Delioron told Calamint only a few lies in the end. He told the constable that he had been sent to Bree by Gondor’s Ruling Steward, Denethor II. It was not because there was any need to keep Parthadan’s name secret from Calamint, but explaining Gondor’s political system to this simple watchman would have been both confusing and pointless. Parthadan was working for Denethor, so in a way he had been sent by the Steward.
Delioron did not tell Calamint about the murders and other crimes he had committed in Bree. Doing this would have only made him a criminal in Calamint’s eyes and the constable might have felt obliged to try and put him under arrest. He did not tell Calamint about Elwil, Greengage, Hodhion, Navelwort or Demrîng either, because it was not Calamint’s business to know about those things. He did not tell Calamint how he had, after killing and gutting Coddle, gone to the house of a man named Bill Ferny.
He had killed the dog Ferny was keeping caged in front of his house. It had been a kindness. The poor beast had been tormented into insanity by years of torture, abuse, neglect, hunger and deprivation. There was no logical reason to torture an animal like that; clearly Ferny had done it simply for some kind of sick pleasure he derived from tormenting and twisting a living thing. Emotions like hatred and loathing were privileges Delioron could no longer afford, but ending Ferny’s life would not have made him feel bad at all after seeing what he had done to the dog, nor anything else he might do to the man before ending his worthless life.
The house had been empty. Delioron had settled in to wait for Ferny, but as hours passed and the night turned into dawn it became clear that Ferny would not come. Ferny would have learned of Coddle’s fate by now and understood that whoever had killed Coddle was after Ferny as well. He would understand that going back to his home was not safe anymore. Perhaps he would come with a mob after nightfall, or send others to do his dirty work for him, perhaps not. However, Delioron could not sit and wait in Bill Ferny’s house forever. He had other things to do.
And still he had waited for the darkness to fall. He had searched through the house thoroughly, but he could not find anything of interest or importance. He had peered outside the house through the shutters and noted the black birds gathered on top of the buildings across the street. Crebain. Delioron had understood. Demrîng’s eyes were upon him. There was nothing to be done about that. It was almost impossible to shake the Crebain when they had been put on your trail. Delioron had to accept the fact that Demrîng would learn of his movements and be aware of his whereabouts at all times. To make the best use of his time he had tried to solve the puzzle of the encrypted message:
YHJSH RWA AYHSFBFW VICK QY CSHYWDYA EYBVRWYWKHT RC CFFW RC EFCCSQHY SWZFBV XBYYWXRXY JPYW KPY AYYA SC AFWY
The most common encryption method was replacing each letter of the text by a letter some fixed number of positions down the alphabet. It was the simplest encryption technique possible, but also the easiest to crack for those who were knowledgeable about encryption methods. Delioron had systematically attempted to crack the code by assigning different numbers to his alphabet key. Eventually he had to give up. None of the combinations produced results that were anything else but gibberish, which meant that the cipher alphabet was scrambled. Which in turn made the message a lot harder to crack without knowing the key.
When it was dark enough Delioron had slipped out of the house and out of town. He had not ventured to collect his horse from the stables, and it was not necessary to do so either. Archet was only about five miles from Bree – less than two hours on foot. When he had finally arrived in Archet, it had been late, but not so late that he couldn’t get a meal and a room at the inn. When he had heard from the bartender that there was a constable from Bree in town, he had known to expect a visitor in the morning.
And now, Delioron told Calamint that he had been sent to Bree by Denethor II as a sort of secret envoy to learn the lay of the land and find out about the presence of the enemy in Eriador; in other words a spy, and Calamint understood that well. And while the constable wasn’t happy about Gondorian spies snooping around his home town, he was willing to overlook it because of what Delioron told him next.
Delioron told Calamint what he had learned from the planned kidnapping of Paladin Took by the criminals of Bree. He told the constable that he believed that the assault in Staddle had been a somehow botched attempt and that the kidnappers had not given up on their plan yet. He told about the shadowy figure called Sharkey (”Sharkey?” Calamint scoffed. ”I bet my left nut that this Sharkey is none other than the infamous Bill Ferny himself, the crookedest man ever born and just as slippery as an eel!”) and the dark, limping southerner who was somehow connected with Sharkey and presumably somewhere near Archet at the moment.
And how had Delioron learned of all these things? That’s what Calamint naturally wanted to know.
But Delioron couldn’t tell Calamint the truth about that, not about the many crimes he had committed in Bree, because he needed the watchman’s help to get the rest of the information to conclude the mission and go back home at last.
Delioron related his information to Calamint slowly, all the while measuring the watchman and his worth. Was he smart enough? Useful enough? After an hour of conversation Delioron was convinced that he would do – that Calamint was smarter than what his ridiculous moustache and bloodshot-eyes led on.
They even had a drink on it, servicing themselves at the empty bar. Calamint had another tankard of ale while Delioron poured himself a cider.
”You don’t have any wine”, Delioron said to the barkeep Bernice when the woman entered the tavern and shut the door behind her, eyeing the two men disapprovingly.
”We do not serve fancy southern drinks here. Mr. Foreigner. And I must say, Mr. Calamint, you’re being very generous on my account. Most generous, even for Thistlewood’s guest.”
”We will pay for our drinks”, said Calamint. ”And we have no need to further intrude on your hospitality, Bernice.” He rose, leaving some coins on the table. ”Come, Mr Delioron, let’s go outside.”
The two men went outside and stood on the road that led out of the village. ”Do you remember that fella I mentioned, the one who claimed to be ’Tom from Bree’?”
Delioron waited.
”He came from the direction of Combe and he left the same way. And if you want out of the Archet Dale, that’s pretty much the only way to go. So I was thinking of going up the road back to Combe to see what’s there to be learned. I wouldn’t mind some company, if you catch my drift.”
Delioron and Calamint walked south slowly along the narrow road skirting around the brown hills through the forested dale. Delioron did not speak as he watched the road unwind before him.
”Do you know about the hobbits?” Calamint suddenly asked. ”How they came here, how the Shire was settled?”
Delioron did not know, and he wasn’t particularly interested either, not at the moment. He was sure it was an interesting story, but it bore no meaning to the problems he had to solve right now. His eyes darted from left to right, looking for clues or tracks of the dark man who had come to Archet to kidnap the hobbits.
”They came closer to twenty centuries ago from the east, when the Witch-king arose in Angmar. Fleeing from the evil that was growing in the mountains. There were men living here even back then; and the hobbits co-existed with men for centuries. This land was a lot more populated back then, full of cities and villages. Now only Bree and a few surrounding villages remain”, Calamint said wistfully.
”Hmh”, said Delioron, looking around in the woods surrounding them.
”They lived here together for centuries, hobbits and men, much as they still do to this day. But one day, maybe fourteen, fifteen centuries ago, a few hobbits went further west and settled the land west of Brandywine River. It was just wilderness back then, but they worked the land, they made it prosper, they made it their home! And you know what that land is called today? Why, it’s the Shire!”
Delioron pretended to listen, noting the watchman’s keen interest in history. The Lore-master he had once been was intrigued, not so much by the tale itself but the passion this uneducated constable was delivering it with. In a just world this man could have been a scholar and a historian, rather than just a simple uneducated watchman. Hell, even in Gondor he could have been a scholar, and Gondor was a far cry from a just world!
”You don’t care for the story”, Calamint said.
”Not very much. We’re getting close to Combe.”
”This matter with the kidnapping of the Tooks then”, Calamint said softly. ”It isn’t much to you, is it? You don’t give a great bloody damn about it, one way or the other, do you?”
”It’s a job”, Delioron said, keeping his eyes on the road.
”It is that”, Calamint agreed. Delioron could not understand the tone of his voice.
”I have lived with the race of men my whole life”, Calamint continued. ”I am one of them. But I don’t have a very high opinion of my own kind. From all that I’ve learned from the race of men during my lifetime, I bet I know why the hobbits decided to leave and settle the Shire instead of keeping living alongside with us. They found a better place, away from us.”
The pickets of Combe appeared through the woods. There were two armed guards standing by either side of the gate.
”In these days there’s a lot of talk in Bree about how the hobbits are somehow robbing Bree of their riches”, Calamint said in that same soft, urgent voice. ”Like it’s the hobbits’ fault that the Shire is rich and Bree is poor. But it’s their own damn fault, because the race of men are not interested in bettering themselves. No, we’re more interested in being jealous of whoever has it better. And rather than trying to compete, to make things better for ourselves, we expend all our energies to deprive others from what they have, to make them just as miserable as we are. Really, sometimes I wonder if the race of men is that much better from the orcs!”
Delioron still did not understand the point Calamint was trying to make, but he waited patiently for the constable to arrive at it as they entered the village.
”But what about you, Mr. Delioron from Gondor, Denethor’s secret envoy?” Calamint continued. ”What does Gondor care about the hobbits? I know there’s things you haven’t said to me and things you have lied to me about. I’m just a dumb watchman from Bree and you are a great delegate from the mighty Gondor, so what do I know, right? But the hobbits, they are important to me. I care about them.”
Delioron turned to look at Calamint. Something about the constable’s calm, almost sleepy tone had changed. There was a hardness and a cold warning in his voice now.
”You gave me good information”, Calamint said. ”There’s no denying that. But I know you are a liar and a spy. Do you understand me? I know you have a game to play but I don’t understand what it is. Perhaps it’s nothing to concern me. But if your game brings any harm to the hobbits, then you have abused your rights as a guest of Bree. Do I make myself clear?”
Delioron nodded. So the seemingly simple watchman with the ridiculous moustache was smarter than he looked after all.
