CHAPTER 52

Umbar, the Green Mackerel restaurant

June 27, 3019

“By the way, how did that story with your cousin’s broken engagement end up?” Tangorn asked nonchalantly once the meal was over and Algali had left them for the common room at his companion’s barely discernible gesture.

“Nothing much; I suppose that Linóel is already seeing someone else. By the way, if you expect to impress me with your knowledge of Lórien’s high society gossip, then the effect is rather the reverse: this bit of news is really stale.”

Score one for me, Tangorn thought, else why did you volunteer an explanation right away?

Maybe these Elves aren’t as perceptive as rumor has it. Aloud he said: “I just wanted to ensure that you are, indeed, Elandar: you mentioned the name Linóel, and that’s what I was looking for. Very primitive, of course, but…” he smiled a slightly bashful smile, “actually, could you please remove your half-mask?”

“As you wish.”

Yes, his interlocutor was undoubtedly an Elf: he had vertical rather than round pupils, like those of a cat or a snake; one could also ask to take a look at the tips of his ears, hidden under the hairdo, but there was no real need. You’ve made it to your goal, knight.

Through the mossy forests and churning rivers, through treacherous bogs and snowy peaks did the noble knight struggle, until the magic ball led him to the Uggun Gorge, with burned slag for ground, bile flowing in the streams, and no grass. There did the Dragon abide in his lair under the granite boulders…

Actually, as long as we’re in the ancient ballad mode, let’s be frank: rather than the noble knight, you’re his tricky armor bearer whose only task is to steal up to the entrance to the lair, throw some poison bait inside and run away immediately. It will be up to Haladdin to battle the great worm once he emerges, but the doctor will only have a chance if the monster gobbles the poison bait first: the well-sealed package you had retrieved two hours ago from the Seamen Bank safe where it had spent all this time together with the mithril coat and some other stuff. Sure, this is hardly knightly behavior, but our task is to rid the world of the dragon, rather than to make it into children’s books.

“You’re satisfied, I hope?” the Elf broke the prolonged silence. Scorn shone in the depth of his eyes like a pair of bluish swamp gas flames.

“I suppose so. I don’t know Elandar personally, but the verbal description seems to match.”

That was pure bluff, but it seemed to have gone over smoothly; in any case there were no more ways to check. “Should you not be who you say you are, now is the best time to drop out, believe me. The thing is that the information I’m about to entrust to you may cost some of Lórien’s higher-ups their heads, so they will most likely hunt its keeper as vigorously as Aragorn’s men are hunting me. Clofoel Eornis’ son will be able to handle it appropriately while, importantly, staying alive, unlike any lower-placed Elf. It’s a well-known axiom that dangerous information is destroyed together with its carriers; I’m sure you understand what learning what one is not supposed to know, even accidentally, means…” With those words Tangorn glanced meaningfully towards the exit Algali had used.

“Yes, you’re right,” the other man nodded calmly, having followed Tangorn’s glance. “I am, indeed, Elandar, while you, Baron, since you know Lady Eornis’ internal title, do indeed know how Lórien works. But I’m afraid that you’re overestimating my rank in the hierarchy.”

“Not at all. You’re to play the same role as I am – that of an intermediary. The information, as you’ve probably guessed, is meant for your mother. Moreover, I have reasons to believe that clofoel Eornis is not the ultimate addressee, either.”

“Ah so?..” Elandar drawled thoughtfully. “So Faramir did manage to obtain proof that certain parties in Lórien have indeed befriended Aragorn and are about to use the Reunited Kingdom as a trump in their game against Lady Galadriel… Is the Prince of Ithilien hoping that she will return the throne of Minas Tirith to him as a reward?”

“I repeat – I’m just an intermediary, I’m not empowered to name any names. Why, does something in this scheme seem unlikely to you?”

“Theoretically it’s quite plausible… maybe too plausible. It’s just that – no offense – I don’t trust you personally even a little bit, Baron. There’s way too much noise about your person.

Aragorn’s people do seem to be hunting you, but you’re suspiciously lucky, first at the Seahorse, then at that Castamir puddle. Or take this story with freeing Algali – who can believe such a coincidence?”

Tangorn shrugged. “It is difficult for me to object, as the story is, indeed, incredible. Do you still suspect that the incident at 4 Lamp Street is my doing?”

“I did until yesterday,” Elandar admitted glumly. “However, yesterday Captain Marandil was arrested and had testified thoroughly about the incident. He did order Algali’s kidnapping…”

Tangorn had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. Truly it is said: “Too good is no good, either.”

“We’re spinning wheels, dear sir,” he said abruptly, feeling that it was time to mount an attack. “In any event you won’t be the one to make decisions in this matter – not your level, if you pardon the expression. All I need to know is whether you have the means to deliver my message to milady Eornis and keep anyone else in Lórien from finding out? If not, I have to seek other channels, and this conversation is pointless.”

The Elf stroked the package lying on the table thoughtfully, clearly looking for traces of magic. Tangorn held his breath: the dragon approached the bait and sniffed it warily.  

Actually he had nothing to fear – physically, the package was clean and trick-free.

He smirked: “I hope you can detect the absence of poisons or directed magic without opening the package?”

“I’ll manage somehow…” Elandar hefted the package. “This weighs almost half a pound, and I clearly detect metal inside… quite a bit of metal. What else is there beside the message?”

“The message is wrapped in several layers of thick silver foil, so that it can’t be magically read from outside.” The Elf nodded almost imperceptibly. “The outer cover is sackcloth; the knots of the cords tying it are sealed and have metal rings woven into them right under the seals. It is impossible to secretly open such packaging: one can neither boil the wax away, since it’s too deeply infused into the sackcloth, nor carefully slice the seals away with a thin hot blade – the rings are in the way. This is how they seal government mail in Khand, and I know of no method that’s more secure. Another precaution is that the knots that secure the rings are unlikely to be known to any Elves. Please observe.”

With those words Tangorn quickly tied a piece of string around the handle of a fruit knife and handed it to Elandar. The Elf tried to figure out the elaborate pattern, then gave up with obvious displeasure: “One of the local marine knots?”

“Not at all. It’s just that the Elves are very conservative and only use a single knot to tie string to a bow, whereas there are at least three such knots, of which this is one.”

Elandar stuffed the package inside his jacket in annoyance and examined the knot again.

Sure, it’s annoying for a member of the higher race to fail at such a trifle. Tangorn froze, afraid to believe his eyes. The dragon swallowed the bait… he did… gulped it, munched, gobbled, wolfed it down! Suddenly, as if sensing the happy jumble of thought and emotion in his mind, the Elf raised his gaze and stared the baron in the eye. With horror Tangorn felt an irresistible force pull him inside the slits of Elandar’s bottomless pupils, felt cold fingers picking through his soul with habitual disgust… Even a small child knows you can’t look the dragon in the eye!  He pulled away with all the power of his despair; so does a fox spring out of the steel trap, leaving behind scraps of hide, bits of flesh with shards of broken bones, and ragged sinews. I know nothing – I’m a messenger, nothing more! The pain was terrible, almost physical, and then it was suddenly over – he managed to free himself… or did the Elf just let him go? Then he heard Elandar’s voice, muffled as if in a dream:

“That you hate us is immaterial: politics bring even stranger bedmates together. But you’re hiding something dangerous and important about this package, and that is really bad. What if all that’s inside is some local state secret like the Umbarian fire recipe or one of the Admiralty’s maps, and the DSD is waiting at the door to send me off to the galleys for thirty years or so, or perhaps straight to the Ar-Horan gallows, it being wartime and all? Wouldn’t it be nice to have me arrested for espionage, eh?”

“That’s not so…” Tangorn objected feebly, unable to open his eyes; his tongue was leaden, and he felt like either vomiting or just dying. I wonder if this is what a woman feels after rape?

“Not so?” the Elf grunted. “Perhaps. Still, it seems to me that your little gift stinks!”

 The dragon didn’t even consider swallowing the bait; all he did was sniff it lazily and drag it back to his lair, just in case, there to lie forever amidst shards of broken armor of those who had dared challenge the monster, kings’ crowns, golden chalices from leveled cities, and skeletons of fair maidens…

It’s over, Tangorn realized: he had lost the most important fight of his entire life. As Eru is his witness, he did everything humanly possible, but at the last moment Fortune turned away from him… him and Haladdin. Does this mean that he was mistaken and the Higher Powers do not approve of their mission?

In the meantime Algali came back to their room – it was time to wrap up. Elandar, having turned into a refined gentleman again, amused his companions with a fresh joke, complained about urgent business forcing him to abandon this pleasant company (“No, Baron, by no means should you accompany me; better spend another ten minutes or so here with Algali”), filled their glasses from a pocket flask (“To our success, Baron! This is real Elvish wine, nothing like the swill they sell at Elfstone, believe me”), drank the dark ruby liquid in a single draught, put the half-mask back on his face and headed out.

Tangorn and Algali sat across from each other in silence for a couple of minutes, the untouched goblets like border markers on the table between them. Dear Elandar is making sure I’m not following him, the baron thought lazily. I wonder if mister junior secretary knows that I can get out of this restaurant any minute through the restroom window? He could, although that’s unlikely… The thing is – I don’t need it any more.

What a rotten trick did I play on you, lad, he thought suddenly when he met the childishly open gaze of the ‘carrier of unsuitable information.’ Maybe that’s why the Higher Powers have turned away from me? Now it turns out that I swam in that indelible muck – with you and the guy at 4 Lamp Street – for no good reason. I played a trick on you, they played one on me; as usual, the gods have the last laugh.

“You know, I’ll sit here for a while longer, but you should make legs as fast as you can, if you value your life. Your Elvish friends have sentenced you to death. I suggest using the restroom window – someone your size will squeeze through with no difficulty.”

“Even if I believed you,” the youth answered disdainfully, “I would not have accepted salvation from you.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because you are an Enemy. You fight on the side of Darkness, so your every word is a lie, and your every deed is evil by definition.”

“You’re mistaken, lad,” Tangorn sighed wearily. “I’m on neither the Dark nor the Light side. If you need a label, I’m on the side of many colors.”

“There is no such side, Baron,” Algali bit out, and his eyes flashed. “The Battle of Battles is coming, Dagor-Dagorlad, and everybody – yes, everybody! – will have to make a choice between Light and Dark. Whoever is not with us is against us!”

“That’s a lie – such a side exists, very much so.” Tangorn was not smiling any more. “If I’m fighting for anything, it’s for this precious Dagor-Dagorlad of yours to never happen.

I’m fighting for the right of those of many colors to remain such without getting dragged into this total mobilization of yours. And speaking of Light and Dark – I suppose your master represents the Light?”

“He’s my Teacher, not my master!”

“Fine. Now look at this.” With these words he took a piece of white quartz-like stone attached to a silver chain out of his pocket. “This is an Elvish poison detector – ever seen one?”

When immersed into their goblets, the stone gave off an ominous purple light.

“Judging by the color, this poison works in about half an hour. All right, I’m an enemy, but is poisoning one’s Pupil a tradition of the forces of Light?”

Tangorn never expected what happened next: Algali snatched the nearest goblet, raised it to his lips and drained it before the baron could grab his arm.

“You’re lying!” The youth’s face became pale and inspired, filled with otherworldly exultation. “And if not, then so what: it means that it’s necessary to our Cause.”

“Thank you, lad,” the baron said after a minute’s stupor. “You don’t even know how much you just helped me…”

He headed to the exit without saying goodbye, but paused at the door for one last look at the doomed fanatic. Scary to even think of what will happen to Middle Earth should these boys prevail. Maybe I didn’t play my part too well, but at least I played for the right team.

…Jacuzzi mustered enough self-control not to hang out in front the Green Mackerel himself, relying on the pros from the surveillance team. Neither Tangorn’s contact with the Elvish underground nor the identity of his interlocutor concerned the Vice-Director of DSD at the moment. He knew that the fates of both the Republic and himself hinged on one thing only: Tangorn’s next destination. Will he go right or left, to the port or to New Town? He knew that but could do nothing about it, so all he did was pray to all the gods he knew: to the One, to the Sun-faced, to the Unnamed, even to Eru-Ilúvatar of the northern barbarians and to Udugvu the Great Snake. What else could he do? So when he finally heard: “The target has left the restaurant heading to New Town,” his first thought was: which one of them had listened to my prayers? Or perhaps God is, indeed, one, and it’s just that He has different cover stories and code names for different countries?

The surveillance team leader reported, concerned: “The streets are already empty while the target is very careful. Tracking him will be exceedingly difficult…”

“…and not really necessary,” Jacuzzi finished for him and laughed; the Vice-Director knew with certainty now that Fortune was on his side, and the anticipation of victory – sweeter even than victory itself – filled him to bursting. “Pull back all surveillance and tell the capture team to switch to Plan B.”