CHAPTER 39

“Now tell us, Baron, exactly how you sold the Motherland over there, in Umbar.”

“Maybe I’d sell it, on sober reflection, but who the hell would buy such a motherland?”

“Let the record reflect: suspect Tangorn admits planning to switch to the enemy’s side and didn’t do it only because of circumstances beyond his control.”

“Yeah, that’s it: maybe he was planning something, but didn’t manage to do anything. Put it down like that.”

“Just the documents you brought are enough to have you drawn and quartered – all those ‘overtures of peace’!”

“They were written at the direct order of the Royal Council.”

“We’ve heard this fairy tale already. Can you show us this order?”

“Dammit, I must have calluses on my tongue already from telling you: it came under the G-mandate, and such documents are to be destroyed after reading!”

“Gentlemen, I do believe it’s beneath us to plumb the customs of thieves and spies…”

This ‘investigation’ has been dragging on for two weeks already. Not that the spies’ guilt or their impending sentence were in any doubt on either side; it was just that Gondor had the rule of law. This meant that an out-of-favor nobleman could not be simply sent to the gallows with only a flick of the royal wrist; proper formalities had to be observed. Most importantly, Tangorn never had a feeling that what was happening was unfair. That traitorous feeling had sometimes undone many brave and straight-thinking individuals, causing them to write useless and demeaning pleas to the authorities. The spies were about to be executed not in error or on a false report, but precisely for what they did do – for trying to stop a useless war their country did not need; everything was honest and above board and no one was to blame. So when Tangorn was roused from his cot one night (“Out, with your possessions!”), he did not know what to think.

In the prison office he and Grager saw the Chief Warden of the Pelargir prison and Prince Faramir, dressed in the field fatigues of a regiment unknown to them. The Warden was glum and perplexed; clearly, he was being forced to make some very unpleasant decision.

“Can you read?” the prince was inquiring coldly.

“But your order…”

“Not mine – the Royal order!”

“Yes, sir, the Royal order! Well, it says here that you’re forming a special volunteer regiment for especially dangerous operations behind enemy lines and are empowered to recruit criminals, like it says here, ‘even right off the gallows.’ But it doesn’t say here that this includes people charged with treason and collaboration with the enemy!”

“Nor does it say the opposite. What’s not forbidden is permitted.”

“Yes, sir, strictly speaking that’s true.” Tangorn deduced from the fact that a mere warden was addressing the heir to the throne of Gondor simply as ‘sir,’ rather than ‘Your Highness,’ that the prince’s fortunes were in real bad shape. “But that’s an obvious oversight! After all, I have a responsibility… in time of war… Motherland’s safety…” The official perked up a bit, having found something to fall back on at last. “In other words, I can’t permit this without a written approval.”

“Certainly we must not blindly follow the letter of our instructions in those trying times –we must confirm it with our patriotic sense… You’re a patriot, as I can see, right?”

“Yes, sir… I mean Your Highness! I’m glad you understand my motivation…”

“Now listen closely, you prison rat,” the prince continued in the same tone of voice. “Pay attention to my mandate, paragraph four. Not only can I accept serfs, criminals, and such as volunteers; I can draft, in the name of the King, the officials of all military-related institutions, of which yours is one. So: I will leave here either with those two, or with you, and – by the arrows of Oromë! – there, beyond Osgiliath, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to prove your patriotism! Which is it going to be?”

They embraced only when the prison walls were far behind. Tangorn remembered that moment forever: he stood in the middle of the dark street, leaning on the prince’s shoulder in sudden weakness; his eyes were closed and face turned up, and cold night fog, imbued with city smoke, was settling on it… Life and freedom – what else does a man really need?

Faramir led them to the harbor through muddy dark streets of Pelargir without delay.

“Dammit, guys, why did you violate my order to stay put in Umbar? And what’s the story with your recall here?”

“We haven’t received that order. As for the recall, we expected you’d explain it to us as a member of the Royal Council.”

“I’m not on it any more. The Royal Council doesn’t need defeatists.”

“So that’s how it is… And this regiment of yours – did you invent it just to get us out?”

“Well… let’s say – not just for that.”

“That’s really sticking your neck out.”

“Whatever. I’m in a wonderful position right now – they can neither exile me any further than the front lines nor give me less than a battalion – so I’m milking it for all it’s worth.”

At the harbor they located a small ship. Two unusual-looking soldiers bundled in camouflage cloaks were snoozing right on the pier nearby. They greeted Faramir in a decidedly not-by-the-book manner, looked the two spies over appraisingly and started getting the ship under way – quite competently, as far as Tangorn could tell. “Leaving before dawn, Prince?” “You know, that there’s no caveat about traitors in that order is indeed an oversight; you want to stay to see how long it will take them to figure it out?”

Faramir was prophetic – the very next morning a courier brought ‘Amendment No. 1 to the Royal Decree 3014-227: No extension of amnesty for the criminals wishing to defend the Motherland to those guilty of crimes against the state’ to Pelargir. By that time the prince’s ship was halfway to the port of Harlond, where the Ithilien regiment was forming. They would not have been safe there, either, but when the policemen with an arrest warrant showed up in the Ithilienians’ camp, it turned out that the wanted men had just left – what a pity, less than an hour ago! – for the other shore of Anduin as part of a scouting party. Yes, the raid will be long – a month, maybe more; no, the party is working independently with no communications; if you wish, you can go beyond Osgiliath yourselves and look for them among the Orcs. What? Well, then I can’t help you, my apologies. Sergeant! See our guests off, they have urgent business in Minas Tirith!

Truly it is said that war excuses everything – in a short time the ‘traitor spies’ were simply forgotten for other, bigger things. Tangorn spent the entire war in Ithilien, fighting without much enthusiasm but bravely and skillfully, protecting his soldiers with all he had – just like he used to protect his agents. This was actually the norm in their regiment, where the relationship between soldiers and officers was markedly non-traditional. Serfs working for their freedom, bandits working for their amnesty, foresters who had spent their lives guarding royal deer and poachers who had spent their lives hunting these same deer, adventurous aristocrats who used to hang out with Boromir and intellectual aristocrats from their pre-war circles – all blended in an amazing alloy that carried an indelible impression of their demiurge, Captain Faramir. Not surprisingly, Aragorn ordered the regiment disbanded right after the Pelennor victory.

Tangorn got to Mordor on his own, as a private person – a murderer drawn to the scene of his crime. The Cormallen battle over, all he saw was the victors’ feast on the ruins of Barad-Dur. Watch, he ordered himself, watch the fruits of your work, and don’t dare turn away! Then he accidentally ended up at Teshgol right during the ‘mop-up,’ and snapped…

Ever since then he lived with a firm conviction that the Higher Powers have granted him a second life, but only so that he could expiate the evil he inadvertently did in his pre-Teshgol life, rather than for free. Intuition told him back then to join Haladdin, but how was he to know that he made the right choice?..

Suddenly he realized with an absolute, other-worldly clarity: this second life had been granted to him as a loan, not permanently, and will be taken back the moment he succeeds in his mission. Yes, precisely like that: if he guesses wrong (or pretends to), he will live to a ripe old age; if he guesses right, he will obtain redemption at the price of his life. He has a right only to this unhappy choice, but this right is the only difference between himself and Aragorn’s dead men.

This last thought – about Aragorn’s corpses – brought Tangorn from his memories back to the twilit Three Stars Embankment. All right, consider the dead men. Most likely no one will ever find out where they came from (the Elves are real good at keeping secrets), but the Umbarian ships that delivered that nightmarish cargo to the walls of Minas Tirith are another matter: they all had owners, crews, registrations, and insurance policies. No doubt the Elvish agents have worked to bury this information, too (already a legend is circulating that this had been a pirate fleet about to sack Pelargir), but these events are recent and some tracks might not have been obliterated yet. These tracks will lead him to people who chartered the ships, and those will lead him to so far unknown Elandar. It makes no sense to start the Game he and Haladdin proposed to play with Lórien at any lower level.

The funniest thing is that no one other than Mordorian agents will assist him in his search –the same people he and Grager were accused of conspiring with four years ago. Would he have ever thought that one day he will indeed be working with these guys? He could probably investigate this himself, but his network has been put to sleep and it would take at least two weeks to re-activate it. That’s time he doesn’t have, whereas Mordorians ought to have a lot of material about this event, otherwise their chief of station should be summarily dismissed. The question is whether they will want to share the information or contact him at all – he’s nothing but a Gondorian to them, an enemy… In any event, tomorrow it will all be clear. The contact method Sharya-Rana gave them was as follows: come to the Seahorse Tavern in the harbor on an odd Tuesday (that’s tomorrow), order a bottle of tequila and a saucer of sliced lemon, pay with a gold coin, talk about anything at all with one of the sailors at the bar, spend ten minutes or so at the table in the back left corner – and then walk to the Great Castamir Square, where the meeting and the exchange of passwords will occur behind the rightmost rostral column… So: shall he stroll the embankments a little longer and then head unhurriedly back to the hotel?

Someone called him: “You’re waiting for a lady, noble sir – buy her a flower!” Tangorn looked around leisurely, and his breath seized for a moment. It was not that the flower girl was beauty personified; rather, her little basket was full of purple-golden meotis orchids, exceedingly rare this time of year. Meotis was Alviss’ favorite flower.