[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

Gramil crumpled the invitation in his hand, a rude way to treat such an elegantly drawn confection, but there it was. With the king gone - and Jarl had no doubt the absence of his private guard meant exactly that, despite the clerk's assurances he merely 'detained' - the jackels gathered. He stalked out of the counting house waving off his carriage, choosing to walk to the bazaar instead. The sky was turning purple, and music chimed ahead, but he had a good two hours yet before he was required at this 'State Dinner.'

The road was wide and cobbled, and at this cooling hour, nearly impassable, as the city came to life. He saw a carriage stranded, with elegantly dressed ladies crossly waving fans as the driver attempted to wend his way around a large sleepy bull that had decided to sit in the road. Vendors declared their goods, and the gamers, who arrived every evening and disappeared by dawn, called out their sure-fire wins from colorful stalls set up in the middle of the street. The nightly carnival had begun. Children scampered between the stalls, laughing and shouting to eachother, narrowly missing a troupe of dancers and acrobats who had "performed for the king himself, the Lion of Leonarra!"

Somewhere across the city Jarl of Dale was receiving an invitation to a 'State Dinner' that evening, similar to Gramil's. Of course, there was no State without King Fuinur, but a foreigner would not know this, and believe he was required to attend. No one of any import would come if the King weren't present.

Gramil felt obligated to accept an invitation he normally would have 'received it too late, so sorry' just to save Jarl of Dale - and the trade he represented - from the empty promises and power plays of lesser ambitious families. But he wished he had had more time to learn of this Jarl. Where was young Ethar? His eyes scanned the growing crowd, past dresses in a swirl of bright colors and jingling bells, with little hope of finding him. Gramil would have to gather what information he could on his own.

His one meeting was promising though, Gramil smiled, hoping Jarl traded better than he rode.

Gramil bought a stick of cubed, spiced beef from a vendor, the fat still sizzling as it was handed to him, and prepared for the worst. He hoped Jarl of Dale knew to eat before this gathering, though he thought it unlikely. Who would guess these 'State Dinners' tended to be more 'State' than 'Dinner'?

******

"Eh, haven't seen him much," Molnar said from behind his beaded curtains. The glass beads glittered in the torchlight of firebreathers nearby. Molnar was an old friend of Gramil's who ran more than this counter - his main business was off the books. "This Jarl, he's up in his rooms all day they say. His apprentice, what say, Garvin's his name, he's about. Or was the Garlin? Something like that. No tradesman he, hah! Seven spots just for fruit. Hee-hee. Saw him with your Ethar by the pigeons, not an hour ago."

"What does Dale need with pigeons?" Gramil puzzled.

"Don't know. But they - Ethar and Garlin.. whichever.. they go deep into the bazaar. That way." Molnar waggled his eyebrows and Gramil the Gryphon rolled his eyes at the direction they had taken. There the black market came to you. As did the wine carts. He suspected the boys would be good for little the next morning.

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