The Last Ringbearer

the Foreign Ministry. Tangorn pointed out some inconsistencies, the man immediately made corrections to his tale, and this back-and-forth went on until the story became logically consistent and sounded true. In reality, baron’s deft leading questions simply prompted the sergeant to put together the legend he himself had developed in the past few days.

After the sergeant had committed the legend to paper, twice, Tangorn renewed his bonds, took both sergeant’s badges (the talkative one was Aravan, the tough one was Morimir; the baron checked the latter’s carotid artery while removing the chain from around his neck and found a pulse), and left the house to his involuntary interlocutor’s frenzied cries: “Untie me! Let me go!” By Tangorn’s design, the later the man fell into his friends’ hands at 12 Shore Street, the better; the baron took care to find a policeman (not an easy task on Carnival night) and let him know that the door to 4 Lamp Street was open slightly and someone was calling for help inside: “Doesn’t sound like a joke – perhaps some drunk is misbehaving?” Then he put Aravan’s testimony and badge into the letter destined for Kharmian Village. The other copy he addressed to the ambassador of the Reunited Kingdom: let him and Marandil try and puzzle it all out. Bafflement breeds inaction, as is well known.

Tangorn made it back to the Flying Fish by dawn and fell asleep like a log. The deed was done and all he had to do was wait: the lure he had dropped – the real name of one of the underground leaders – was too good to be passed up. The Elves couldn’t ignore the meeting; at the very least they’d show up to kill him. Their checking will probably take a few days, so he should only go to the Green Mackerel next Friday, the twentieth. Now he had enough time to plan both the talk with Elandar and the cover and escape routes.

* * *

“…He will only talk to Elandar himself, as he’s not interested in flunkies.” “You are mad!” The gaze of the Great Magister was terrible. “He can’t possibly know this name, nor can anyone outside Lorien!”

“Nevertheless, that’s what he said, milord. Should we contact him?”

“Definitely, but I will do it myself – this is too important. Either he really does have some important information, in which case we need to get it, or he is provoking us and we must liquidate him before it’s too late. How long will it take your security service to verify this weird miraculous rescue story?”

“I believe that four days will be sufficient, milord. You should be able to visit the Green Mackerel this Friday.”

“One more thing. This Algali… he has heard a name he has no business knowing. Make sure that he never tells it to anyone.”

“Yes, milord.” The chief of security looked away momentarily. “If you think it’s necessary…”

“I do think so. The kid has been compromised: both the Secret Guard and DSD will be hunting him now. We have no right to endanger the entire underground. Yes, I know what you’ve just thought: had it been an Elf, I’d behave differently, right?”

“No, milord,” the other replied woodenly. “The safety of the Organization is paramount, that’s basic. I only wish to remind you that it is Algali who is supposed to meet Tangorn and also to pick up the letter in Kharmian Village, so we’ll have to wait until Friday to do it…”

Yes, thought the Great Magister with fleeting pride, we have really trained them well, and in just two years. The magic phrase ‘it’s necessary’ accomplishes everything. Who would’ve thought that all those liberal humanists will be so eager to stand at attention and salute, and find a deep sacred meaning in doing so, one that’s beyond their weak civilian minds… Actually, this Algali is lucky, if you think about it. They are all dead men anyway, but he will at least die happy, full of illusions and believing in a glorious future, whereas the others will have to behold what they’ve done and realize whose road they’ve paved before they die…

* * *

“Barrel of pus!! Can’t blame those Gondorian idiots, but where the hell were you, Jacuzzi?”

It was not often that the Vice-Director of Operations saw his superior in such a state. The report of Tangorn’s night raid on 4 Lamp Street brought him to a boiling point, nor did the news from Minas Tirith brought over by Dimitriadis (Vice-Director of Political Intelligence) do anything to improve his mood.

“Do you at least realize that this psycho and his vendetta will bury Marandil in a day or two, together with Operation Sirocco?” “I’m afraid Tangorn’s no psycho, nor is this a vendetta; we’re just unable to figure out his plan. Amazing, but this amateur keeps winning round after round! It’s enough to make one believe that he’s being assisted by Higher Powers…”

“All right, enough mysticism. How’s our captain doing?”

“If the baron intended to break him, he has fully succeeded. Aravan’s written testimony just about finished the poor guy off: he swears that he gave no such order and that all this is news to him. This is like delirious ravings… Perhaps that elfinar will clear things up some once we find him.”

“Leave Algali alone!” Almandin snapped. “He’s got nothing to do with making your agent Marandil safe. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” the operative answered, looking down gloomily.

Once again he hit the same wall. When two years ago he put his first report on the pro- Elvish organizations in Umbar on the Director’s desk, he was ordered to immediately halt all work in that direction and deactivate already planted agents. Ever since then he regularly came across traces of those secret societies, like mouse droppings in an old cupboard, yet every time he was told not to stick his fink’s snout into high politics: “This is Dimitriadis’s job.” It seemed plausible that the Vice-Director of Political Intelligence was simultaneously being told “This is Jacuzzi’s job,” but this guess was quite impossible to verify: private consultations between Vice-Directors (as well as any such contacts between employees outside of their chain of command) were strictly forbidden by the Department’s rules and were punished as deviations from umberto. Very well, he decided at some point with relief that surprised him, Almandin must have his reasons that I can’t see from my vantage point – perhaps a secret alliance with the Elves against Gondor or something like that. After all, I did my job as a detective, now it’s let the bosses and analytics think. What was it that the unforgettable Tin Man used to say? “The cock’s job is to crow, not to summon the dawn.”

“Jacuzzi, do you think that the captain can keep working?”

“He’s totally demoralized right now; he whines and begs to be allowed to flee immediately, as per agreement.”

“Exactly!” In annoyance, the Director slapped the morning report from Carnero’s headquarters. “It’s getting harder and harder for Marandil to cover up the goings-on in Barangar Bay. His underlings aren’t blind…” Underlings aren’t blind – is that a hint at me and the Elves? Jacuzzi hastily banished the thought. “Add to that a string of spectacular failures and a pile of dead bodies, thanks to that buccaneer from Ithilien. Soon our captain will be stripped of his officer’s cords and court-martialed. Long story short: find Tangorn immediately and isolate him at all costs! All costs, you hear? If you can do it without bloodshed – be my guest, but if not, then just liquidate him and be done with it!.. Now, about the Gondorian station. If needs be, can we simply block their communications with the continent, and extend that blockade throughout mid-July, when Sirocco is scheduled to