Parthadan, the Warden of the Green of Minas Tirith, and Captain Beregond of the Third Company left the Citadel separately, but were reunited at the foot of the stairs to the Sword-Gate. From there they walked north, towards The Wheel and Cask tavern in the northernmost part of Minas Tirith.
Parthadan was wearing a dark woolen hood clasped with silver and a long green surcoat. In his hand he had a leather satchel, reinforced with brass corners.
”Curious”, Beregond said. ”Very curious. What do you think could be the reason for this surreptitious meeting in a shady inn?”
”I don’t know, but I don’t like it”, Parthadan said.
”You like nothing, sir”, Beregond noted.
”The letter said: ’Let no word of our errand reach other ears, least of all those of Captain Bangion or any who stand in his counsel. Should you require a companion, choose none but one in whom you place your deepest trust.’ You are the only one in the Citadel I trust anymore, Beregond.”
”At least your man still trusts you.”
”Why did he not stay in Arnach where he belongs?” Parthadan asked. ”And what is Bangion up to? I had a hunch that Bangion was acting suspiciously, and now this letter from Delioron! I just wish he would have been more forthcoming in it.”
”Would it have made any difference?”
”I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t like it.”
Delioron’s disappearance had been bad enough news for Parthadan. Bangion, the Captain of Tidings from the Hall of Errands, had been responsible for the security arrangements for Delioron and Radawen. Months had passed without incident, and Parthadan had come to believe that the enemy had given up hunting them. He had been ready to give Delioron a new mission next year. He had even visited Delioron in that secluded farmhouse in Arnach where Bangion had kept him hidden away and told him so himself. Everything had seemed to be going just fine.
And then, all of a sudden, Bangion had come to his office one morning to inform him that Delioron had disappeared. Just like that. He had just saddled his horse and left the farmhouse, without explanation, without telling or being seen by the guards. Bangion had said that they were doing everything in their power to locate him, and Parthadan had used his own network of informants and spies to do the same, but they had all come up empty-handed.
A few weeks ago Parthadan had come to suspect that Bangion was keeping secrets from him. He could not put a finger on the exact reason of his unease, but his bureaucrat’s instincts, honed by decades of service to the realm, kept nagging at him that Bangion was not to be trusted.
Yesterday evening everything had changed when Parthadan had received a letter in his apartment. The letter had been slipped under the door of his apartment by Reniedir, the custodian of the Master’s Tier. Reniedir was an older, stooped, soft-spoken man who had swept the streets of the Master’s Tier for decades, the kind of man who heard everything and was noticed by no one. Reniedir was also a secret messenger for Parthadan, one who’s existence Bangion or anyone else in Parthadan’s circles had no clue about. Parthadan had told Delioron and a handful of his most trusted few that they should only bother Reniedir in the direst of needs, to keep the nature of his service secret to all but Parthadan. Reniedir was just one of many assurances Parthadan had woven in order to survive in the complex bureaucracy of Minas Tirith.
The letter had been from Delioron, and it had been brief:
Come meet me tomorrow at noon in The Wheel & Cask tavern. Let no word of our errand reach other ears, least of all those of Captain Bangion or any who stand in his counsel. Should you require a companion, choose none but one in whom you place your deepest trust. Bring all the silver you can command; the matter cannot wait.
D.
It was noon. Parthadan and Beregond had arrived at The Wheel and Cask.
”After you”, Parthadan said.
They pushed into the tavern. It was dark, spacious and majestic in the way of all taverns in Minas Tirith. Beregond walked ahead of Parthadan. They pushed through the common room towards the shady wings in the back where burning logs crackled in massive hearths. The hostess behind the bar, wearing a gray gown, a white apron and a perpetual smile, lifted her gaze and noticed the visitors.
”Welcome, fine lords!” she greeted. ”Good to meet you!”
”Yes, well, likewise”, Parthadan muttered, confused and embarrassed as always when he was unexpectedly assaulted by hospitality and kindness from strangers.
Delioron and Radawen were sitting in the back of the tavern. Parthadan sat down. Beregond sat opposite to him, a little bemused. He stared at Delioron and smiled.
”Good to see you”, he said in his deep voice. Then he said to Radawen: ”We have never met before, but I know who you are.”
Radawen nodded, smiled and looked at Parthadan. She had never met him before, but she was very curious to see the man who had ruled over Delioron’s life for so many years, ordering him to commit unspeakable and villainous deeds from the shadow of the throne, all in the name of protecting the realm. The voice of his master, whispering from behind the throne. She looked at him with blatant curiosity as he removed his hood. Parthadan’s face was worn and pale. His nose was short and porcine. His small eyes were watery from the chilly winter air. His hair was long, thin and gray. Radawen had met bureaucrats like Parthadan before.
”I was not aware that… Lady Radawen would also be present”, Parthadan said.
”Life is full of surprises”, Delioron replied. ”Did you bring the silver I asked for?”
”I am not in a habit of carrying a leather satchel for no reason.”
”Radawen?”
Radawen reached out to take the leather satchel from Parthadan’s feet under the table. It was heavy.
”I was not aware she was going”, Parthadan said. ”With you.”
”Now you know”, Delioron replied.
”What’ll you have?” asked the smiling tavern-keep who had turned up next to their table. ”I can tell you what’s cooking.”
”A cup of strong wine, unmixed”, Parthadan said.
”I will have a tankard of ale, fresh from the cask”, Delioron said, smiling. ”The kind Lord here has insisted on paying for everything”, he added, nodding toward Parthadan.
The hostess’ smile grew wider. Radawen ordered the same as Delioron. Beregond wanted a cup of small beer.
”Now tell me”, Parthadan said when the tavern-keep had walked off to fulfill their requests. He stared hard at Delioron, a pensive look upon his face. ”Why did you call this meeting? Tell me why I would want to do anything for you.”
Delioron told Parthadan everything, starting from the letter from Meldis he had received in that farmhouse in Arnach many weeks ago. Parthadan’s eyebrows rose and his eyes grew wider as Delioron’s story and its meaning sunk in.
”Denethor must hear about this immediately!” he exclaimed once Delioron had concluded his report.
”No”, Delioron said.
”No? What do you mean, ’no’? Why not?”
”We know that Captain Bangion and at least some of his men are somehow involved with the Corsair spy ring in Pelargir, but we don’t know the reason or how deep the conspiracy goes. At least Captain Fangnir of Anfalas is involved, but does it end there? What do you think will happen after you give this information to Denethor? The Steward will call a meeting with Bangion and demand an explanation. Do you not think Bangion has a plausible story ready for such possibility? The operation itself will be disbanded, sure, but those behind it will walk free. I and Radawen will still be hunted by Sauron’s servants in Gondor. Nothing will be solved.”
”But… what else is there to do?”
”You don’t need to do anything. Say nothing to Denethor. Pretend like this meeting never happened to Bangion. Pretend like you don’t suspect him of anything. I need you now, Parthadan. I need you to do nothing. In exchange for doing nothing I will give you a present. I will give you all the names and all the proof you need to burn the Corsair network and all the Gondorian conspirators aiding them, including Captain Bangion.”
Parthadan’s cup of strong wine arrived. Parthadan chugged down half of it. He did not like it.
”Do you want anything to eat?” the hostess asked.
”The house beef-roll”, said Parthadan.
”Beef-roll”, said Radawen.
”Nothing”, said Delioron.
”Mutton stew, if you have it”, said Beregond.
”No mutton-stew today, Captain”, said the tavern-keep. ”Sorry.”
”Lentil stew with bread then”, said Beregond.
The hostess left.
”What about that woman from Harad?” Parthadan asked. ”What happens to her?”
”Leston in Arnach will take her under his roof”, Delioron said. ”Pharazbalak will return to Pelargir.”
”And how will Leston feel about it?”
”Leston will be satisfied in the end, I have no doubt of it. I intend to pay him from the silver you gave me.”
”I did not even know that you knew him”, Parthadan said.
”We worked together once. How long has he been in retirement?”
”Three years. They will get wind of him, you know.”
”By then it will hopefully not matter anymore”, Delioron said. ”All I need is time.”
”And after that you will return.”
”No. After that I will…” Delioron grew silent. ”Well, we shall see about that in due time.”
Radawen said to Parthadan: ”Are you going to allow them to kill him?”
Beregond looked at Parthadan.
”Do I have any choice in the matter?” Parthadan asked.
”No”, Delioron replied.
”Bangion knows that something is up”, Parthadan said. ”You are putting Lady Radawen’s life at risk. Do you know that?”
Delioron frowned and did not look at Radawen. ”Radawen is already dead”, he said. ”But perhaps there is a way I can make sure she will come out alive after all. Besides trusting your good intentions.”
”Curse you!”
”That’s right. Curse you, curse me, curse Gondor and curse the throne, but that’s the way it has to be. Sauron wants my life, do you not see that, Parthadan? They have sent assassins from Rohan and Umbar after us, and there are conspirators doing Sauron’s bidding right here in Minas Tirith, Pelargir and Anfalas as well, our fellow Gondorians, some of them in high offices. There is nothing in this world that can stop them. And I stopped trusting the throne of Gondor a long time ago. Or you.”
”Whom did you place your trust in in Pelargir? Whom did you leave in your great-aunt’s house to protect her?”
”An old friend.”
”You sure have a lot of old friends for someone so reclusive.”
”That’s right”, Delioron said. ”Who would have guessed it?
