October 26th- Henneth Annûn
Four men sat hunched around a table in The Whistling Dog. Not even the tantalising odours of lunch preparations, which leaked from the inn's kitchen, could lighten moods soured by the betrayal of friends and the sudden, dreadful illness of Horus.
"How did he look?" Carrick asked the youngest member of the quartet.
"Sevilodorf wouldn't let me into his room." Evan responded glumly. "She wasn't sure that it was just mumps - said his fever concerned her and that she would not risk exposing anyone to the illness. Darien looked sick with worry. I did what I could: fetched and carried stuff from the apothecary, then they sent me and Neal back to let you know what was happening, and to get something to eat."
"Who feels like eating?" Bevin muttered, a most unlikely remark from a man who loved his stomach. "If I could get my hands on those lying…"
It was an inopportune moment for Ham and Tom to arrive. Scruffy, unshaven and grinning like idiots, they failed to notice Bevin's balled fists and Carrick's sneer of disgust.
"Boy, that was some night. I'm starving." Ham announced cheerfully. "What's for lunch?"
Neal pushed back his chair and stood, turning to speak directly into Ham's face. "Whatever's for lunch, you bloody well won't be eating with us. Go find the sty that your 'friend' is swilling in. Join Osric at whichever trough he's pigging."
Blinking at the insults from the muscular young man, Ham's face took on an aggrieved frown. "What have we done?"
Carrick jumped to his feet, almost toppling the chair. "How about lying through your teeth then running away to hide like the vermin that you are?"
"Lied? At the hearing, you mean? We didn't lie." Ham looked at Tom for moral support, but the thin man stood open-mouthed and speechless.
Bevin leant back in his seat. "We always knew you two were stupid, but if you think what you said to the law lord was anything but complete perversion of the truth, then you're too thick to be let out without a nursemaid."
"That's not fair." Tom found his voice briefly.
"No?" The gleam in Carrick's eye made Tom take a step back. "Not fair? Was it 'fair' that you three claimed Grady killed Landis by accident and that he was no danger to the woman and the orc? If I stick a sword in your guts and deliberately twist it round to mangle your innards, is that 'fair'? Is that an 'accident'?"
Ham and Tom did not reply; they seemed stunned by the image that the bearded man had painted of the time back in the cave.
"Beginning to recall the truth now, are we?" Bevin sneered. "Tom, you hollered like a girl at what Grady did. How can you have lied about it?"
"I didn't … it just got mixed up in my mind, then listening to Osric talk to that man made me think that it happened that way … the way I told it yesterday."
Evan picked the morsel from Tom's words. "What man?"
"The fellow with the eyebrows," Ham answered. "Didn't get his name, but he told us we'd done well at the hearing and that he had some rooms more comfy than the Cauldron where we could relax, and a cask of ale to boot."
Hissing in contempt, Bevin folded his arms across his chest. "Small payment for betrayal of your friends and breaking the laws of the King."
"We didn't break no laws," protested Ham, "and we didn't betray no one."
"Freely admits it then," Evan said in an aside to his brother, but the reference to double negatives sailed over Ham's and Tom's uncomprehending heads.
"Lying in court is breaking the law," Bevin insisted.
"I didn't lie!" Tom's voice verged on a wail. "And who did I betray?"
Now Evan stood and faced the pair. "Me and Neal, Carrick and Bevin, Darien and Horus - your friends, remember. Then Sevilodorf … and Nik."
"But he's an orc," said the thin man. "How can anyone betray an orc?"
Carrick laughed mirthlessly. "Must admit it takes some doing, but you two managed. Compared to you, Nik is a model of honesty. Not to mention that he has a darn sight more brains and a far better memory."
"I got confused, that's all." Tom rubbed a finger up and down his stubbly cheek. "It was so long ago, and Osric seemed so sure about what happened."
"Yeah," agreed Ham. "We can go back into the hearing this afternoon and say we were mixed up."
Evan shook his head slowly. "No, you can't."
"I can. Where's Darien? He'll give us another chance."
In a quiet but firm voice belying his years, Evan explained. "You cannot go back into the hearing because there is no hearing. And Darien will not give you anything; he's too busy worrying about Horus."
"What? What's happened?" Tom gripped the back of a chair.
Bevin looked up at him with an expression of loathing. "Horus has fallen seriously ill. He is confined to bed at the Rohirrim's stables. The hearing cannot go on until he recovers … if he recovers."
"No!" Tom abruptly bore the look of a man feeling a bridge crack when he was only halfway across. "How did that happen? When did it happen?"
Ham received no answer - another man entered the room and all eyes turned to watch his approach.
"Here you all are." Osric grinned. "What's the glum faces about?"
Tom replied, "Horus is sick."
"Well, there's a pity. None of our concern now, Ham, Tom. We've done our bit. Only remains to collect our wages and then we'll be off to the city."
Looking as though he might explode from an excess of confusion, Tom asked, "What? Where? Why?"
Genial and perhaps deliberately oblivious, Osric winked. "I've had some business advice from our friend, and I'm off to Minas Tirith to make my fortune. I'll need a couple of reliable hands to do the fetching and carrying while I do the buying and selling. I'm offering you two the jobs. You'll do better under my leadership than Darien's."
The two potential hands exchanged worried glances, but Osric continued outlining his plans. "I'll need another word with Cameroth about that hang-over remedy. Is he around?"
A variety of nonplussed and murderous expressions greeted this enquiry, so the stocky man blustered on. "Anyway, we better find Darien and get our money. Someone must know where he is."
"With Horus!" Carrick spat the reply through his beard. "At the stables."
"Then that's where we'll go." Nodding to Tom and Ham, Osric said impatiently, "Come on."
Evan made a quick gesture to his friends to go along with what he was about to say. "I think that would be a mistake, Osric."
"Why?"
"Russ is there. He didn't like what you said at the hearing and he's angry enough to rip you to threads."
"I'm not scared of him."
"I am." Ham and Tom both said at once.
"Why take the risk?" Evan asked. "I can fetch your wages without anyone getting upset. You can stay here and have your lunch."
Rubbing a knuckle under his nose, Osric contemplated the offer. "Why not? Food sounds good - smells good. Go on then, lad, and mind it is a full quarter's worth that Darien hands over for us."
Cockily, Osric pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat down. "Well, let's shout for some grub."
While Tom and Ham squirmed uncomfortably, Carrick nodded to Neal to sit then took his own seat alongside Osric. Three of the group were clueless; the other three knew that Rangers would soon be on their way.
xxx
Bevin speared a slice of roast beef from the neglected plate across the table. "Shame to see good food wasted," he remarked to his three companions.
Nodding in agreement, Carrick lifted another cooling platter to scrape the potatoes onto his own then offered it to Neal. "Want more cabbage? It's supposed to be good for blacksmiths."
Neal took the plate and asked, "How so?"
"I dunno. Something my old mum used to say. Told me I needed cabbage to build my muscles. I'd rather have potatoes, though."
Evan waved away his brother's attempt to give him the remaining carrots, his attention fixed on the men in the corner. Captains Halbarad and Tarannon sat deep in intense discussion with Osric, Ham and Tom.
Serves them right, Evan thought, hoping the three liars would be locked up in the town's garrison. He had found it hard to change his opinion that all orcs were, and always would be, evil. But he would not lie nor fool himself in the face of clear evidence. He liked Nik, and he disliked Osric. Watching the stocky man mouthing at the Rangers, it struck the youth that Osric seemed more like an orc than Nik did. Something beneath the visage of the man leaked out like sweat and smelt of corruption.
Pushing his plate aside, Evan said, "I can't eat, not with Horus sick and those three…"
"We all feel the same." Neal gripped his brother's shoulder. "But we need to keep our own health to be of any use to the others."
A shadow fell between them when Tarannon stepped into the light from the window. "Yes, you need your health and strength, and I need it too. Ham and Tom have sworn to remain in town until after the hearing is done with. Osric has also, but I have less faith in his word. There is an extra room here now; two of my men have moved elsewhere. Tom and Ham will take that. Osric will stay with Carrick and Bevin. You must not let him out of your sight."
Finishing chewing a mouthful of meat, Bevin asked, "Why not just lock him up?"
"For what? No judge has yet ruled on the integrity of his evidence. I can only issue an order that he remains in the village. If he leaves, I can arrest him, but it would be better if he stays of his own will … and speaks when wiser minds are listening."
With a doubtful grimace, Carrick remarked, "So you want us to be nice to the viper."
"Bide your time and be watchful, is all I ask."
Halbarad appeared at Tarannon's side, his expression grave. The three other men came back to the table, but while Ham and Tom peered about helplessly, only Osric complained loudly about his missing meal.
A lace-gloved hand took Osric's empty plate. "There's no meat or potatoes left. You want a double helping of pudding? It's that or go hungry."
Osric glared at the redheaded waitress. "At least double, wench."
Sira gave him a look that would have curdled the blood of a more sensitive man. "If you're wanting to eat, you'd do better to learn some manners. Now what will it be?"
From behind the counter, Cameroth watched the exchange with concern. A sympathetic shrug from Halbarad, however, reminded the innkeeper that he had agreed to let the oaf and his two cronies stay. As good as the hearing might be for business, Cameroth hoped it would not be delayed too long. For some reason, Sira had been more moody than usual recently, and he worried that the likes of Osric might provoke her into stronger retaliation than black looks and sharp words.
xxx
October 26 - Late eveningHandle glinting red in the firelight, the knife flipped slowly end over end. To one unfamiliar with the man, it would be taken as a sign of boredom, or nervousness. But the ragged creature crouched a short distance away had more intimate knowledge and did all he could to remain unnoticed.
"Grom."
Creeping forward, the orc kept his eyes carefully downcast for the very silkiness of his master's voice set a cold finger upon the back of his neck.
"Aye, sir."
"I have a task for you."
The orc licked his lips, but held his tongue as no response from him was required.
A long moment of silence passed, and elegant fingers, greatly at odds with the speaker's rough beard and clothing, continued to deftly toss the knife. At the hooting of an owl in the nearby trees, silvery green eyes glanced briefly toward the surrounding woods then returned to the fascination of the spinning blade.
Finally the gentle voice spoke once more, "Yes, a task requiring great care. You will not fail me, will you?"
With fervent protests of his undying loyalty, Grom pledged to complete whatever task his master set.
A raised brow halted the orc's babbling mid-word. "Make no promises you cannot keep; those left unfulfilled will haunt you to your death." A mirthless smile creased the man's face and the orc retreated once more into silence.
"Your task is twofold. First, go into the village and discover any information there might be regarding Odbut. He is delayed, and I wish to know why." The knife halted briefly as the man waited for an answer.
"Find the reason Odbut didn't show," Grom repeated.
"Second, leave three stones stacked one atop the other at the well in the marketplace."
Grom rubbed at his ear. "But I thought that man already told…"
A vicious slap to the side of the head knocked Grom sideways. A snarl twisted the orc's lips until he realised the knife the man had been so idly tossing was now planted against his throat and a hard knee wrapped in dilapidated cloth pressed against his chest.
"I do not wish you to think, Grom. Is that understood?" The knife pressed harder into the thick neck drawing a trickle of black blood.
"Aye, sir." The orc's mumbled apologetic words were met with a sneer, though the suffocating knee was removed.
"You will make your way to The Black Cauldron and tell the owner I sent you. He will find work for you that allows you to roam about freely. The head orc at the Cauldron is Lorgarth. He will follow the owner's order so you have no fear of him."
"Aye, sir. First, find Odbut. Second, three stones at the marketplace. I've got it."
"See that you return by sunrise tomorrow, or I will have to come searching for you myself."
Grom rubbed at the wound on his neck, and nodded.
"Good lad. Now toddle off. Be watchful and let none track you back to this place."
xxx
The smell of pipe weed drifted from quiet shadows that nearly, but not quite, concealed a huge, hunched shape. Russbeorn sat there beneath the chill stars, puffing his pipe and pondering before bed. This day the Steward in his great house would have heard the tale of all that happened, here. This night the Steward perhaps paced his noble hall and bethought himself of how best to manage affairs.
One hoped. Unfortunately, Russ found precious little cause for hope, in any of this. For a man, yes, the extraordinary might be done, the halting of a hearing to discern if a killing was murder. For a man, honourable things such as clemency and wergilds could settle the matter with relative ease, and amidst much bowing and clasping of hands, all would be finished.
But this was not a man, this was Nik the Uruk-hai, and those who arrayed against him were the very men who had sworn themselves to truth, those months ago.
"All is not lost, Russ." A soft footfall identified the presence of Halbarad behind him.
The Beorning drew on his pipe and did not turn.
"Two of those fellows came in today," Halbarad continued quietly. "Ham and Tom."
Fragrant smoke puffed quickly. "Sheep, to Osric's goat."
"Yes. But they are realising their error. Neal and the lads gave them a good talking to."
"And the goat?"
"Captain Tarannon and I talked to Osric. The man is an ass."
Russ puffed a moment more then said, "Testimony that changes like the weather. Do you think tomorrow will bring sunshine or rain?"
A gusty sigh revealed Halbarad's uncertainty. "Anardil will return with word from the Steward tomorrow. We'll get our second chance."
The pipe abruptly decided to go out, and Russ closed his great hand gently around its still-warm bowl. "Our last chance. Nik thinks your Lord Faramir a man of honour. I hope his faith is well-placed."
With that he stood, suddenly looming huge and primordial in the darkness, a vast shape from some other-when, almost dwarfing the tall Ranger.
"Good night, Captain," Russ said, and silently walked away.
xxx
Careful to keep the door in hand, so that it would not swing to with a crash as it was wont to do, Lorgarth made a quick inspection of the rudely constructed shed. It was scarcely large enough for four. His lads had been enjoying the extra space available due to Odbut's continued absence, so with the addition of this new one, there were bound to be fights when Odbut reappeared. Mayhap on the morrow he would borrow Lugbac and set him and Corbat to knocking down two of the other huts and using the boards to build one larger shed just for sleeping. The more space his lads had to spread out the better they would keep their tempers.
Lorgarth muttered a curse. Even with the extra space, there would be fighting to re-establish their ranks. There always was when a new lad arrived - especially one just out of the hills. Not that Lorgarth believed that tale.
By appearances, this one had been dining on rock lizards and beetles for quite a while, but his speech told another story. Grom, as he called himself, had obviously been spending time around the tarks. Even the brainless owner of The Black Cauldron could understand the lad's words. And then there was the way he had arrived and gone straight to the tavern keeper. Those coming out of the hills had a tendency to twitch around the tarks, but not this one. No, he'd been cool as ice, eyes down and skeletal shoulders hunched in the attitude of a beaten dog. An attitude that Lorgarth would wager his eye-teeth was a sham.
But there was nothing to be done about it. The tavern keeper's orders were plain enough: the new lad was to be his personal servant and subject only to his orders. What a pig like Drath needed with a personal servant no one would ever know; but if it kept the man happy, Lorgarth would have been all for the idea, except for the discontent it would breed amongst the others.
With a shrug, Lorgarth pulled the door closed. He would do what he could. Give the lads more space, a treat or two and make sure their barrel of ale was watered down. For tonight at least, they were all tucked up in their beds - except for the still roaming Odbut.
Lorgarth considered how he would have handled such a case in the past. Even under the Eye, there had been lads who lit out for the hills. They were always caught and returned to become lessons for the others. It was all so much simpler then.
Making his way toward the river, Lorgarth inhaled deeply. That Ranger boy had been here, and something else: not man, nor beast, but an odd mix of both. Nostrils flaring, Lorgarth attempted to sort the odours. The familiar musk of those of his own species and the coppery scent of tark mixed with the sour smell of the refuse from the tavern overpowered all else, but then he caught a faint whiff which caused him to freeze and stare out into the darkness.
The Ranger boy would be interested to know of this. Though he hadn't asked recently, last spring he had been most anxious to discover any information concerning this particular snake.
Deciding it would be best to wait and contact the man in the morning, Lorgarth returned to his own shed and the pleasure of his lumpy straw mattress.
xxx
Even a full belly, the first he'd had in over a month, and the comforting rumble of orcish snores filling his ears were not enough to allow Grom to sleep deeply for long. His master expected results, not excuses. Thus after only a scant three-hour nap, the orc crawled silently toward the door.
A suddenly out-flung arm missed him by inches and Grom froze until Corbat muttered incoherently and rolled back toward the wall. Stepping over the final pair of outstretched legs, Grom eased the door open and slipped through.
Above the trees, adamant stars glistened. But Grom had no care for their beauty and kept his eyes fixed upon the darkness beneath the surrounding forest. Pausing once at the sudden appearance of an orange-striped tom carrying a limp rat between his teeth, the orc slid wraithlike along the path toward the village.
He dared not fail at this assignment, for only the faint hope that successful completion of this task would appease his master for his failure at the other kept him from throwing back his head and howling at the sinking moon. Thus far, no sign of Odbut was to be found. Neither Drath the owner, nor the four orcs working the tavern knew Odbut's whereabouts. There was little chance of him discovering the orc's hideaway. But he would keep searching; his master had left him no other option.
The night was chill, and those few who wandered wrapped themselves in shapeless wool to befuddle both the coolness of the air and the eager fingers of the dispossessed. Drawing the folds of the tattered blanket over his head, Grom crossed the main road and entered the empty market place.
Months ago, he attended a market day in another town. The market stalls overflowed with provisions, and the tarks shouted, laughed and bargained with each other in their yammering tongue. Only pausing their commerce to draw aside in repulsion as he followed at the heels of his master through the narrow aisles. Their eyes burned with hatred and several spat upon him. His master taught him to keep his own fury hidden, to feed it carefully and allow it to grow until the time was right, when the moment of release could be savoured.
Sweet indeed had been those times his master allowed him to slake the thirst of his vengeance. Never before had he tasted such succulent flesh, nor been encouraged to take pleasure in the pleas and screams. For the chance to experience those delights again, Grom was willing to do all that his master bid.
Reaching the well, the orc pried three good-sized stones from the base and stacked them one atop the other. Finally, he scratched the surface of the top stone with the mark he had been taught.
Now, he would widen his hunt for the errant Odbut before giving his report at dawn. Perhaps his master would allow him to be the one to punish the other orc for not returning. Grinning at the thought, he began his search of the village.
xxx
October 27th- Emyn Arnen
Dawn
Morning threw its soft yellow cloak across the sky behind the crags of the Ephel Dúath, when a soft-footed scribe made his way down the narrow ways of Emyn Arnen. His master had called for his services long before first light; however, he was well accustomed to Faramir's occasionally odd hours, and willingly did his bidding. Before a certain door the scribe halted, a small paper-wrapped parcel tucked under his arm. He rapped twice, and then stepped back.
Inside, Anardil awoke even as the man paused outside his door, and was not surprised by the sudden knock. He rose from his bed, slipped on his trousers and peered outside.
"Master Anardil," the scribe said, offering his package with a bow. "Lord Faramir bids me deliver this."
With an absent-minded murmur of thanks, Anardil took the packet and wished the man good morning. Closing the door, he set the parcel on a small table and plucked the loose knot that tied it. Two items lay within the wrapping: a small parchment scroll fastened with the Steward's own seal and a folded note on plain paper.
This Anardil unfolded, and pressed flat on the table. Swift, precise lines of script read:
A
A pretty set of circumstances we seem to have come upon. There are various coincidences in V's career which may bear further study, sufficing to say fortune unerringly favours his endeavours. His opposition occasionally fares less auspiciously. I wonder if M. was active in one of these, as a singularly messy 'accident' coincides with his first appearance in Henneth Annûn.
For the nonce, prudence must be the watchword. The matter at hand is by this missive suspended until another arrives to take the helm. That is also detailed within; you will recall Lord G. from previous associations. I happen to know his schedule is coming clear.
The enclosed is to be given into the hands of Captain Tarannon or in his absence, Captain Halbarad, and none other. Meanwhile, remember with whom you deal, and grant him the courtesies due his rank, but use discretion.
For pity's sake, find a younger fool to ride messenger next time!
Faithfully,
F
Anardil smiled wryly at the last, but sobered as he bethought himself of what Faramir truly said. Evidently Valthaur's stellar record of never losing a case carried several suspicious circumstances behind it, which no one realised until Faramir set himself to collating the facts. A chilling thought, if one dared suppose Margul served an even darker purpose. It would be good news indeed, however, for 'Lord G.' to replace Valthaur in Nik's case. While Valthaur's contemporary in the realms of higher law, Lord Goldur had proven himself a very opposite in character and disposition during the first orc hearings. Nik would be well-served by this plump law lord's attendance.
Then he reread the note before carrying it to the small hearth, where the embers of last night's fire still glowed. As the note caught, he held it to burn over the chamber pot beside his bed, dropping it just before it singed his fingers. That done he swiftly stamped on his boots, gathered his clothing and gear, and slipped out into the chill of an autumn morning.
Halfway to the stables he stopped and sighed. "I got up and ate a big supper last night. Why am I hungry, now?"
As if in response, his stomach growled peevishly. "Now you're ganging up on me. Clearly I've been living with hobbits too long. Well, maybe Cook will have sausages."
With that, Anardil about-faced and headed towards the succulent aromas emanating from the garrison dining hall. For that matter, packing a good lunch might be a good idea, too.
An hour later, he slung his saddle over the back of a leggy bay courier remount.
To Gomel's long grey face peering over a stall door, he said, "Be at ease, mellon nín. Lord Faramir himself said he would arrange your safe return. You are brave fellow and you've earned your rest."
Moments after that, the former Ranger was in the saddle and pounding up the sunlit road towards Henneth Annûn.
xxx
October 27th - Henneth Annûn
Early morning
Khint returned the menu to the cook and nodded. "Lord Valthaur will be most pleased with these selections. Were you able to locate a new source for the pies as his lordship requested? The crusts of the two you served at the evening meal were decidedly unacceptable."
"Yes, sir. I took care of that." A muscle twitched beneath the man's left eye at the memory of the dressing down he had endured. If not for the loyalty he owed Captain Tarannon, he would have resigned.
"Very well. I am off for my morning constitutional. Master Willelmus will be down at his usual time, though his lordship will not dine until later."
"Then the hearing will not begin again today?" the cook dared to inquire.
"The Haradrim's condition has not improved sufficiently. Or so we have been informed."
"Poor man. My wife's cousin caught the bolgur when he was nigh on to thirty. Shrivelled one of his…" Khint's frown halted the tale. "Enjoy your walk, sir."
Placing his elegantly feathered hat upon his head, Khint stepped into the morning sunlight. From the first day of his arrival, the clerk had established this habit of taking a stroll before breakfast.
Eyes narrowed against the glare, the clerk made his way east toward the centre of town. He strode along purposefully, discouraging casual conversation from those already about the business of the day, and soon reached the town's marketplace. As it was a Thursday and not a market day, only those small shops forming the perimeter of the market square would open that day. But no one was up and about at this hour, save the baker who could be seen kneading dough inside his open door.
With a nod to the man, Khint paused at the well and drew a bucket of water. Using the dipper attached to the post, the clerk drank deeply; then tipped the topmost of the three rocks stacked upon the well's rim into the water.
Stepping briskly, the clerk walked almost to the point where the village's main thoroughfare met the King's road. Taking a lane leading off to the south, he made his way toward the river where the town's mill stood. With no grain being ground at the moment, the only sounds were the gurgle of the current and the splash of water from the slow turning wheel. The lane curved to run parallel to the river a short distance, then turned back to the north. Khint paused, readjusting his hat and looking around, then he left the lane and headed over the bank to the river's edge.
In a nook formed by the roots of an oak, a man sat fishing. The shaggy beard and shapeless hat did little to lend the fisherman consequence, and Khint's nose wrinkled at the heavy odour of mildew rising from the shabby cloak draped across a branch.
"Good morning, sir. A fine day to be fishing," Khint said, swivelling his head to check the nearby bank.
The bearded man lifted a sardonic eyebrow and replied, "'Tis to be hoped my luck improves. A rather slippery fellow managed to escape my line day afore yesterday."
"Did it?" the clerk responded. "Were you able to retrieve it?"
"Nar, even used my gaff and weren't able to haul it back. Mayhap someone else has picked it up. There's folks about right now who might be tempted to poach other people's fish."
With his moustache waggling in sympathy, Khint agreed. "Too true, too true. My own endeavours have been delayed again due to certain strange coincidences."
The fisherman smiled thinly. "Well now, I don't hold much with coincidence. Always seemed a bit too lucky for some and right unlucky for others."
"No truer words could be spoken."
"Myself, I make a habit of checking coincidences." Setting his rod down, the angler gestured to the sack beside him. "For example, that lost fish I was telling you about, well I've lost a knife as well. Set to searching for it, but it ain't turned up yet neither."
Khint's eyebrows drew together, bristling with suspicion. "You believe there might be a connection between your missing knife and the fish?"
"Might be they've somehow been found by someone who got no reason to do me a favour."
"Yes. Those trying to cause trouble often will do anything."
"Aye," from beneath the shapeless hat green eyes flashed, " I've known people who would stand afore a judge and lie without blinking, just to cause another man trouble."
Khint nodded solemnly. "I follow your line of thinking. I will investigate a bit more carefully those coincidences that have delayed my business."
"Aye, and while you're out and about, keep an eye open for my knife. I've honed it to a fine edge and hate to lose it."
"I'll do that; meanwhile, I bid you good day." Khint's feathered hat nodded a farewell.
The fisherman had already taken up his rod again, his attention fixed on the small float bobbing alongside a clump of reeds. "Good day, sir."
xxx
TBC ...