!” Peregrin protested.
Gandalf looked at the net curtained windows of Peregrin’s foster home. He sighed to himself. “That’s enough of that,” he said. “Come here.” Taking Peregrin’s arm he heaved him to his feet. “Let’s get you home.”
He’d make sure the woman was aware that her charge had been sitting outdoors in the pouring rain; and if that had no affect, he’d find out what the appropriate agency was and contact them.
“No,” said Peregrin. “No!” He tugged his arm out of Gandalf’s grip. “I’m not going back to that house tonight.”
“Peregrin,” said Gandalf.
“Don’t you Peregrin me,” said Peregrin. “I don’t even know you.” Clutching his arm where he’d been grabbed, he looked up and down the red brick street and began to walk heavily downhill. “I’ll find somewhere else, if I’m bothering you.”
Gandalf stood beneath his umbrella, clutching his package of pipe tobacco and biscuits, and inwardly sighed.
Swinging around, he put his hand on Peregrin’s should and said, “come along.”
“I’m not going back,” said Peregrin, shrugging him off again.
“I’m not taking you back,” said Gandalf. “Come inside and get out of the rain. I’ll make you tea.”
Peregrin gave him a baleful look. He said, “is this a kidnapping?”
“No,” said Gandalf.
Peregrin sighed. “That figures,” he said. “Alright. Lead the way.”
The lock upon Gandalf’s door was stiff, and took some jiggling; the hinges were stiffer, and whined. He worked the door open one-handed and gave Peregrin an encouraging shove inward between the shoulder blades. Stepping inside, he turned on the light.
There Peregrin stood, dripping on the tiles, staring up at the high staircase, the pictures lining the walls of the narrow hallway, the four grandfather clocks, the hat stand where Gandalf kept his staff propped.
He said, “do you live here?”
“I do,” said Gandalf.
“It smells funky,” said Peregrin.
“Does it?” said Gandalf. “I never noticed.” He nudged Peregrin in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll get you a towel.”
He got a fire going in the kitchen with his usual speed while Peregrin towelled off his hair, and set about making tea. By the time Peregrin pattered back through, with bare feet and towel-damp hair, the kitchen was warm and the tea hot.
“Do sit down,” said Gandalf, already in his usual seat.
Peregrin eyed the fire suspiciously. He sat. He picked up his tea, and sipped it.
“Have a biscuit,” said Gandalf, nudging the plate in his direction.
Peregrin took a biscuit and looked it over. Then, in a manner characteristic of a teenage human, he shoved it whole into his mouth and tried to speak around it.
“What was that?” said Gandalf.
Peregrin swallowed and said, “sorry about the brick.”
“Ah,” said Gandalf.
“I wouldn’t have put half a brick through your window if I’d known anyone lived here,” said Peregrin. “I thought for sure this place was abandoned. Sorry.”
“Fair enough,” said Gandalf. “Though even if the house was abandoned, you still oughtn’t have been throwing bricks through the window.
“Why not?” said Peregrin. “No-one cares.”
“I care,” said Gandalf. “You shouldn’t break things for no reason.” He took a biscuit and dunked it in his tea.
“I didn’t do it for no reason,” said Peregrin.
“No?” said Gandalf.
“It made me feel a lot better,” said Peregrin. He sipped his tea. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair before long.”
“Oh?” said Gandalf.
“I sense group home in my immediate future,” said Peregrin.
“Group home?” said Gandalf.
Peregrin gave him a pointed look. “You know,” he said. “Where they send the foster kids no-one wants to foster.”
“I take it you and your foster mother aren’t getting along.”
“She doesn’t like me,” said Peregrin. “So, I don’t like her, which makes her not like me even more.”
“How long have you been staying with her?” said Gandalf.
“Four weeks,” said Peregrin.
“That’s not very long,” said Gandalf. “Perhaps you ought to give her a chance.”
“I’ve left foster homes quicker,” said Peregrin. “My record’s three days,” he added blithely, and drank his tea.
“Good gracious,” said Gandalf. “What happened?”
Peregrin gave an exaggerated shrug. “I didn’t do anything!” he said, which was certainly a lie but Gandalf didn’t call him on it. He put down his mug, and said, “let’s see. This is my second foster home this year. Before this one I was in group home for eight weeks and before that I was staying with this family who wouldn’t let me eat the same food as their real kid and then they made me leave because they said I was disobedient. Then I was in group home over Christmas and before that I was in this foster home with four other kids for like three months but then one of the girls stole our foster mother’s wedding ring and said I did it so I was out.”
“You could have explained,” said Gandalf.
“I did,” said Peregrin. “They didn’t believe me.”
“How many foster homes have you had?” said Gandalf.
“I dunno.” Peregrin took another biscuit. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Hm?” said Gandalf. “Ah. You can call me Gandalf.”
“Gandalf,” Peregrin repeated. “Is that Mr Gandalf or Gandalf something-or-other?”
“Just Gandalf,” said Gandalf.
“Yeah, but is it your first name or your last name?” said Peregrin.
“Hmm,” said Gandalf. “I’d say it’s my fifth name. And so, I suppose, my last by default.” Chewing his biscuit, Peregrin gave him a hard, judging stare. “And how about you? Are you Peregrin something-or-other?”
Peregrin swallowed and said, “I’m Peregrin Took.”
“Funny sort of name,” remarked Gandalf.
“Says Mr Just-Gandalf-it’s-my-fifth-name,” said Peregrin. “I prefer Pippin.”
“To Gandalf?” said Gandalf.
“No, you weirdo, to Peregrin,” said Peregrin. “It’s a nickname.”
“I see,” said Gandalf. “Well, I prefer Peregrin. It has a sort of dignity to it.”
Peregrin shot him a look over his tea. “My friends call me Pippin,” he said. “Or, they do when I have them.”
“You don’t have any friends?” said Gandalf.
“I dunno,” said Peregrin – Pippin, if they were to be friends. “There’s some boys are school who are alright. I just don’t like to –” He sipped his tea. “I don’t like putting down roots,” he finished, which Gandalf was certain wasn’t what he’d wanted to say.
“You ought to give it a try,” said Gandalf. “It’s very lonely, not having friends.”
“I don’t stay anywhere long enough,” said Pippin. “I move schools all the time. I’m used to it. Just how it is.” He leaned back in his chair, nursing his tea, looking at the patched window. “I missed the forever home window like, five years ago.” Turning to Gandalf he said, “I mean, what kind of weirdo wants to adopt a fourteen year old, right?”
He said it lightly, as if it were a joke; but when Gandalf didn’t reply, the spark of humour in his eyes died as if he was only now processing what he had said. He took another biscuit. “What do you do, anyway?”
“Do?” said Gandalf.
“Your job,” said Pippin.
“I’m a wizard,” said Gandalf.
Pippin gave him a quizzical look. “Like, a stage magician?”
“No, a real one,” said Gandalf.
Pippin cocked his head to the side. “I’m fourteen.”
“Good for you,” said Gandalf. “And I’m a wizard.” With a spark of magic, he lit his pipe.
Pippin’s eyes went, for a moment, very big – and then slightly glazed as he went through the mental contortions that mortals were so good at. Did I just see that, he was thinking; no, I can’t have just seen what I just saw. And just like that he had himself convinced he had made a mistake. He had not seen fire come from a person’s fingers. That would be absurd.
“Alright, have it your way,” he said, and sipped his tea.
“I shall.” Gandalf contently blew a smoke ring.
Pippin watched its graceful trajectory to the ceiling, and said, “do you vape?”
“Vape?” said Gandalf.
“Vape,” said Pippin. “Vaporise?”
Gandalf put his pipe to his mouth.
“Electronic cigarette?” said Pippin.
“I don’t smoke cigarettes,” said Gandalf. “Ghastly things. Most unseemly.”
“No, it’s,” said Pippin. “That’s not what – y’know, never mind.” He sipped tea and said, “I can’t tell if you actually don’t know what vaping is or if you’re just pretending not to to annoy me.”
“And why would I do that,” said Gandalf.
“I don’t know,” said Pippin. “People are annoying on purpose all the time.”
“Well, I suppose you’d know,” said Gandalf.
“I’m never annoying on purpose,” said Pippin tartly. “I’m naturally this way.” He reached for the biscuits.
Gandalf watched him count out three more, and considered. “Have you eaten?”
“No,” said Pippin with his mouth full.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Gandalf.
Very pointedly, Pippin swallowed. “No,” he said. He took on a guilty countenance and said, “you don’t have to give me dinner or anything.”
“No?” said Gandalf. “Perhaps I want to.”
“I just mean, I don’t want to be any trouble,” said Pippin. “Not after you let me into your house. That was really nice of you. And I. Um. I’m sorry about the brick. And I should go.”
“Finish your tea first,” said Gandalf. “What do boys eat these days?”
“I eat everything,” said Pippin.
“So do I,” said Gandalf. “How about beans on toast?”
“Are you being nice on purpose to make me feel guilty?” said Pippin. “Because it’s working.”
“You seem hungry and in need of something warm,” said Gandalf. “Why on earth would I be trying to make you feel guilty?”
“So many reasons,” said Pippin.
“Have another biscuit,” said Gandalf. “I’ll find the can opener.”
It had been a long while since he had had anyone to cook for – although given the amount of cooking involved in beans on toast, perhaps he still hadn’t. He heated the beans whilst Pippin sat nibbling on the edge of his biscuit in a state of apparent anxiety; but he dug into his beans, once they were in front of him.
“You ought to make some friends,” said Gandalf.
Pippin paused in the act of transferring beans to mouth, tomato sauce dripping from his fork. “I’ll be at another school before long,” he said with a weary air he had no right to at a mere fourteen years of age. “And the other kids think I’m weird.” Gandalf leaned back in his chair, and considered. “Perhaps you’d like to come to tea again sometime.”
Thoughtfully, Pippin chewed a forkful of beans on toast. He said, “that’s really kind of you, but I don’t think social services would like it.”
“No?” said Gandalf.
“You’re an old man who’s like, some kind of urban hermit,” said Pippin. “Trying to make friends with a fourteen year old boy. There’s implications.” He returned to his beans.
Gandalf gave him a hard stare. “Are you saying you think I’m trying to –”
“Oh – no,” said Pippin around a mouthful of beans. He swallowed and went on, “I know you’re alright, I’m just saying social services will think it’s weird.”
“Hm,” said Gandalf.
“Are you like, really lonely,” said Pippin between mouthfuls, “or is it a charity thing?”
“I’d say that depends on what you mean by charity,” said Gandalf.
“Hm,” said Pippin. He had finished his beans, and sat licking sauce off the fork in a considering manner. He said, “you’re really weird. Thank you for the beans. I should go.” He sat back in his chair, and sighed. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Gandalf.
“I found him sitting in the rain,” he said to Pippin’s abashed foster mother. “I gather he was locked out of the house – forgot his keys, I suppose – no no, he was no trouble. Good as gold.”
This time, as he descended to the pavement there was no shouting.
*
The following Tuesday afternoon found Pippin once again on his doorstep, scowling and bearing a slack and somewhat tattered schoolbag.
“Is there a reason my foster mother thinks you’re my tutor?” he said by way of greeting.
“Good afternoon to you too,” said Gandalf.
“Yes, hi,” said Pippin. “Why does my foster mother think you’re my tutor?”
“Does she?” said Gandalf with poorly feigned innocence.
“Don’t play dumb.” Pippin shouldered past him into the house, taking off his schoolbag.
“Shoes off, please,” said Gandalf. Pippin rolled his eyes but duly toed off his trainers. “Tea?”
“Sure,” said Pippin.
“Seriously, though,” he said a moment later in the kitchen. “What is happening right now, and why does my foster mother think someone hired you?”
“Magic,” said Gandalf.
Pippin gave him a look over his mug. “For real.”
“Misdirection,” said Gandalf.
“Misdirection?” said Pippin.
Gandalf gestured vaguely with his mug. “Your foster mother is under the impression social services is paying me. Social services is under the impression your foster mother is paying out of pocket. It’s very easy to deal with these kinds of people if you act like you know what you’re doing.”
“Smart,” said Pippin. “Is anyone actually paying you?”
“No, why?” said Gandalf.
“Never mind,” said Pippin.
“Biscuits?” said Gandalf.
“Please,” said Pippin. He took two, and leaned back comfortably in his chair, evidently prepared to make himself at home in Gandalf’s kitchen.
“Now, then.” Gandalf put his stack of carefully chosen books down upon the kitchen table with a firm thud. “What subject do you most need help with?”
Pippin stopped chewing his biscuit. He looked at the door, as if expecting to find someone watching, someone Gandalf was putting on a show for. He swallowed, and said, “wait, you’re actually going to try and tutor me?”
“Well, yes,” said Gandalf. “I’m many things but a liar isn’t one of them.”
For a moment longer Pippin looked quite befuddled. Then he seemed to understand – if not to understand the situation, then to understand something, perhaps something known only to himself. “You don’t want to tutor me,” he said, and shoving the rest of the biscuit into his mouth he leaned back still further on his chair with a shrill squeak of wood.
“Don’t I?” said Gandalf. “Why would I be offering, if I didn’t want to?”
“You don’t get it,” said Pippin. “No-one wants to teach me. I wouldn’t want to teach me, and I am me.”
“Is that so?” Gandalf followed the precarious path of Pippin’s chairs with his eyes. “Do you have to do that?”
“Yes,” said Pippin. Then he said, “I have ADHD. Do you know what that means?”
“I do,” said Gandalf.
“It stands for,” said Pippin, still rocking on his chair, “attention deficit – high definition.” At Gandalf’s hardening look he leaned forward, taking the chair with him. It thunked back into place upon the floor. “It means I’m a terrible student.”
“That’s not what it means,” said Gandalf.
“Anyway, what makes you think I need tutoring?” said Pippin. “I could be doing just fine for all you know.”
“Your foster mother seems to think otherwise,” said Gandalf.
“Well, she’s stupid,” said Pippin. “What would she know?”
“If you want more biscuits you’ll have to be more co-operative,” said Gandalf.
“I don’t need biscuits,” said Pippin, taking three more. “I’m not six.”
“As I understand it you’re behind on your studies,” said Gandalf. “That was her understanding, as to why social services had hired me.”
“If social services don’t want me behind on my studies they shouldn’t keep fucking me around!” said Pippin.
“Language,” said Gandalf, sliding the biscuits away from him.
“Seriously?” said Pippin.
“You’re too young to be using that kind of vocabulary,” Gandalf told him.
“Well, fuck that!” said Pippin.
“No more biscuits,” said Gandalf.
Pippin glared, and began once again to rock on his chair. “I’ll have you know,” he said, “I’m criminally stupid.”
“Who told you that?” said Gandalf.
“My form tutor at my last school,” said Pippin.
“My, you have met some unpleasant people,” said Gandalf.
“I put a brick through your window and you don’t think I’m criminally stupid?” said Pippin.
“One or the other,” said Gandalf. “Certainly not both. What about arithmetic? Most children seem to struggle with that.”
Pippin had stopped listening. He had ceased his rocking, and his gaze drifted to the framed pictures on the kitchen mantelpiece. He pointed. “Is that supposed to be you?”
Gandalf looked where Pippin was pointing. The first photograph he’d had taken of himself, eighteen ninety-something. He’d been very severe, in those days, and had taken the occasion most seriously. “Yes.”
“Cause, I mean,” said Pippin. “You’re old but you’re not that old.”
“For your information, I’m immortal,” said Gandalf.
“Nice Photoshop,” said Pippin. He resumed his rocking, and the chair resumed its squeaking. “Listen. I can do maths fine. I know most of my times tables. You don’t need to tutor me.”
“Well, I mean to,” said Gandalf.
“I’m going home,” said Pippin.
“If you want,” said Gandalf. So saying, he leaned back in his chair and lit his pipe. “Shall we do some arithmetic before you go?”
“You’re the worst person in the world and I hate you,” said Pippin.
“What does the school system cover these days,” said Gandalf. “Do you know algebra?”
“I know of it,” said Pippin.
“Then we shall start there,” said Gandalf.
Pippin, as it transpired, was not the best of students, though he was also far from the worst Gandalf had ever had; and it was not from want of trying, or not entirely. He had an air about him of one who had given up. He had concluded, at some point, that schoolwork was too difficult and too tedious and he was no longer going to try. Sometimes when Gandalf drew his attention back to his sums he had a despairing look in his eyes.
Sometimes he simply changed the subject.
“What are you smoking?” he said. “It smells really weird.”
“Tobacco,” said Gandalf.
“No, it’s not,” said Pippin.
“Your sums, Pippin,” said Gandalf patiently, and Pippin shot the page another of those despairing looks.
“Six and a half,” he said.
“Pay attention,” said Gandalf.
“I’m trying,” said Pippin. “I don’t even want to be here and I’m trying, since you won’t let me leave.”
“You can leave whenever you like,” said Gandalf. “I’m not keeping you here.”
Scowling, Pippin sank lower in his seat and stared at the wall. No doubt it had occurred to him that his foster mother would not be happy if he walked out on a lesson she thought someone was paying for.
“I’m trying,” he said, his tone once again despairing.
Numbers did not hold his focus. His eyes slid off them like water and onto other, more engaging things. He perked up only when Gandalf offered to lend him a book.
“I can just,” he said, standing before the shelves in Gandalf’s sitting room, “take one?”
“If you want,” said Gandalf.
Pippin gave him a dubious look. “How do you know I’ll bring it back?”
“I shall have to trust you,” said Gandalf.
“They might have moved me on by next Tuesday,” said Pippin. “It happens.”
“I’m sure they won’t.” Gandalf slid a book off the shelf. “How about this? The Once and Future King.”
Holding the book, Pippin shrugged. “You’re just going to let me take your stuff?”
“Yes,” said Gandalf. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“How do you know I don’t steal things?” said Pippin.
“In my experience,” said Gandalf. “When you treat someone as if they’re trustworthy, they usually will be.” He clapped Pippin on the shoulder and went away into the hall, leaving him to make his mind up.
Pippin came out a moment later with the book in hand, bouncing towards his rucksack, his spirits well and truly lifted.
“I’ll bring it back next week,” he said, trying to force it into his very full rucksack.
“Of course,” said Gandalf.
“And, thanks for the tea and biscuits,” said Pippin. “You have shite taste in biscuits though.”
“Language,” said Gandalf.
“Piss off,” said Pippin. “And –” Disturbed by his attempts to force in the book, his schoolbag toppled over, scattering its contents all over Gandalf’s floor. “Shit.” Pippin dropped to the ground and grabbed for his possessions.
“Let me,” said Gandalf, reaching down to help.
“No, no,” said Pippin. “I’ve got it – I’ll sort it, don’t worry.”
There was something in his voice, something furtive in his movements, and Gandalf looked over the fallen items – pens, schoolwork, gubbins – suspecting he’d find something that oughtn’t be there.
He saw it just as Pippin made an attempt to shove it out of sight behind his schoolbag. “You’re too young to have those,” he said.
Pippin paused in the act of hiding the packet of cigarettes, and scowled. “I’m not going to smoke them,” he said as if it ought to be obvious.
“Oh?” said Gandalf. “Then why do you have them?”
Throwing the last of his things back into the schoolbag Pippin stood and shrugged it on. “Business,” he said.
“Business?” said Gandalf.
“Personal business,” said Pippin. Gandalf gave him one of his hardest looks, and like so many people before him, Pippin broke. “Look,” he said. “There’s this boy at school, his name’s Andrew, he said if I got him a packet of cigarettes he’d trade with me, so we’re going to trade at school tomorrow.”
“Trade for what, exactly?” said Gandalf.
“Spray paint,” said Pippin lightly.
“Which you need for…?”
“Art,” said Pippin in the same light tone. “What’s it to you?”
“You’re too young to buy those,” said Gandalf. “I refuse to believe someone sold them to you. You have a very young face.”
Pippin scowled at him. “I didn’t shoplift them, if that’s what you think. I don’t shoplift.”
“Then where did you get them?” said Gandalf.
Pippin looked at the door as if planning his exit. “She won’t miss them,” he said. “She smokes like three packs a day and she buys loads so she won’t run out. She’ll never notice.”
“So you did steal them.”
“Barely.” Pippin was already tucking the cigarettes more securely back into his pocket.
Gandalf held out his hand.
“What?” said Pippin.
“Give them to me.”
“What? No,” said Pippin.
“Hand them over,” said Gandalf.
“Or what?” said Pippin.
“Or I’ll telephone your foster mother right away and tell her you stole them,” said Gandalf.
Pippin’s stare turned icy. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“She won’t notice,” said Pippin. “And she’s a bitch. Remember how she locked me outside in the rain?”
“That’s not the point,” said Gandalf.
“How is it not the point?” said Pippin.
“You shouldn’t steal things, no matter how much you think someone deserves to be robbed,” said Gandalf. “You don’t get to make judgements like that. Give them to me and promise not to do it again and I won’t tell her you took them.”
Pippin’s stare turned from icy to fiery. After a long, unhappy moment, he smacked the cigarettes into Gandalf’s open hand. “Fine,” he said, shouldering his bag. “Take them. See if I care.”
“Now, Pippin,” said Gandalf.
“See you around,” said Pippin before he could finish. He slammed the door shut behind himself.
“Next week!” Gandalf called in his wake.
*
He sat in his kitchen for a long while and smoked his pipe; then, at a loss for what else to do, he telephoned another of his order.
“I think I’ve become responsible for a large child,” he said.
“Oh, dear,” said Radagast. In the background, something was chirruping loudly. “How large a child?”
“Fourteen years,” said Gandalf.
“Ah, that’s not my area at all,” said Radagast. “Once they –” The chirruping turned to a screeching, and his voice went faint as he stepped away from the phone. “Michael, stop that racket at once.” He came back to the phone. “Once they get past the stage where they’re essentially hairless monkeys I don’t know what to do with them. Have you tried warm milk?”
“I don’t think the problems we’re having can be solved with warm milk,” said Gandalf.
“Then whatever it is, it’s beyond me,” said Radagast. “It’s not another orphan, is it?”
“No,” said Gandalf truthfully. “I’m tutoring him.”
“In what?” said Radagast.
“Whatever I feel like,” said Gandalf.
The screeching in the background began again. “Excuse me,” said Radagast. “Michael, if you don’t stop that caterwauling you shall get no supper!”
“Parrot?” said Gandalf.
“Monkey,” said Radagast. “Listen, I had better go. Try the warm milk, I find it works wonders.”
“I shall give it a go,” said Gandalf.
“Cheerio,” said Radagast, and hung up the phone.
That evening, Gandalf’s phone rang again. “Hello?”
“I hear you’ve picked up another stray,” said the sonorous voice on the other end of the line.
“Now, that’s hardly fair,” said Gandalf. “You make it sound like a habit.”
“Radagast says he’s an orphan,” said Saruman.
“He isn’t an orphan,” said Gandalf truthfully.
“You can’t keep taking in orphaned humans,” said Saruman. “You should know by now it never ends well. Remember the incident in Warsaw.”
“That was a long time ago, and he isn’t an orphan,” said Gandalf. “I don’t pry into your personal business and you don’t pry into mine.”
“It’ll end in disaster and you have responsibilities,” said Saruman.
“We have a responsibility to look after them,” said Gandalf.
“Yes, and that responsibility is bigger than whatever human child you’ve collected this time,” said Saruman. “Put him back where you found him.”
“I don’t see how it is,” said Gandalf. “Anyhow, I haven’t collected him. I’m teaching him arithmetic.”
“Well, stop it,” said Saruman. “I don’t care for it.”
“You let Radagast have his pets,” said Gandalf.
“I don’t care for that either,” said Saruman. “I can’t stop him.”
Gandalf put his pipe back in his mouth and considered his next move. “I don’t suppose you know anything about caring for fourteen year olds?”
“You’re an incorrigible nuisance,” said Saruman, and hung up the telephone.
*
“I’m only here because my foster mother said I had to or she’d call social services,” said Pippin by way of a greeting.
“It’s very nice to see you, too,” said Gandalf. “Take off your shoes.”
Pippin grunted in response, but duly took off his shoes. He sat in the kitchen with his grubby schoolbag on his lap, watching Gandalf boil the kettle.
“Tea?” said Gandalf. Pippin shrugged. “I’ll make you a cup.”
He set two mugs of tea on the table, and between them a selection box of biscuits. “What’s this?” said Pippin.
“You said you didn’t care for my biscuits so I got an assortment,” said Gandalf with a wave of his hand. “Have whatever you like.”
Pippin looked at Gandalf. He looked at the biscuits. He took on a guilty countenance. “You didn’t tell my foster mother about the cigarettes.”
“I said I wouldn’t,” said Gandalf.
“Yeah, but,” said Pippin, “people say all sorts of things and don’t mean them.”
“I’m a wizard of my word,” said Gandalf. “Have some biscuits.”
Pippin took five, and Gandalf busied himself with his books. “Here,” he said, setting them down. “And here.” From a shoebox, he upended the assortment of items he had collected.
“What’s this?” said Pippin, picking up a handful of rubber hands.
“Some things to keep your hands busy,” said Gandalf. “You seem restless.”
Pippin put down the rubber bands and picked up a stress ball in the shape of a dog. “Why do you have this?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Gandalf. “Things accumulate.”
Pippin turned the dog over in his hands. “You’re so weird.”
“Make up your mind and choose something and we’ll do some arithmetic,” said Gandalf.
“But I’m bad at that,” said Pippin.
“Making your mind up?” said Gandalf. “Or arithmetic?”
“Both,” said Pippin. He put down the dog and picked up a Rubik’s cube. “Why do you have this?”
“They’re a curious diversion,” said Gandalf. “Do you know how to solve one?”
“Take it apart and put it back together again,” said Pippin.
“Ah,” said Gandalf. “Cutting the Gordian Knot, so to speak.”
“The what now?” said Pippin.
“Later,” said Gandalf, opening the maths book.
“Your books are all really old,” said Pippin, toying with the cube.
“That’s because I’m as old as the universe,” Gandalf told him. “So I’ve had most of my things for a very long time.”
“What about the squishy dog?” said Pippin. “Is the squishy dog as old as the universe? I guess technically everything’s as old as the universe.”
“Oh?” said Gandalf. “How do you figure that?”
“We’re all just atoms,” said Pippin. “And they’ve been around forever. So, I’m as old as the universe too.” He beamed.
“So you are,” said Gandalf. “Maths?”
“What about it?” said Pippin.
“We’re supposed to be studying it,” said Gandalf.
“Oh, yeah,” said Pippin, twisting the cube. “Because you’re my fake tutor.”
“I’m not a fake tutor,” said Gandalf.
“Yes, you are,” said Pippin. “No-one’s paying you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m a fake tutor,” said Gandalf. “I fully intend to tutor you.”
“In maths?” said Pippin. “Can’t I just learn my times tables? I can do that on my own.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” said Gandalf.
“No, but I have this feeling you’re going to tell me what you think regardless,” said Pippin, his eyes on the cube, toying with it.
“I think you’re scared of applying yourself,” said Gandalf.
“Scared?” said Pippin. “Please. I’m not afraid of anything.” He twisted the Rubik’s cube. “Except clowns.”
“Clowns?” Gandalf echoed. “Why on earth are you afraid of clowns?”
“Everyone’s afraid of clowns,” said Pippin.
“I doubt that very much,” said Gandalf. “I like a good clown, myself.”
Pippin gave him a hard look. “I want you to know, I already didn’t trust you, but now I double don’t trust you.”
“Be that as it may,” said Gandalf. “We’re going to do some arithmetic.”
“Only if I can keep the cube,” said Pippin.
“Of course,” said Gandalf, leafing through the textbook. “That’s what it’s for.”
“I mean keep-keep,” said Pippin. “Like, to take away.”
“Only if you bring it back when you have lessons,” said Gandalf. “Otherwise, if you want it it’s yours.”
“Oh,” said Pippin. He considered that. “Neat.”
*
“Did you do your homework?” said Gandalf as Pippin settled himself at the kitchen table.
“Oh, um,” he said. “I tried to. I mean, I was going to. I mean. Alright, look, I completely forgot about it.” He shrugged, sheepish, as if to say what are you going to do about it.
“Have you tried writing these things down?” said Gandalf.
“Well, duh,” said Pippin. “I just forget where I wrote them. Do I get biscuits this week even though I didn’t do the homework? Also, let’s be reasonable. It wasn’t fair of you to set homework considering I already have actual homework from my actual teachers at my actual school and I did do some of that. Well, I mean. I did my art homework. More or less.”
“Does your foster mother not make you do it?” said Gandalf.
“She says, Peregrin, have you done your homework and I say yeah and she says go to bed, then.” Pippin shrugged.
“Well, perhaps we’d best –” Before Gandalf could go on, the telephone let out its piercing ring. “Excuse me.”
“You have a phone?” he heard Pippin say as he left the room.
The call was, as he had expected, order business. He rarely got telephone calls about anything else, but he lived in hope.
“Yes,” he said gravely, a few minutes later. He didn’t think Radagast heard him through his own ramblings. “Yes, I see.”
“Your phone isn’t connected to anything,” said Pippin in mock-whisper from the kitchen doorway. Gandalf gestured for him to go back to the table. “What’s up with that?”
“Excuse me,” Gandalf said to Radagast, and covered the receiver. To Pippin he said, “this might take some time. Go and entertain yourself.”
“Shall I go do my homework?” said Pippin. “Please don’t say yes.”
“Go to the drawing room,” said Gandalf.
“Which one’s that?” said Pippin.
“Hush,” said Gandalf, re-joining the conversation which had continued one-sided in his absence. “Yes, of course I’m listening.”
Pippin found his way into the drawing room, and out again. “How am I supposed to entertain myself when you don’t even have a TV?”
“Read a book,” said Gandalf. “Quietly!” he said as Pippin rolled his eyes, and vanished.
“Quietly what?” said Radagast, sounding hurt.
“No – no, I wasn’t talking to you,” said Gandalf. “I have my – student, here this evening.”
“Ah, the human child?” said Radagast.
“Yes, the human child,” said Gandalf.
“Did you try warm milk?”
“No, I don’t think we’re at that stage yet,” said Gandalf. “Don’t let me get you off track.”
“Ah, yes,” said Radagast, and he began again.
When Gandalf at last extricated himself from the conversation, forty-five minutes later, it was almost time to send Pippin home. He went into the drawing room, where Pippin was lying on his settee, staring at an atlas. “This is really out of date,” he remarked.
“Well, they will keep moving borders, won’t they?” said Gandalf.
Pippin tilted back his head and looked at Gandalf over the arm of the sofa. “Did you just call me the human child?” he said.
“What if I did?” said Gandalf.
“That’s really weird,” said Pippin.
“Not at all,” said Gandalf. “Wizards aren’t human.”
“What, are you saying you’re like an alien or something?” Pippin reflected on that notion. “I’d believe it.”
“I’m not an alien,” said Gandalf. “I’m an urban hermit. Sit properly.”
Pippin rolled his eyes, but duly swung his legs off the sofa. “Wizards are so human,” he said. “I’ve read Harry Potter.”
“Who is he?” said Gandalf.
“Are you serious?” said Pippin.
“Always,” said Gandalf.
“Do you live under a rock?” said Pippin.
“No, I live in this house,” said Gandalf. “I don’t go out unless I have to.”
“Really,” said Pippin. “I’d never have guessed.”
Gandalf gave him a hard look. “As I was saying,” he said, “perhaps it’s best we don’t set homework.”
Pippin’s face lit up. “Really?” he said. “I take it all back. You’re the best tutor.”
“Now, let’s work on your arithmetic,” said Gandalf.
And so they did, until glancing at the clock he saw it was ten minutes past six, and Pippin ought to have gone home. “I think that’ll do for today,” he said.
“Oh,” said Pippin. He fiddled with the Rubik’s cube. “Do you mind if I have another look at your weirdo atlas? It’s interesting.”
“If you like,” said Gandalf. “Although I do have books with stories in them, which you might find more interesting.”
“That’s fine too,” said Pippin absently.
Gandalf shut the text book, and drummed his fingers on it. “Are you making excuses so as not to go home?” he said.
Pippin glanced at the clock. “No. Why would I do that?”
“Now, Pippin,” said Gandalf.
“Fine.” With an air of resignation Pippin reached for his schoolbag. “I’ll go.”
“You don’t have to leave,” said Gandalf. “It’s only that your foster-mother will be expecting you back for dinner.”
“I suppose.” Pippin dumped his bag on the kitchen table and fiddled with the zip.
“Has she,” Gandalf wondered how best to ask, “done something to upset you?”
Pippin shrugged. “No. I just don’t like her house. It has a weird soapy smell and the bed makes rattly noises.” He looked at Gandalf and said hopefully, “half past six?”
“Did you tell social services she locked you outside in the rain?” said Gandalf.
“It wasn’t raining when she locked me out and it was my fault,” said Pippin. “I shouldn’t have called her a cow.”
“She should have had the decorum not to lock a child out of her house,” said Gandalf.
Pippin’s hands froze on the strap of his bag. “I’m not a child.”
“Yes, you are,” said Gandalf.
“I’m fourteen,” said Pippin.
“Did you tell social services?” said Gandalf.
“No,” said Pippin.
“Should I?” said Gandalf.
“No!” said Pippin, scandalised. “God. Mind your own business.” He went back to toying with his bag. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” He began to twist the strap of his bag. “Beats group home.”
Gandalf elected not to comment. It wasn’t his place, after all. If Pippin had made up his mind to handle his own problems, he shouldn’t interfere.
He said, “have you given any thought to what you’re going to do after school?”
“You mean after leaving school?” said Pippin. “I haven’t given any thought to what I’m going to do next week. Jesus.”
“Hm,” said Gandalf. “Well, you’re welcome to stay and read a book.” Pippin didn’t answer. “And if you’d like to borrow any you can come back any time.”
Pippin looked up. “Thanks,” he said. “I will.”