The Biter Gets Bit

Sometime before dawn, word came that the ship had been patched and was back in the water. Tindomul followed his father down to the docks. The ship rode high in the water, her deck level and true. The pumps were quiet.

"Now to keep her safe until we're ready to sail. We need to hide her where no one would ever look. I'm thinking of that section of the quay in front of the wharf, the area that's sort of rough and disreputable.

"You'll want to set a guard," said the harbor master.

"A guard would draw too much attention. I'd rather hide in plain sight. Tindomul, what can you do for me?" asked Father.

Tindomul considered the problem. The side of the hull still bore a gash, a deep scratch marring the new wood. Invisibility had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but it had ended badly. But glamour held some interesting possibilities. "I can cast an enchantment over it to make it look ordinary."

"Not good enough. Without a guard, someone might climb aboard, looking for things to steal," said Father.

"I could make it look run down, and maybe make it smell like a hold full of fish left too long in the sun. That ought to keep people away."

"It won't really smell like fish?" asked Father, looking alarmed.

"No, that's just part of the illusion. When the spell wears off, the smell will disappear, too." Tindomul hoped that was true.

They arrived at the rough-and-tumble part of the wharf when most of the usual denizens were still sleeping it off. They moved the boat to an empty slip the harbor master showed them. It's owner, a curmudgeon who wouldn't have let them use his slip, had just left for the Mainland. The harbor master said he wouldn't be back for months. Except for the harbor master, no one dared touch anything he owned. Therefore, no one would bother the disguised ship, and Tar-Ciryatan had no need to guard it.

Tindomul turned it into a derelict vessel, still floating but without masts, without a rudder, grey wood broken away along the rails, sails black with mildew and bound up, stiff and rotting. Long stains marred the planks, and tracks of rust ran down the gunwales from rusted fittings. He laid on another enchantment to make the ship smell of bilge water and rotting fish. He would have liked to make it worse, but smells like charred wood or decaying flesh were too difficult for a beginner. The wind shifted and the stench brought tears to his eyes. Good enough.

"That's very convincing. It's not real, is it?" asked Father. He looked uneasy.

"No, of course not. You can come aboard and touch it. When you're looking right at it, you can see through the glamour."

Father leaned closer and stared through narrowed eyes. "You're right, I can just see through the spell, if I focus on something familiar. But how long will the spell last? Do you have to come back and renew it?" asked Father.

"I'm not sure. I'll come back later to see how it's holding up," said Tindomul.

Father and the harbor master had more faith in Tindomul's ability than Tindomul did. But they weren't the ones who'd given his eyebrows to science.

###

Time was running out. They'd planned to sail by the end of March, but the sabotage made that impossible. But it wasn't too late, they could still reach the shores of Valinor before the Valar got wind of their plans.

On the first of April, Tindomul accompanied his father to the borrowed slip where they'd hidden the new ship. As they approached, they heard voices raised in anger.

A cargo vessel rocked on the swell, apparently shut out of its slip by the small, derelict vessel. Broken masts protruded from the water and ruined edges of the hull stuck out like charred black teeth. Random pieces of broken wood floated on the oily water around it. An acrid smell hung over everything.

Tindomul stood with his jaw open.

"That looks real. The charred smell is particularly convincing," said Father, a little doubtfully.

A prosperous merchant dressed for a long sea voyage stood at the edge of the quay, shaking his fist at the harbor master. "That's my slip. The rent's paid up through the end of the year. I don't use it often, but it's still my slip."

"I'm sorry. I thought you'd be gone to the Mainland for months. I was just using it for a day or two. I didn't think you'd mind." The harbor master looked miserable.

"I was gone less than a day when I realized I'd forgotten something. One always forgets one thing on a journey, but I can't buy a shipload of grain without a letter of credit, so I had to turn back. And what do I find but this garbage scow in my slip. I poured a cask of lamp oil all over its decks, then lit a torch and threw it on board. The derelict went up in flames, then burned to the waterline and sank."

Tar-Ciryatan looked blank, as if not able to sort illusion from reality. Unfortunately, there was nothing to sort. It was all real.

"I don't suppose you can fix it?" Tar-Ciryatan asked Tindomul.

###

Tindomul followed his father back to the Palace, totally dejected. There would be no voyage to the Undying Lands this year, and probably not during their lifetimes. Whatever else lay ahead for them, it involved old age, infirmity, and death.

Back in the royal apartments, Griffin lay on the painted tiles in front of the hearth. Tindomul knelt and wrapped his arms around the mastiff's neck. He lifted his head and thumped his tail on the floor.

"You got your dog back. Well, that's one good thing that happened today," said Father.

Father dismissed the servants, then spoke to Tindomul and Atanamir. "Well, that didn't work. What are we going to do next?"

"I think Tindomul should start working on a life-extension spell," said Atanamir.

Atanamir imagined a life-extension spell that would give them the long years the Elves enjoyed, along with Elvish youth and freedom from disease.

The life-extension spell that actually existed could add years to a man's life, but did nothing for the infirmities of old age. A man would find himself stooped over, his hands turned into claws by rheumatism, unable to see or hear. Unable to die. With his self-taught non-expertise, the spell Tindomul might actually be able to pull off would do all that, with some unintended consequences thrown into the mix.

His father and brother looked at him, waiting for his answer. The dog lay on the floor, snoring softly and passing gas.

Tindomul shook his head. "A life-extension spell? Let's not."