[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

The guards at the counting house parted easily for Gramil who nodded to them casually, commenting to one, "Gormack! Good to see you back." He had never picked up the habit of treating underlings as furniture, and was probably the only one who knew of Gormack's sick daughter. The guard was trained not to smile or speak on duty, but his eyes sparkled with good news, Garlin could see. He'd find out later how she was.

The counting house of King Fuinur was a long low room filled with marble topped tables. The first impression one had was of tables, row upon row. The next was all of scrolls.. scrolls stored on floor-to-ceiling shelves so that the highest could only be reached by ladders; scrolls spread out or stacked on tables; scrolls on carts wheeled from one table to another; scrolls rising like cords of firewood behind which the clerks, most of whom were members of Gramil's family apprenticed to him, could hardly been seen. Lastly, because such a staggering display the mind could hardly comprehend, one saw the gold. It was piled upon the every table, and shelves below, stacked neatly upon the carts. It was poured into scales, measured against lead, and the lead was found wanting. Gold filled the eye, until all the tables and scrolls were forgotten. It seemed even the air was filled with it, as dust danced golden in the sunlight from the high windows that covered both the east and west wall.

Gramil ignored it. He knew the real wealth of the realm was contained in those scrolls, lists of tithed goods and land.

The bustling room fell silent. All eyes turned to him curiously, expectant. The news of his meeting with the King had spread like wildfire. Gramil knew one person who would welcome his news more than any other.

"Ethar, I will need maps." The young man barely glanced up.

"Of - ?"

"The route to Nurn." That had the insolent boy's attention. "Then I want you to find out all you can about this Jarl of Dale. Well? Off with you!" The suddenly hopeful young man scampered up the stairs to Gramil's quarters.

Gramil felt sorry he had been forced to leave the lad behind that last trip to Nurn, which would have been Ethar's first. His real purpose had been too dangerous to bring one who knew nothing of either trade or Nurn. Ethar wasn't the only one to remain, but he had clearly taken it hard. Yet his attitude proved to Gramil he had made the right decision.

Once again he thought to send the boy home to his family, and once again decided against it. He would give Ethar one more chance rather than send him home in disgrace. He had promise. A quick mind, if an equally quick temper.

Gramil gave quick orders, sending two or three nephews to the bazaar and entertainment houses: they would need supplies for a month, plus guards. "The best," he said, "see if you can hire men of Umbar.

"And I want a full accounting of expenses - ! Only the essentials. Just because King Fuinur trusts us too much does not mean we should prove him wrong."

"Dancing girls are of course essential, yes?" one young man joked.

"Naturally," Gramil said drily.

********

Ethar combed through Gramil's private closets, searching for maps of his famous route. He could not believe his luck! He thought the stranger from Umbar was crazy asking him for information. Nothing ever happened in the counting house. But now he had something to report. He thought now to sell the information, but decided against it. He'd wait until he had something they really needed.

This place is a mess, he decided after he found the maps Gramil the Gryphon required. He paused a moment to read the King's invitation on his table, impressed by the royal seal. What it must have been like to meet with the King himself in person, Ethar thought, visualizing the opulent throne room he had seen once. Gryphons are lucky, and Gramil was no exception. How he could have thrown it away to rot in this place, Ethar could not understand.

After depositing the maps on Gramil's table, everyone was scattered and the counting house closed now for the afternoon, Ethar slipped behind the guards and disappeared into the street crowd, unnoticed. Being rather small and wirey was an advantage sometimes.

He searched skies painted orange with the setting sun, frustrated. The hawk had come to him nearly every day when he had nothing to report. Now, he had great news, and it was nowhere to be seen. Typical. He decided his news couldn't wait, and approached a homing pigeon vendor. Ethar carefully used his own spending money purchase a bird from Umbar, instead of using the King's credit as he normally would.

Eagerly he wrote his message to the stranger from the Guild. A pigeon, looking like any other pigeon, lifted into the sky, and disappeared into the sun.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]