Chapter 8
The companions arrived in a small port town two days later. Galadriel had contacted Celeborn and Thranduil, relating in whole her brief conversation with Idrial. It relieved the friends to hear she was alright, and having more information to work with lifted the mortals' spirits. The two elves had not relayed to them all the information Galadriel had given them. Idrial's rape they kept between each other, the fear and anxiety that went along with the news did not affect the man or dwarf.
"There is a small sea town ahead." Aragorn noted.
It was truly no more than a shamble of shacks thrown up close together. There was no real center square; the huts had been placed wherever there was room. As the group rode in, the few children were gathered from their games and taken indoors, fearful glances cast over their parent's shoulders.
"A slave trade stop town. They have no love of authority here."
"Does any legal trade come through here?" Gimli stared around the slum.
"It is minimal. Just enough that when they fall under the extremely rare inspection, they can pass as legal with crime problems."
The hollow thud of hooves on wood punctuated their passage over the dock, by far the largest and best cared-for structure in the entire area. A dark man, scarred and toned, sat on a barrel mending a fish net. At least they hoped it was for fish.
"Good sir." The man's dark eyes squinted up at Aragorn. "Do you know a man by the name Yulhan?"
"An old sales rival. What you be wanting with him?"
"Let us leave it at that he has taken something, and we desire it returned." The answer was tactful.
"He stole an elf." The man turned his squint on Thranduil and Celeborn. Their hard looks stopped him in his jest. "Brave if he's taking on that crew. He took the Cathar out of port yesterday. Had Barabas and Erabus with him. On course for Far Harad."
"Thank-you." Aragorn left out the 'good sir'.
"If you are intending to ride those beasts there, you won't arrive until any record of the sale is lost. You're relying on memory here, and people's willingness to talk." He flashed a few-toothed grin. "What you'll be needing is a ship."
"He's a fast one, that ass." Gimli sat on the prow of the ship after the deal had been made. He drew his pipe, sending a smoke ring up into the masts.
"It is the fastest mode of transportation available to us. And when these fellows make rivals, it is the truest meaning of the word. He will do all he can to help us, if only to snag a loss for his friend."
"Friend indeed." Celeborn snorted.
They all fell silent, each busy with his own thoughts, and his own worries.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Three days on the open sea took them to the port of Umbar, the only real city on Far Harad. The reek of fish and screams of sea gulls added to the already unattractive location. An occasional twinge of salt or spice reached them on their passage down the docks to the mud that was the street. The poor trudged through it; the rich had others carrying them over it so as not to soil their jeweled cloaks.
"Corruption." Thranduil shook his head.
Their captain was positive about their chances of catching up with Yulhan. The slavers stock and prep-house was near the docks. The companions stood a moment, staring at the structure. It slanted to the left, as if the constant sea wind slowly pushed it over in itself. It was dark, the wood seemed alive with rot, and holes opening in many places as the mold ate its fill. The prep-house was apparently manned at most times by only one woman servant. At this time no slavers seemed to be moving through. If anyone was going to remember the sale, according to the captain, it would be her.
"You'll have to work it out of her. She has be trained never to tell outsiders about sales, and slavers are a fearsome force of intimidation. Getting her to betray us will be hard. Don't say I didn't warn you." He flashed another grin. "Welcome to our side of the world, gentlemen. I hope you enjoy the culture shock." With these parting words, he stepped back aboard his ship.
As they moved through the disgusting streets, all the friends praised their hoods and long cloaks that hid their identities, and races, from the prying eyes about them.
The door groaned loudly as they took their first look at the horrible conditions their friend had endured since his capture. The interior was darker than the outside had suggested. The lanterns seemed to suffer in the dark stench of blood and dirt.
"Welcome." A sinuous voice drifted softly from the shadows. A lithe young woman stepped into the dim torch light. As she took in her visitors, her voice changed from gentle and cocky to venomous anger belayed by underlying fear.
"What do you want here?"
"We search for a friend." Gimli was heavily shrouded; the choked light barely reached down to his height.
"You will find no answers with me." She moved as if that were the end of it.
Two quick steps from Thranduil halted any thoughts of departure. In the dim light his grim features were all the more imposing. His eyes sparkled; bright lights in the blackness above.
"Perhaps you should rethink."
"I know nothing about whomever it is you speak of."
"An elf passed through here. Where was he taken?"
"I remember no elf."
She squeaked slightly as his hand gripped her arm, tight as a vise. "Think harder."
She laughed lightly. "I live with slavers. My life is hard. Threats hold no fear for me."
"This is no threat."
"I do not betray my clients." The waver in her voice was now evident.
"If you will not talk now, perhaps you will talk later." Thranduil easily lifted her.
"What is wrong with you? Put me down!"
"Not so fun on the other side?" Gimli opened the door as Thranduil pushed the struggling woman out to the horses. No one passed a second glance at them as she wrestled with the Elvenking. A dirt encrusted tavern, just as shifty as its owner's eyes, became their accommodations. The food was so foul in appearance they vouched for eating from their travel rations. Their room, conveniently located off a separate hall from the others, was the perfect place where the woman could not raise too much of a racket. She grabbed the barkeep's arm as they ushered her past.
"Help me!"
"You are not my problem, slave."
"I am not their slave! I am-" Thranduil clamped a hand over her mouth. The barkeep returned to his duties.
A large armchair proved to be the perfect place for her. As soon as she was release she resumed her rant.
"This is unjust!"
"This is exactly what happens to every soul that passes through your little slave prison." Celeborn's expression told her he had heard quite enough. "Except we are not going to whip you or force you to toil for hours under the Hared sun. In fact, we have no plans to do you any harm at all."
"They will catch you!"
"They? The lewd corruption of your country, while providing you employment, has turned on you. You have no police, and the slavers are opportunists. It is easier for them to replace you than find you. They sell others for a living. Why would they have any reason to think any higher of you than those they sell? In the end all you are is profit."
She shook with anger, but made no reply. Her mind seemed to be working furiously, and she looked often at Aragorn.
"What is your name?" Aragorn asked.
For a long moment she refused to answer. Finally, under their combined stares, she muttered, "Venet."
The door was locked securely; the key with Celeborn, but Venet seemed disinterested in leaving anyway. She fell asleep curled up in the big chair. The others followed suit, both elves keeping one eye open as the night progressed.