Incunabulum 11: Delivery from the Dead Marshes
Etwol was waiting outside Orthanc in a spot of sunlight when the rider appeared. As a rule, Etwol did not come above ground during the day if he could help it, but he had been summoned by Saruman—a rare occurrence and not a welcome one. He heard the sound of hooves as the rider rode up and the clank as he tied his horse to a ring in the wall.
"Is there a line?" asked the stranger in a thin, rasping voice.
"I've been waiting fifteen minutes," said Etwol. "He says he'll see me when he's finished—wiv what, I don't know."
"Hope it doesn't take too long," said the stranger and joined Etwol on the bench.
"Nice day," he said after a moment.
"I can't see anyfing," said Etwol. "I hate the sun."
"Then why do you sit in it?"
"Because it stole my seat," said Etwol gloomily. Then he added, "Does it look like a nice day?"
"I can't see, either," said the rider. "—Not at noon. I have to wait until the sun casts shadows again."
"Why?"
"I can only see shadows."
Etwol tried to get a better look at his companion but the sun was too bright for his eyes. The man was cloaked in black, but nothing of his face could be seen.
"What are you?" asked Etwol.
"I am a Nazgul. One of the nine."
"Nine what?"
"Ringbearers."
"Ring? What ring?"
"That's classified," said the nazgul shortly. "But I can tell you one thing about it," he went on in a friendlier tone. "I used to have one."
Just then a small orc bearing a bag of mail approached the door and rang the bell. Five hundred feet up Saruman stuck his head out of a window.
"What is it?" he yelled.
"Delivery."
"WHAT? It came?"
The next minute the lift came shooting down. Saruman leaped out and snatched the package from the orc.
"It finally came!" he cried. He rushed off and disappeared into one of the work pits.
Etwol jumped up and followed him, tired of the sunlight and glad for an excuse to go back down into the ground. The nazgul followed. They found Saruman at the bottom examining a collection of coffin-shaped cases. These cases came in every few weeks from the Dead Marshes and were always marked top secret, but the orcs who brought them in did not take care in keeping their mouths shut and everyone knew they contained bodies (the shape gave them away as well).
Etwol watched with a bored expression while Saruman opened one of the cases. A slimy green body climbed out and got dazedly to its feet.
"This one looks good," said Saruman, to a bystanding orc. "A lot better than the last ones you brought me. Whom do you serve?" he asked, turning to the body.
"Zaruman!"
"Good." He turned to the orc again. "Put the lot in my laboratory," he said.
He suddenly saw Etwol and the nazgul standing there.
"This is an off-limits area," he said. "Oh, it's you. I need your cooperation for a minute."
Etwol shifted uncomfortably as he realised Saruman was speaking to him.
"Don't worry, it's nothing difficult. I need a DNA sample for my uruk-hai experiments."
"I don't want to," said Etwol, backing away. "I don't want to become a stinking uruk-hai."
"You won't become one. I'll simply clone you. Now, stand still!"
Etwol danced away and Saruman followed him, cursing.
"I don't authorise my genes to be used in scientific experimentation," exclaimed Etwol.
"Too bad," said Saruman. He almost tripped over the nazgul and paused in his pursuit.
"Well, what is it?" he asked. "Did Sauron send you?"
"Yes—but not here. I was just passing by. I was wondering if you could tell me the way to the Shire."
"Shire? What Shire? I've never heard of it. Go look it up on Mapquest."
He made a sudden grab and pulled out some of Etwol's hair.
"Ha ha!"
"Eeek!" shrieked Etwol.
"You still sound like an elf," said Saruman, climbing up one of the ladders. "Turning orc didn't affect your voice, apparently." The nazgul went up after him like a black shadow.
Etwol returned to his forge in depression. He didn't want an uruk-hai running around with his genes in it. On the other hand, he had wanted to be an uruk-hai ever since he first arrived at Isengard, but no matter how much of the strength drug he took he never grew any stronger. He was still as skinny as a wizard's wand.
He was hammering on a breastplate when he heard a commotion in the tunnel outside his door. He went out and found orcs running past as if late to something.
"What in ghash is going on?"
"Roll call, mate!" shouted one of the orcs to him.
"At this time of day?" asked Etwol. He belted on his sword and followed the others.
A large uruk-hai had called the assembly on an orc horn and now stood with a piece of paper in his hand.
"All right, you squibs," he said loudly. "The boss needs another lot of horses. Who's going to Rohan to steal some? I'm taking volunteers."
"Not me!"
"Not me!"
"Shut up, or you'll get picked. Now, let's see a show of hands."
Etwol had been ducking his head as usual to avoid getting picked, but suddenly he thought it would be fun to go to Rohan and steal horses. It would beat lugging wood around in Fangorn which was what he had been "volunteered" to do last time.
"Me! Me!" he shouted, jumping up and down and waving his hand.
"Good. Here's one with a death wish, anyway. I need seventeen more."
The orcs tried to act as if the meeting were over and started to leave, but seventeen unsuccessful shirkers were dragged bodily from the rest and lined up beside Etwol.
"Hurray!" squealed Etwol, drumming on the head of the orc nearest him. "To Rohan, you maggots!"
They marched up the ladders and emerged into daylight, blinking and cursing. Etwol saw the nazgul mounted on his horse once more and preparing to depart.
"Goodbye!" he said. "Are you going to the Shire?"
"If I can find it," said the nazgul. "It's not on my GPS. I'm beginning to think it doesn't exist. Where are you going?"
"To steal horses."
"Well, good luck. Don't die."
Etwol wondered as they marched off why he had said that.
Meanwhile Saruman had climbed his tower as far as his laboratory and was opening his parcel from the mail carrier. It contained various plastic bags with hair samples inside. Saruman put Etwol's hair into a different bag and added it to the collection. Then he took out his microscope and began to examine his acquisitions.
"Amazing," he murmured.
There was a knock at the door and an orc entered.
"What are you doing here?" asked Saruman angrily. "And where are my zombies?"
"They're on their way up. Please, they're very heavy, sir, and I came up to tell you that the ents are demonstrating again."
"Those tree-huggers! Throw some of my blasting powder at them—that will give them something to demonstrate about."
Saruman turned back to his microscope. In another minute the zombie boxes arrived and several orcs stacked them neatly in a corner.
"All right, get out!" said Saruman. The orcs obeyed.
When he was quite sure that they were gone, he went to the topmost box and opened it.
"Come out of there," he said.
A tall, elven zombie stepped out, rather green from marsh scum, but otherwise unharmed by several thousand years underwater. His hair was a sick-looking red and his skin, under the green, was white with more green underneath. His eyes, when they were open—which was only about half the time—glowed with a ghostly luminescence.
"Zaruman!"
"Get in that tank," said Saruman, indicating a heavy metal box bolted to one wall with the door open and a blue light emanating from within.
The zombie obeyed.
"That's one thing I like about zombies," said Saruman. "They always do as they are told." He closed the door of the tank and flipped a switch on the side. Instantly blue light shone out between the rivets and the tank began to shake and rattle, while electrical currents passed in blue lightning up and down it.
Watching it, Saruman was reminded of Gandalf the Grey's fireworks. He hoped Gandalf would come for a visit soon. He was tired of having no one to talk to but himself, and Gandalf was the only other wizard whose presence he could stand for more than a few minutes. The two Blues were odd even for wizards and Radagast the Brown positively made him sick. In fact, Radagast had come for a visit not long ago and Saruman had had to send him away with a message for Gandalf just to get rid of him. It came of eating mushrooms…
There was a terrible crash and a cloud of smoke erupted from the tank. Saruman cried out and began flipping switches.
"Should have paid attention," he muttered. "If I've fried him…"
The journey to Rohan was not fun. The uruk-hai captain drove the rest of the orcs at a great pace, and the way was rocky and sometimes very steep. Besides, they always had to be on the look-out for the horse boys, who were not pleasant to meet with. On the third day they came to a promising valley and sent a scout ahead to have a look about.
"There's horses, all right," he said when he returned. "A whole herd of them. But I couldn't get close. They smelled me."
"Etwol can go," said the captain. "He don't smell as bad as the rest of you. Get moving, you!"
He said this with a blow to Etwol's head. Etwol knew better than to argue. He crept down into the valley and cautiously approached the small group of horses, taking care to stay downwind. The horses shifted uneasily and looked about, flicking their ears. They seemed to know that something was up.
From somewhere back in his memory Etwol recalled speaking special words and phrases to calm horses and other animals, but he could not remember any of them now. Instead he began to make queer clicking sounds with his tongue and throat. The horses lifted their heads and looked towards the sound. Then they slowly came towards him. Etwol tensed, ready to spring.
Suddenly there was an awful shout and the horses, spooked, came stampeding towards him. Etwol crouched low and the horses passed on either side of him, scarcely paying him any heed. Close on their heels came a body of Rohirrim, shouting and waving spears. They did not see Etwol either and galloped by, hot on the heels of the stampeding herd.
Etwol straightened slightly when they had passed and looked back to see where they went. They galloped up the slope until they came to the place where the other orcs were hiding. As soon as the horses came close to the orcs, they began to rear up and scream in fright. The orcs leaped from their hiding places and scattered, while the Rohirrim galloped after them, trying to stick them on their spears.
Etwol crawled through the high grass until he came to the hilly slope on the south side of the valley. He scrambled up a rocky gulley and lay hid until the shouts of the Rohirrim died away. Dusk fell and he came cautiously out and began to look for his comrades. When at last he reached the place where he had left them, he found only a smoking bonfire and two small orcs huddled in its warmth.
"They're burnt," they said when they saw Etwol. "We're all that's left."
"They must have known we were here," said Etwol. "The horse boys set a trap for us."
"What do we do now?" said one of the other orcs. "If we go back to Isengard, they'll probably shut us out since we haven't got any horses like Saruman wanted."
"We'll get some, then," said Etwol.
"We can't. There's only free of us, and we haven't got a captain."
"Yes, you do," said Etwol. "I'm your captain now, and you'd better do as I say, or you'll be sorry you were ever born."
"You?"
"Yes, me!" He fingered the button around his neck and snorted in satisfaction. "Now get a move on, slugs!"