“Just money, nothing else.”
“How much?”
“About ten castamirs and change.”
“What kind of clothes did you give them?”
The Vice-Director for Operations nodded mechanically while Jezin described the rags he obligingly gave to his important guests in minute detail, paying only minimal attention – this information was nearly useless. Ten castamirs… He turned to Fay.
“Leave right now through the same exit they’ve used. Eruko’s store is to the left, towards the Ring Canal. It’s possible that they will buy new clothes there: it’s not cheap, but ten castamirs should be enough. If not, continue along the bank…”
“To the Flea Market?”
“Correct. Right now they badly need to change clothes, and soon – it’s our only chance. Move.” He sat down heavily on the low stone wall by the entrance to the police station and stretched out a hand without looking. Ras-Shua, sitting down by his side, immediately put a flask of rum in his hand; Jacuzzi took a couple of swigs and stared fixedly at the setting sun. His head was achingly empty. Sure, they’ll pick up Tangorn’s trail eventually, but that won’t save him: Almandin’s deadline is in an hour. He felt no animosity towards the baron: the man played by the rules.
“I got them, chief!” Suddenly, a beaming Fay appeared before him, looking happy and winded – apparently, she ran all the way. “They’ve changed at Eruko’s, just like you said, and then went straight into the Seamen Credit Bank next door!”
It could not be, but there it was. It looked like today Fate undertook a pointed demonstration of how little our efforts and skills mean compared to her whims. After all, he thought as he hurried after Fay towards the Seamen Bank (the girl had prudently engaged three street urchins to watch the place), after all it looks like I got away with a scare, whereas the baron is really unlucky today: he’s doing everything first-rate, good enough to include in the Operations Manual, and still…
By the time Tangorn and Chekorello left the bank, dressed now with understated luxury, the DSD’s finks have woven an unbreakable web around them. The friends embraced three times in the mountain fashion and then went their separate ways. The reason for the visit to the bank became clear as soon as one of the operatives, who had superb pick-pocketing skills, detected by touch that Chekorello was now “brimming with coin like a September trout with eggs.” Jacuzzi ordered everyone to forget the mountain man – let him go in peace – and concentrate on following Tangorn. Just then reinforcements showed up (an observation team), and the baron’s chances of escaping surveillance became niclass="underline" no lone individual can beat an organization, provided it is a halfway decent one.
Tangorn spent the next two hours cruising around the city expertly and flamboyantly – melting into market crowds, hiding out in empty echoing open-ended courtyards, suddenly jumping into gondolas for hire – but utterly failing to either lose or even spot the surveillance. Unlike the Gondorian spies, DSD professionals were of the highest caliber. Only once did the Higher Powers warn Jacuzzi (who had calmed down and was now hanging back like a mobile headquarters of the operations) that he should not relax prematurely. Observers reported that the baron, having carefully checked his surroundings, had entered the Green Mackerel restaurant; should they follow him inside and risk detection or simply wait outside?
“Is the back of the restaurant covered?” Jacuzzi asked for formality’s sake. The operative paled and swallowed convulsively.
“Holy crap!” the Vice-Director roared, once again experiencing freefall in his stomach. “Don’t you know that the damn Mackerel’s restroom window is large enough to push a boar through? I’ll fire the whole damn lot of you idiots!”
While saying that Jacuzzi had time to think that if Tangorn had indeed spotted them and had already ducked into that restroom, then he, at least, won’t be doing any firing… But the scare blew over: it turned out that the baron was having a proper dinner in a private room with two gentlemen, one of whom the operatives identified as the missing Junior Secretary Algali.
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.”