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Old 02-18-2004, 05:55 AM   #267
Rimbaud
The Perilous Poet
 
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Join Date: Apr 2002
Location: Heart of the matter
Posts: 1,096
Rimbaud has just left Hobbiton.
One week later


Break it had, and lucid he was, but Bethberry the Healer was not sure if she did not prefer the Innkeeper asleep.

“Come now, the mare can move faster than this,” he snapped, his eyes fixed forwards, sitting in the same tense position beside her on the bench of the cart, bent double with his arms on his knees.

“No need, valacirca,” she murmured as before, using an old nickname of his. “You are sick and admit you know not what you face.”

“The Princess and I will decide.”

“Just you two? The fate of the White City?” Her voice had no edge, but he shifted briefly to glare at her, before fixing his eyes again on the road ahead.

“Well, we can form a Council,” he said. “I just need to be back, to garner my information, to see the lay of the land, to converse with the princess and those who cared for the Star in my absence. Few know of its secrets and its importance.”

“The labyrinth beneath,” she said, calmly. She was not stupid. However, her perspicacity had only the effect of silence upon him.

Rimbaud of the blue and grey, innkeeper and more, was driven. Driven by the inner force that had kept the gimlet blue of his eyes even in the darkest places; he had the unflappable Healer on edge. What did he know of the secrets beneath the Inn? What treachery had he spoken of in his fever dreams? How did the Lady Estelyn know so much of what was happening? The Healer sighed and drew again gently on the reins. It was not her way to be so curious; yet she had Wyrd fluttering everywhere in search of the truth.

One thing was certain. Whatever danger had been uncovered, neither the half-dead Rimbaud, nor Estelyn would go to the Guard or higher in the City. This told her of high treachery, and made her spine cold as she thought of her friends within the city walls.

***

It was the same scenario as before when they reached the postern gate of the Star. Rimbaud lifted his hand, the weak moonlight flickered off his ring, and the gate swung slowly open. This time he laughed at her almost veiled questioning look.

“Olaf sleeps not,” he smiled, for the first time in months. “There is a lever in his cottage for the gate, and a bell that rings when we rounded that last corner."

“A sort of magic then,” she smiled back. “I cannot stay. I will leave you here.”

He nodded absently, and she knew she’d gain no thanks for her weeks of ministrations as he lay dying, twice poisoned, and at times half-mad.

***

Still in this way, he of the blue and grey returned to the Seventh Star of Gondor, sending word for Estelyn who was staying at the Library. The staff had locked his room against him, but it had many entrances. None saw him return bar Olaf, who would say nothing. Still moving only from force of will, he moved to the bed. He had much work to do in the morning.

He would need to find out who was in the Inn and more importantly why. He had more enemies than he had imagined, but perhaps more friends too. He needed to find a trustworthy coterie. He needed sleep.
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