Naraal sat in the corner of the room, a good distance from the main crowd around the bar. He took out his pipe and cleaned the bowl with a small hook, then stuffed it full of fresh pipeweed. Taking up his oval tinderbox, he used the contents to light a flame.
He cared little for most habits and tastes of the Breelanders, but smoking a pipe was one habit he had taken to, even when he was rarely at home in Harad. Pushing back in his chair, so that it leant against a side wall, he placed his booted feet on the chair opposite, and relaxed.
He needed to relax and think clearly. He had a problem.
As the days passed, he was coming to better know Captain Greenfield (as he was called). The man was one of the most focused Naraal had ever come across. He had a goal, he would attain it, and tread down anything or anyone in his way. That was business, fair enough. But this was different. Naraal himself had little fear of the dark, or creatures that reveled in it. If one had the upper hand it mattered not who the opponent was - the Corsair usually had a few tricks up his sleeve, that he never felt uncertain. That is, however, until he had visited that place known as the Barrow-downs with the Captain.
He shuddered, and took a deep inhale of his pipeweed.
“Don’t call up what you can’t put down,” he had once heard an elderly Shaman say. He had taken that to heart. He never again challenged anyone to a fight without knowing he could ‘put them down’. But 'barrow-wights? They were not men any more, were they? He snorted out two long streams of smoke from his nostrils.
Leave that to those best suited, magicians and fools, he thought. Though the Captain was certainly no fool. Who was he exactly? He shrugged. He had enough problems on his plate.
That idiot, Jexson!
He had told the brute to leave the Elves of Ered Luin alone. He had warned him he would hand him over to a patrol out of Mithlond if he caused any further problems. Captain Greenfield had something brewing in that scheming mind of his, and would not take kindly to drawing Mithlond to battle before time. He had to do something about it quickly. 'Think, Naraal!'
He snapped his fingers a few times, and a girl with long red braids hurried over. She was pretty, he thought.
“You’re new!” he said to her. “What’s your name?”
She halted a foot from the table. No ordinary serving wench he thought, rather someone’s daughter, desperate to make a living.
“Poppy, sir,” she replied. “What is it you need?”
He was on the verge of telling her, then he caught sight of Ham Gorsefoot coming through the door. It would have to wait for now.
“An ale and a meat pie, and be quick about it,” He tossed a coin in the air, grabbed it, and stuffed it in her apron pocket. “More where that came from later, if you stay sweet," he said, watching her embarrassment.
Poppy hurried off to the kitchen, and Gorsefoot, having seen Naraal, ambled across the room and took a seat nearby.
“And…?” Naraall asked. “What is our ‘friend’ Jexson saying now?”
Gorsefoot glanced hopefully towards the casks of ale.
“Buy your own,” the Corsair snapped. “You and the lads will make a tidy sum soon, I am thinking. But we need to keep Jexson under wraps for a while, and keep that hot head of his cool."
Gorsefoot scratched his beard. “Can’t say I like this, boss. Maybe Jexson is right? A few o' us lost kin or friends in Yondershire. Twould be good to give them elves a taste of their own medicine.”
Naraal puffed slowly on his pipe, then grinned and nodded as Poppy returned with his drink and pie. “That'll be eight silver, Sir.” He gave her ten, and a wink.
She turned pale, and ran away.
Gorsefoot laughed, his eyes following the girl as she retreated.
Naraal slammed his fist on the table to get the man's attention again. He didn’t actually like it that the girl was scared of him - what was there to be afraid of? He was interested in her, yes, but not if she would rather jump off a cliff than spend time with him.
“Now listen up, " he snapped. “The new ‘boss’ is a bad 'un, don’t ask why, I just know. If you cross 'im he will tear you to pieces. It’s better for us all if we toe the line, for now.” he leant forward and whispered, “I agree with you, but Jexson, has the sense of a fence post. We don't want to cause trouble with them Elves, not yet. We must bide our time and wait."
With a sigh, Gorsefoot nodded. “A reward is better than a whipping, that’s for sure. The Boss must have some big plans then?”
“Yes of course he does.” said Naraal. He had no idea what Greenfield was planning. “What happened in Yondershire was a setback, an inconvenience that will be dealt with in due course. Tell all the men to stand by. Watch Jexson. We still need him, or he would be dead down an alley. Now go, tell them all."
He puffed hard on his pipe, blowing out yellowish smoke. He was glad to be alone a while longer. Now he could properly think.
