The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [64]
"Hmm… the bedchamber comes to mind immediately, if not for the third condition."
"You're almost right. It's the bathhouse."
"Wow!" Tangorn laughed. "A tunnel?"
"Sure. The bathhouse is within the stockade, but away from the main building. We're digging from a nearby mill, about two hundred yards straight, quite a bit of work. The biggest problem with tunnels, as you know, is what to do with all the dirt. With the mill we're getting it out in sacks dusted with flour, it's all very natural-looking. The danger is that the sentries might start counting the sacks from sheer boredom, and figure out that a lot more are going out than are coming in. So we couldn't dig full-bore, but looks like we'll be done this week."
"And the White Company has no suspicions?"
"Beregond swears that they don't. Of course, they don't tell him anything of the sort, but he'd see some signs of an alarm."
"Do they have informants in the Settlement and the hamlets?"
"In the Settlement for sure, but not in the hamlets, I don't think. See, the White Company has a real communication problem outside the fort. The locals avoid talking to them (there're all sorts of crazy rumors about them, including that they're the living dead), which helps us a lot: every settler contact with the Whites stands out. They've wised up now and switched to dead drops, but before that they were giving away their agents every day."
"Is the innkeeper working for them?"
"Looks that way. Makes our lives very difficult."
"What about the merchants who travel to Gondor?"
"One. The other is my man. I've waited for them to try and recruit him, then we'd have their communication channel, but no luck so far."
"You're just watching them for now?"
"Not just watching. Now that we're counting down the days, I've decided to cut their link to Minas Tirith – make them get a little busy. That'll distract them both from the miller and our hamlets."
"Speaking of a link – anyone in the Settlement keep pigeons?"
Grager grinned. "One did, but his coop burned down. So it goes…"
"Wasn't that too bold? They must've been furious."
"Sure they were! But, like I told you, it's the final countdown, speed matters. Besides, two sergeants investigated the arson, if you can imagine that, so now we know who's in charge of counter-intelligence there… The only thing is," the former resident spy said thoughtfully, keeping his gaze on the lamp, "I'm really bothered by how easily I'm figuring out everything they do. Just put myself in their place: how would I build a network in such a village? But this simply means that once they find out that we exist – which they will, and soon – they'll figure my moves out equally easily. So what we must do is move first… Aha!" His raised finger froze in mid-air. "Sounds like company! Looks like the boys from the fort have finally risked direct contact with Minas Tirith – I've been waiting for this for three days!"
…The cart rolled down the highway in quickly gathering dusk, and its driver (the owner of the local grocery) kept getting chills behind the collar and in his sleeves. He had almost made it through the Owl Hollow – the most dismal stretch of the route between the Settlement and Osgiliath – when four shadows materialized noiselessly out of the dark chestnut bushes on both sides of the road. The merchant knew the rules well and surrendered his purse with its dozen silver coins meant to purchase soap and spices to the robbers without complaint. However, the robbers didn't evince much interest in the money, telling the prisoner to disrobe; this was against the rules, but the blade against his throat discouraged any discussion. The grocer was really scared – cold-sweat scared – only when the leader, after poking his boot soles with a dagger, carefully felt his jacket, grunted in satisfaction and cut open one