[piosenniel]

From his perch on the Corsair ship’s mast, Rôg, in his merlin form, had watched the battle rage on the deck below. The Elves had the advantage of their surprise attack and were holding their own against the Corsairs. He looked for an opportunity to help out, but the fighting was so fast and furious, he feared he would be more hindrance than help. He did note how a number of the Corsairs had arranged themselves in a defensive circle about the smaller palantir, fending off any attempts of the Elves or their allies to get at it.

Most interesting was Marreth’s reaction to the surprise attack. He was not as composed as usual; and, in fact, he seemed almost frantic. Rôg smiled to himself as he saw the reason why. Marreth was fearful that the stone would be taken! Cocking his head to one side, he watched as the captain slipped the smaller palantir beneath his arm and proceeded to go below deck. The skinchanger followed.

Rôg flattened himself into the shadows of the passageway, his beady eyes watching the retreating figure as it went skulking down the corridor. His whiskers twitched in anticipation, letting the Corsair put a fair distance between them. On silent feet, his nails making barely a whisper against the wood of the floor, Rôg ran along, his rat body racing quietly after the Corsair captain. Several times he stopped, drawing back into the pools of darkness that puddled in the ill lit passage. Past the sleeping quarters they went, the captain and his rodent pursuer. Past the mess hall, then, and into the kitchen.

The plump bodied rodent peeked his thin pointy nose around the entrance to the galley. There, in the corner by the stove, Marreth was kneeling down. To get a better look, Rôg ran to one of the kitchen stools, scrabbled up onto its seat then leapt to the table top. The captain, suspicious it seemed, halted his attempt to pry open some small door where he knelt and looked back over his shoulder. Rôg had seen him pause and had hidden himself in the nearly empty cavity of some poor goose which had been half gutted in preparation for a meal and then abandoned when the Elves had attacked. From the darkness of his little poultry cave, the rat could keep a well concealed eye on the actions of the captain.

There was a delicious smell that wafted up to where Rôg hid from the little passageway which the captain had opened up. Something delightful was down there . . . a whole lot of somethings of exquisite savoriness . . . or so it seemed to his rodent nose. He poked out his head, watching the captain hunker down and crawl into the dark opening. A short while passed, and he could hear Marreth scrabbling back toward the kitchen. Rôg eyed him as he crawled from the passageway and stood up. The knees of his breeches were soiled, and he looked as if his boots were wearing last night’s dinner. A smile a satisfaction was on the captain’s face as he swept by Rôg’s hiding place and out the door.

Rôg leapt from the table top to the floor and made for the garbage chute. In his haste, Marreth had left the door slightly ajar and Rôg squeezed into it and slid, helter skelter, down the sloping track. It was almost too much for his senses when he hit the pile of garbage itself. It was all he could do to keep himself from trying out the tasty buffet now spread before and beneath him. ‘Work to be done!’ he chided himself and went poking his nose about in the various sectors of the crew’s leavings. And there, wedged in nicely between a lovely mound of well aged bread and some fragrant bits of fish, he found his prize. Not far from it was a sodden flour sack the cook had discarded for being too filthy and ragged, he supposed. Rôg’s sharp teeth fetched it, and his little rat paws secured the sack about the stone. Then he went exploring for the hatchway that should open to the outside, where the men on garbage duty would shovel out the fermenting goo.

Holding his breath, Rôg changed back to a man for a few brief seconds, scooped up the sack with its prize tied securely inside, and made for the outward passage. His eyes were burning from the fumes and reek as he hit the icy water of the bay. Once more his seal shape grasped the sack and made for the Elven ship.

‘Hey!’ he shouted up to any one who could hear him when he reached the far side of The Spirit. ‘Let down one of the little boats; I’ve something for the captain!’