[Nuranar]

It was after nine in the evening when Calnan left the Snifter and Song, but in these southern lands the western sky was still shaded with blue. A dull orange streak glowed above the sea, but he only scowled absently at it.

Why did Devon have to be so pig-headed? He was all-fired to convince everyone of his story but refused to take even ordinary precautions. And Doran wasn’t the man to just sit on his hands, waiting for the blow –

Calnan brought up with a jerk. Apparently Devon had convinced him. He had spent the day observing Ambassador Thrann, especially, and looking out for any references to Doran. These deliberate measures had proven what he had long subconsciously acknowledged: Maurice Thrann was completely under the former corsair’s thumb. Not only did he defer to him in all policy questions, but even sought his opinion and advice in almost everything. The subordinate who completely dominated his superior – a perilous situation at any time.

And if Doran is a plotting corsair at heart, Calnan thought, we’ll be in for a world of hurt. Obviously he’s got some plan up his sleeve, and if what Devon heard is right, the blow is just about to fall. What could he be up to?

Calnan sighed. Capable enough of predicting an opponent’s next move in the never-ending intrigue that was politics, he still had no idea what Doran could be up to. There were so many ways one could go about a revolution!

A revolution… Calnan found himself rehashing the practice duel between Devon and him. What if it came to that? He grinned suddenly. Aye, you beat me with the sword. But have you even used a bow? If it weren’t for my job…

Yes, his job. As he turned into the lane where Secretary Ciryatan lived, he levelheadedly assessed his position. Attaché to a deputy secretary, well up in the Gondorian diplomatic circles, valuable connections in Umbar and in Minas Tirith – such were the makings of a good career. But did he want to live the life that went with it?

Two years in Umbar, two years in Minas Tirith. And looking back…what he remembered wasn’t the glittering social functions, the high-powered secret conferences, the feeling of “being in the know.” It was – of all things – the time he was waylaid shortly after his arrival in Umbar, when he had to fight for his life against three thugs who saw only a bookish young Gondorian. It was the time he and Devon were out late, and the younger boy’s impulsive words embroiled them both in a glorious free-for-all that culminated in an exhilarating chase through Umbar’s dark alleys. It was every time he had leisure to catch a ride out of the city, to track and hunt the wary wild game of the desert lands, to use the longbow he was born to bear.

No question about it. This wasn’t the life for him. And the way out may come very soon, Calnan reflected wryly as he turned through the gate.

* * *

After puttering about for a couple of hours, Calnan had finally gotten to bed shortly before midnight. He was just beginning to doze when a clamorous banging at the front door echoed insistently through the house. Quickly pulling on his trousers, Calnan slipped out his bedroom door and pattered barefoot down the stairs.

Ciryatan, in a luxurious silk nightshirt and robe, was just turning away from the door. Calnan heard hoof beats clop away down the drive. “Ah, Calnan,” his employer said, the worried lines on his forehead clearing slightly. “Get dressed – we need to go to the Embassy at once.”

“Yes, sir. What has happened?”

“I don’t know.” The lines returned as he turned away. The secretary wasn’t the most astute of men, but he knew something was wrong in the city. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. And now apparently something had happened.

Calnan took the stairs two at a time. Doran hasn’t wasted any time!

* * *

Later that night – that is, morning – Calnan stood rigidly against the wall in Ambassador Thrann’s assembly room as Jythralo Doran, former corsair captain, gave an impassioned oration in the name of Gondor, advocating the suppression of any last vestige of corsair-ism. Almost unnaturally impassive, Calnan’s lack of expression gave no indication of the fury welling up within. The fiend! The scheming, hypocritical blackguard – does he think he’ll get away with this outrageous load of double-talk?!

Then his eye shifted to the ambassador, and his heart sank. Thrann was drinking in every word, nodding inanely in agreement. This jellyfish won’t even consider rejecting his proposals. Calnan’s fists clenched in silent futility. How many years has he spent in Umbar? You can’t change a corsair by taking his ship! Doesn’t he realize this is calculated exactly to stir them up to insurrection? That’s his plan. It’s going to work, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Or was there? As Thrann stood and congratulated the “former” corsair, Calnan gazed unseeingly at them. Instead of the ambassador, he was seeing…the ambassador’s son.

* * *

The first ray of sunshine that peeped over the high embassy wall shone through the council room window and spread itself across a small table in the middle of the room. Calnan glanced up and wearily blew out the candle by which he had been copying dispatches since the midnight meeting. Only one more paragraph…

Finally finished, he pushed back his chair and got stiffly to his feet. After sending the dispatches by courier to various city officials, he slipped silently along the corridors to Devon’s room before his employer could catch him. Not bothering to knock, he barged straight in. It won’t hurt him to get up early for once. “Devon, wake up. I’ve got something to…” Calnan’s words trailed off.

Devon was not in his room. But instead of being the early bird, he was apparently mimicking the night owl: his bed was still neatly made up, as it was by the housemaid later every morning. Calnan stood clutching the doorknob, feeling as if he’d been hit in the stomach. Had Doran struck here first? He moved faster than I’d thought.

If not, Callath would know. Or else he’ll need to know. Calnan wheeled and lightly sped back down the stairs, but was seen by Ciryatan before he could reach safety in the back rooms. “Come, Calnan, I need you to help me with the report to send to the King. The ship is waiting for it…”

It nearly noon when Calnan again extricated himself from the suddenly distasteful world of parchment and pens. This time he headed straight for the stables. As he neared them, the small figures outside resolved themselves into Callath, a couple other boys, and – thank Eru! – Devon. Slowing to the decorous saunter demanded of a diplomat, Calnan joined the group.

“Good morning, Devon, Callath,” he said, nodding to the other stable boys. A twitch of the eyebrow and a slight inclination of the head were all the signals Callath needed.

“I s’pose I’ll see you fellows later,” he said to his colleagues. “Murder’s exciting, but I’ve still got work to do.” He strode back into the stable. After the others headed off in another direction, presumably to spread the exciting news, Devon and Calnan followed him.

“I suppose you’re talking about Tomis Predd, the Gondorian killed by corsairs last night,” Calnan said abruptly, glancing around to make sure they were alone. As the two nodded, he looked at Devon. “What else happened? You haven’t been home since last night, have you.”

As Devon told about the near-kidnapping, Calnan felt only a deep sense of relief. At least Doran had failed in something. Plus, that attempt to silence the only opposition effectively proved Devon’s story. Now Doran was fully exposed – at least to the three of them, and Adeline would never forgive them if they didn’t tell her.

“But Calnan,” Callath said, “isn’t there something else? You didn’t even care about the murder.”

Of course! How could they know about what else had happened? Calnan told them of the assembly called early that morning, and the regulations Doran’s fiery sermon had inspired. “The corsair population is far from beaten. Doran knows that there’s nothing that will stir up their ferocity like the blatant injustice of these laws!”

A gloom-laden silence fell. Callath broke it. “So now what?”

Devon sprang to his feet. “Now what? Now we do something! We can’t get the government to listen to us, and we can’t do nothing. So we’ve got to stop him ourselves. That’s all there is to it!”

Devon’s face was full of eagerness and the desire to battle it out with the wily corsair captain. Despite his foreboding, Calnan was inspired. Doran wasn’t invincible; he hadn’t put Devon out of action. It would take a lot to stop the four of them.