Chapter 6 - Radagast's Cousin
After a while, Faramir realized they were being watched. A man standing at the bar was observing them from across the room. Like most people in the tavern, he was dressed in workman's clothing, a blacksmith's leather apron over a coarse linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was clean-shaven in the manner of a workman, and his reddish brown hair reached his shoulders.
Radagast was talking about the birds they'd seen that day and hadn't noticed him yet. The stranger approached their booth. He was a head taller than most men, and he was built like someone accustomed to physical labor. He laid an arm along the back of the partition and stood with the other hand behind his back, waiting for Radagast to notice him.
"…those little wrens darting beside the trail up the promontory? Their plumage was speckled, compared to the wrens back home…"
Radagast looked up. "Mairon! I didn't expect to see you here. How are you?" [1]
Faramir looked at Radagast with surprise. How does Radagast know anyone in Mordor? He wondered what the connection could be.
The stranger didn't return the warmth of Radagast's greeting.
"What brings you to Mordor, may I ask?" he said.
"Oh, well, I can explain. I'm a spy in the service of Gondor, sent here to study the fortifications of Minas Morgul and make detailed sketches of them, particularly sally ports and other hidden entrances. Then I'm to report back to Minas Tirith and turn over my notes. See? Here's what I have so far."
Radagast took out his notepad and opened it to a sketch of a bird sitting on a thorn bush. The man's face bore no expression, and his eyes were cold.
I am going to die, and then I am going to kill you. Faramir looked daggers at Radagast.
"One more time. What brings you to Mordor? And this time, make it the truth," said the man.
So Radagast told the story of how they were captured. That he'd been looking for the double-banded scrub weaver and gone further east than intended, how they'd crossed into Mordor by accident, how they were captured by Orcs who took them to Minas Morgul.
The stranger relaxed visibly. He took off his leather apron and hung it on a hook outside the partition, then slid into the booth opposite Radagast. He smelled of wood smoke, and his hands were grimy with soot. He rested them on the table with one hand covering the other.
"It's good to see you too, if I forgot to say so earlier," he said.
"Why are you dressed like that? What were you doing before you came in here?" asked Radagast.
"I was shoeing a horse, actually."
Faramir believed him. He could smell horse as well as smoke on the man's clothes.
"Why were you doing that?" Radagast asked.
"It's the only way I can get a quiet moment to myself around here. And the horse needed shoeing."
The barmaid came back to their table with another round and placed full tankards in front of Radagast, Faramir, and Kalan.
"And what will you be having?" she asked Radagast's friend.
"Bring me the same," he said.
She looked at him. "Are you…"
"Yes," he said.
She nodded, and turned to go.
Faramir noticed that Radagast's friend kept one hand in his lap or covered it with his other hand. It made him wonder if the man was doing it on purpose.
But Radagast's friend also liked to talk with his hands. In the middle of an animated story, Faramir saw what he had been hiding. The index finger of one hand was missing, and the one beside it was so badly scarred, Faramir was surprised he hadn't lost it, too. It looked more like an industrial accident than a war wound, but then, the man looked like a craftsman, not a soldier. Radagast must have noticed Faramir staring, because he kicked him under the table, and Faramir looked away.
Radagast's friend asked them, "Do you want supper? It's early, but they must be about to start serving. Let me tell them to bring something over." He got up and went over to the bar.
When the minder's attention was elsewhere, Radagast leaned over and said, "I didn't have a chance to tell you earlier, but don't speak to him, don't make eye contact, and don't draw any attention to yourself. He's unimaginably dangerous."
"But I don't understand..."
"Just do what I said, and let me do the talking," said Radagast.
The barmaid brought platters of food to their table, bread and butter, cheese, and meat pies. She put the serving dishes in the center of the table, and set a small pewter plate before each of them. Kalan started to open his purse, but Radagast's friend asked the barmaid, "Can I sign chit?"
"Sure." She put a small piece of paper and a lead stick in front of him. He wrote the initials SG and passed it back to her. He held the pen strangely, in what looked like a child's grip.
"I could have gotten that," said their minder.
"I know, but I have trouble delegating," he said.
Radagast helped himself to bread and passed the platter to Faramir, then sliced some cheese for himself. He said to Faramir, "I'm glad they returned our daggers. Otherwise we'd be eating with our fingers."
Faramir took a piece of bread, but left it on his plate untouched. Ten o'clock tomorrow morning was less than sixteen hours away.
There was a commotion at the front of the tavern. Faramir couldn't see around the partition enclosing the booth, but he could see several tables nearby. People had stopped talking and were craning their necks towards the door.
Then he saw a tall man threading his way through the crowd. Judging from the man's height and style of clothing, he must be a Black Númenorian. He wore a chain of office from which hung a medallion of the Eye, and his robes were of heavy brocade, the tawny silk embroidered in gold. The man was clearly a member of the nobility, and from the way people were staring at him and moving out of his way, he must be a person of great importance.
From what Faramir could see from the back of the booth, everyone in the Tavern appeared to be a craftsman or a foot soldier. There were a few minor officials like Kalan, but Faramir hadn't seen a single member of the nobility, or even an officer treating his men to a round.
The nobleman made his way to their end of the room. He had black hair, and a long face that was anchored by a prominent lower jaw and unusually large front teeth, which would have looked better on a horse.
He stopped at their booth and spoke to Radagast's friend. They seemed to know each other. Then Kalan pulled over another chair, and the nobleman took it and sat down near Radagast's friend.
It's unusual for a member of the nobility to sit down with a blacksmith, Faramir thought. Faramir was the son of the Steward of Gondor, but even though he was friendly and approachable, he barely knew any working people other than the servants who looked after him and the soldiers under his command. Radagast's friend must be very well connected.
Radagast's friend introduced the newcomer. "This is Urzahil of Umbar[2], the Lieutenant of Barad-dûr and Chief Ambassador for Mordor. He's an important person to know here."
The Mouth of Sauron, the third highest ranking person in Mordor. Only the Dark Lord himself and the High Nazgûl held higher office than he did. Faramir stared at the man in awe.
"Urzahil, this is my cousin Aiwendil. We grew up together."
So he and Radagast are cousins. That explains how Radagast knows someone in Mordor.
The Mouth of Sauron placed his hands on the table. His nails were long and pointed, like those of a sorcerer's. Around his neck was an amulet, black with three white jewels, symbol of the Cult of Melkor.
If he was one of its priests, as was rumored, then it was possible he performed human sacrifice. Faramir shrank away in revulsion.
On the other hand, of all the people they'd met, the Mouth was the one most likely to have enough influence to get them out of here. Faramir expected Radagast to speak to him, but the brown wizard just nodded politely and resumed talking with his cousin about people they both knew and insignificant events from their shared childhood.
"Do you remember the time I brought a snake into the house and it got loose? I asked you to help me look for it. We searched everywhere, but we never did find it. What did we tell the others?"
"I think we decided not to mention it," said his cousin. [3]
Faramir was grinding his teeth with frustration. Speak to the Mouth, you simpleton. Try to win him over.
It wasn't going to happen. Radagast was better suited to chasing butterflies with a net than playing a high stakes game with a master of court intrigue.
Faramir was tempted to climb across the table and speak with the Ambassador himself, except that he'd promised Radagast he wouldn't talk to anyone while they were here, not even to answer a question. Faramir couldn't remember how Radagast had extracted the promise from him, but Faramir given his word, and he couldn't go back on it now.
After a time, Radagast's cousin excused himself and left the table. Radagast said to Faramir, "You're not eating."
"I keep thinking about our audience before the Dark Lord tomorrow morning. I'm too worried to eat."
"There won't be an audience tomorrow," said Radagast.
"What? Why not?" asked Faramir.
"Because we've already had it."
"But won't Sauron want to see us in person?" asked Faramir.
Radagast leaned back and looked at him. "Who do you think we've been talking to all evening?"
[1] Mairon Artano, the High Smith
[2] Urzahil of Umbar is the name given to the Mouth of Sauron by Iron Crown Enterprises (ICE).
[3] Another reference to Aunt Jean and Uncle Ted, only the real incident involved scorpions.