May 14, 3019
“…So you just announced it to the entire Emyn Arnen: ‘merry men from the Blackbird Hamlet?’”
“What else could I do – wait for the Eternal Fire to freeze? Both the Prince and the girl can only leave the fort with a White Company bodyguard, can’t exactly talk with those guys present…”
The wick of an oil lamp on the edge of a rough wooden table cast fitful light on the speaker’s face. It was swarthy and predatory, like that of a
The master of Blackbird Hamlet reached questioningly towards the jug of wine, caught Tangorn’s barely discernible ‘no’ gesture and obligingly moved it aside. The emotional encounter of two old friends was over; they were at work now.
“How quickly did you get in touch?”
“Nine days. The Whites ought to have forgotten that stupid episode already. The girl went hunting once – it’s routine now – saw a shepherd boy with his flock on a distant pasture and lost her escort, very professionally, for not more than ten minutes.”
“A shepherd boy, eh? Did she give him a gold coin wrapped in a note?”
“Nope – took a splinter out of his foot and told him a story of how she and her brother, when they were kids, had to defend a herd against steppe wolves… Listen, is it true that they do everything themselves in the North?”
“Yes. Over there even crown princes tend horses in childhood, and princesses work in the kitchens. So what about the boy?”
“She simply asked him to help in such a way that no one else finds out. And – the word of a professional – were anything to happen, the boy would let himself be cut to ribbons before giving anything away… Anyway, he found Blackbird Hamlet and brought an oral message: next Friday Captain Beregond will be in the Red Deer tavern in the Settlement, waiting for a drunk man who will slap his shoulder and ask whether he is the one who commanded the archers of Morthond on the Pelennor Field.”
“What?! Beregond?”
“Yes, if you can imagine that. We were no less surprised, believe me. You have to agree, though, that Aragorn’s people aren’t likely to bait a trap with someone so noticeable, so the Prince is doing everything right.”
“You must all be crazy here!” Tangorn spread his hands. “How can you trust a man who first killed his suzerain and is now betraying his new lords, in less than a month?”
“Quite the contrary. First, he’s innocent of Denethor’s death, we know that for sure…”
“For sure? How? You looked into chicken entrails?”
“Yes, we did, but into a
Tangorn leaned forward and even whistled in amazement. “Wait! Do you mean to say that Denethor’s
“Yep. Those folks in Minas Tirith have decided that it’s broken. All they could see in it was the murdered King’s ghost, so when Faramir asked for it as a memento, they were only too glad to get rid of it.”
“All right…”
The baron stole an involuntary glance at the door to the next room, where Haladdin and Tzerlag were bedding down for the night. The situation was changing rapidly; they were inordinately lucky recently, he thought fleetingly, not a good sign… Grager followed his glance and nodded in the same direction:
“Those two. Are they really looking for Faramir?”
“Yes. They can be trusted, since our interests are fully aligned, at least for now.”
“Well, well… A diplomatic mission?” “Something like that. Forgive me, but I’m honor-bound…”
The chief of the Ithilienians contemplated this for some time, and then grumbled: “All right. You deal with them yourself, I’m busy enough as it is. I’m gonna take them out from underfoot to the most remote base, at Otter Creek, for the time being, and then we’ll see.”
“By the way, why did you give away precisely this base, at Blackbird Hamlet?”
“Because you can’t approach it stealthily, so we can always beat it. Besides, we have only a few guys here; it’s more of an observation post than a base.”
“How many people do we have?”
“You’re number fifty-two.”
“And they?..”
“Forty.”
“Can’t storm the fort, then.”
“Forget a direct assault,” Grager waved off the notion. “Whatever else, they’ll anyway have enough time to kill the Prince. Moreover, Faramir demands that his freedom be attained with no bloodshed, so that no one can later accuse him of violating his vassal’s oath. No, we have another plan – an escape from Emyn Arnen; and when the Prince of Ithilien is under our protection, that’s when we can change our tune and advise the Whites to get lost.”
“So – do you have a concrete plan?”
“Brother, you offend me – it’s almost fully implemented already! You see, Eowyn was our biggest problem: they’re only let outside separately, and the Prince won’t go anywhere without her, of course. So we had to solve this puzzle: where can we arrange for both the Prince and the Princess to be, first, alone, second, with no eyes on them, third, outside the fort?”
“Hmm… the bedchamber comes to mind immediately, if not for the third condition.”
“You’re almost right. It’s the bathhouse.”
“Wow!” Tangorn laughed. “A tunnel?”
“Sure. The bathhouse is within the stockade, but away from the main building. We’re digging from a nearby mill, about two hundred yards straight, quite a bit of work. The biggest problem with tunnels, as you know, is what to do with all the dirt. With the mill we’re getting it out in sacks dusted with flour, it’s all very natural-looking. The danger is that the sentries might start counting the sacks from sheer boredom, and figure out that a lot more are going out than are coming in. So we couldn’t dig full-bore, but looks like we’ll be done this week.” “And the White Company has no suspicions?”
“Beregond swears that they don’t. Of course, they don’t tell him anything of the sort, but he’d see some signs of an alarm.”
“Do they have informants in the Settlement and the hamlets?”
