Radawen had left a message to the tavernkeep in the guesthouse and canceled their dinner date. She had important work to do that could not wait. She described the miracle that had happened in the atrium of the Hall of the Gentle Hand this morning.
Delioron had important work to do as well. He knew that Parthadan would want him to report now.
In the afternoon Delioron wrote a message onto a sheet of parchment in his room:
There has been a development. As you must have heard by now, Romenstar has been making a name for himself performing miracles in the Hall of the Gentle Hand, healing people of their illnesses using some kind of magic or trickery. I have heard people talking about him healing colds and headaches and even rheumatism. The word of his deeds has spread around and people keep coming to Imloth Melui from farther and farther away to see the old man for himself.
No doubt you have heard talks about the ”Blue Wizard of Imloth Melui” and his works of wonder yourself by now. Saruman, the White Wizard of Isengard, has gotten wind of the situation as well and has sent an emissary here. He resides in the Hall of the Gentle Hand, but does not seem to be meddling with Romenstar’s affairs.
I made contact with Radawen yesterday. Before making contact I followed her for a week to see who else might be on her tail. I spotted a man in a dark gray cloak following Radawen, but I have no idea who he is or what he wants yet. In addition to that I spotted Magordir of the Rangers earlier this week. He pretended that he hadn’t seen me and I returned the courtesy, but he is as aware of my presence here as I am of his. However, I don’t believe the gray-cloaked man, whoever he is, is one of the Rangers. There is a fourth interested party about in Imloth Melui.
According to Radawen, Romenstar performed his greatest feat so far this morning. Apparently there was a woman with a severely deformed spine, and Romenstar completely healed the woman with his magic staff. It could still be just a trick, but I don’t understand the reason for it. What I know for sure is that it will draw even more attention to Imloth Melui. If it is a setup, what would be the purpose? Who is setting it up? It can’t be any benefit to the Rangers, who are likely waiting for the commotion to die out so they could interrogate Romenstar again in peace. And Saruman has not advertised his presence here in any way either. So who benefits from all the attention Romenstar is drawing to himself and this town?
And what am I doing here, sticking my nose in the business of the Rangers? That’s what I’d like to know. What is your interest in this case? What do you want me to find out? And what if Romenstar has no secret? What if he has nothing at all to tell us?
D.
When he was ready, Delioron took another sheet of parchment and the cipher Parthadan had issued him for this assignment and carefully encrypted the message. The encrypted message appeared to be gibberish, just random letters on a page, incomprehensible to anyone who did not have the cipher for breaking the code. Delioron burned the original message on a candleflame, scrolled the piece of parchment, sealed it and put it in his coat pocket. He left the guesthouse and went for a long walk along the avenue west of River Erui. He walked through the courtyard of the Hall of the Gentle Hand and up another avenue until he arrived at the northwestern point of the town.
The avenue was about two miles long, bordered by rose bushes on both sides. Delioron had walked this journey many times during the week he had spent in Imloth Melui. Here he could smell the scent of the flowers and watch the gulls circling in the clear blue sky overhead.
Just before the last bridge of Imloth Melui he walked through the rose bushes to the riverbank. There were three rocks there between the rose bushes and the river. One of the rocks had a hollow cavity in it’s bottom. Delioron did not know who Parthadan’s people in Imloth Melui were, but he was supposed to check the stone once a day if possible for any messages from Parthadan. And when he wanted to report to the Warden of the Green himself, he would have to leave an encrypted message into the stone. Somebody would pick up the message from there and a fast rider would deliver it to Parthadan in Minas Tirith as soon as possible.
Delioron looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was on the bridge before he bent down to turn the rock. There were no messages for him today. There had been no messages for him at all during the week he had spent here. He took the little scroll from his pocket, shoved it into the cavity and put the rock back in it's place. Then he stood still for a moment, looking at the flowing water in River Erui and listening to the birds squawking in the sky.
It was always like this in his trade. He could never understand the whole scenario or some part of it. All he could do was to try and adapt to the question at hand, without ever trying to figure out the background. It was never healthy to know too much, or too little for that matter. His world was comprised of endless rows of air-tight compartments, and he could never move from one compartment to the next until he had carefully locked the previous compartment behind him.
He was feeling immense exhaustion as he started walking slowly down the avenue that led back to the guesthouse. The sun was already setting. As he fixed his thoughts back to the present moment he subconsciously eyed the surrounding scenery and divided his field of vision into narrow sectors. Trees. Roses. People walking, people sitting. Buildings. Columns. Fountains. Cloaks.
A cloak. A dark gray cloak.
A shadowy figure in a dark gray cloak stood on a bridge behind a small crowd of people. He watched the figure and kept walking along slowly. The gray-cloaked figure turned and started walking away from him.
Delioron quickened his pace, trying to keep the figure in sight. The figure disappeared behind the arch of the bridge. Delioron started running. He needed no excuses now. The same figure had followed Radawen. The same figure was following him now.
Nothing. The gray-cloaked figure had vanished like a ghost. But someone had been keeping an eye on both himself and Radawen.
He turned around and scanned his surroundings with his trained eye. A woman stood in front of the Garland, waiting for someone, squeezing the handles of her bag tightly in her hand. Two old men sat on a bench in front of a carpenter’s shop. Two young girls walked up the street towards the Lord’s Arm. A figure of a man down at the riverbank walked hurriedly towards the Merchant’s Court.
No sign of the gray-cloaked figure. But somebody had been keeping an eye on him.
In that moment somebody appeared from behind him and bumped into him. Delioron turned, raising his hands for a kill-blow.
”I beg your pardon, I wasn’t looking where I was walking.” It was a white-haired, brown-eyed man who’s breath smelled of wine. He was dressed in white tunic and trousers.
Delioron let his hands fall down. He had nearly killed the man.
”I’m terribly sorry!” the drunkard spluttered and staggered away. Delioron stood still.
A delicate matter, Parthadan had said. A cute game of snatching secrets.
The guesthouse lied in the southwestern corner of Imloth Melui. Delioron went inside to the dimly lit marble hall and pushed his way through the crowd. It was a noisy guesthouse and this evening there was a minstrel entertaining the guests, but the music did not speak to Delioron this time. He wanted to be alone in his room, drink a jug of wine and forget all memories of old murders, old friends and old enemies.
He went to the back of the guesthouse. He had pushed a couple of his gray hairs into the jamb of his door, inconspicuously below the handle. The hairs were still there as he turned the key in the lock. He opened the door and his silhouette etched against the empty, dimly lit corridor.
Suddenly he knew the room was not empty.
He stood still for a moment without making a move. He had not been expecting this. He was not armed. He had not taken his dagger with him when he went out. The room was dark but he could see a shape in the shadows, a shape of a man.
”Please come inside, close the door and be quiet.”
It was a soft-spoken voice, deep from the back end of his memory. A childish, serious voice, bordering on melancholic. The voice of a man he had betrayed.
As his eyes became adjusted to the dark, he saw that the man had a hand-crossbow in his hairy long-fingered hand aimed at him. A pair of gentle but expressionless blue-gray eyes stared at him from a pale, round face, framed by a dark gray hood.
”Please, close the door behind you”, said the man in his quiet, childish voice. ”I see well in the dark.”
Delioron let the door close behind him. ”I wasn’t expecting this”, he said.
In the glimmering moonlight Delioron could see how the hand-crossbow slowly arose until it was pointed at his chest.
”No”, said Demrîng. ”Neither was I.”
