At the conclusion of Book I: Part II in The Tale of Jarthen, Bertronius found himself making more progress tracking a mysterious band of rebel soldiers than the nefarious Larthon Ractor. Jarthen, meanwhile, has just been sent to Susselfen along with Rethnaki and Elcrona to spy on the Imperial soldiers.
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“Lad, are ye alrigh’?” asked Rethnaki in a concerned tone. “Yer lookin’ a migh’ green about ta gills.”
Jarthen glanced at his companion and gave a weak smile. “I’m fine, Naki, I just…it’s so strange being back in the Fethil after all this time! I didn’t realize it would feel like this.”
Rethnaki looked at him with an expression of mild surprise. “Wha’ do ye mean, lad?”
“Oh, just that I’ve really missed home, you know?”
“Oh, aye, I do remember makin’ ye yer mushcake!” Rethnaki interjected, with an affectionate smile.
Jarthen smiled broadly, savoring the warm feeling of camaraderie that the happy memory conjured before continuing. “Well, it just struck me, waiting here for your contact, that this isn’t really my home anymore. I mean, I’m a rebel now – and these are the very people we’re fighting against! But every time I hear someone order up a bowl of mush it sure feels like this is still home.” The boy sighed quietly with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Oh lad, ye are in a tough spot, ‘tis true, an’ it’ll likely take a good while yet afore ye’ve sorted it all out. But know tha’ ‘tis not yer fellow countrymen we’re fightin’ agains’ in this war, ‘tis ta Queen an’ her followers, the red elf replied sympathetically, as he threw a comforting arm around his young friend’s shoulders. Jarthen nodded, taking Rethnaki’s words to heart. Seeing the boy buck up, Rethnaki returned the conversation to more pressing matters. “So ye remember wha’ I told ye about this meetin’, lad?”
Jarthen gave Rethnaki an exasperated, slightly insulted look. “Naki, I know! We’ve been through it four times since we’ve been sitting here: don’t say your real name, don’t say my real name, and don’t ask the spy anything at all. In fact, I just shouldn’t talk at all when he shows up.”
“Jus’ bein’ cautious, lad, not’in’ ta be takin’ personally,” replied Rethnaki in a pacifying tone.
Jarthen heard the bell on the door to the pub jingle and swung his head around to look at the newest patron of the establishment. Rethnaki, who had merely glanced at the figure for a brief second as he walked in, elbowed Jarthen hard in the ribs. “Boy,” the elf said in a tense whisper, “if yer any more conspicuous about all this ye’ll blow our cover. Ye do tha’ one more time an’ I’ll ha’e ta ask ye ta leave, understan’? ‘Tisn’ as if ye’d recognize him on yer own anyway.”
Jarthen nodded, blushing, and tried to focus on his bowl of mush as nonchalantly as possible. The bell jingled again and Jarthen jumped a little but managed to keep from looking directly at the man who’d just entered. The bell jingled again once more before Jarthen saw Rethnaki slide out of the booth and walk towards a wiry man with a neat graying beard with his arms stretched wide in an amiable greeting. “Goldfinch! ‘Tis been too long, friend!” Rethnaki said with genuine affection as he warmly embraced the man.
“Aye, it has been, Starling,” Goldfinch replied, grinning from ear to ear.
“Well, as much as I’d like ta catch up wit’ ye, I know we both ha’e schedules ta be keepin’ up wit’, so we best get this show on ta road. C’mon, then, I’ve got us a booth in ta back.” Goldfinch nodded and followed Rethnaki back to the booth where Jarthen sat, idly shifting his mush about with his spoon.
Goldfinch’s expression darkened noticeably when he realized Jarthen was waiting at the booth. He grabbed Rethnaki’s arm to keep him from walking past. Goldfish spoke under his breath without taking his eyes off of Jarthen. “Starling…yeh brought someone with yeh? An’ yeh didna tell me?” Rethnaki sighed softly. Goldfinch’s eyes got wider and he leaned in towards Rethnaki a little more. “Wait – that boy is human, ain’t he? And he dunna look like any barbarian I’ve ever seen. Since when does yer lot have one o’ ours fightin’ with yeh?” he asked in a strangled, slightly panicked sounding voice.
“Oh, ye mean humans fightin’ wit’ us besides yerself?” Rethnaki asked with a sly smirk. “An’ don’ e’er call an Inalan a barbarian ta his face, neither, unless ye want yer throat cut where ye stand.”
“Yeh know exactly what I mean, yeh daft elf!” Goldfinch replied, his expression easing somewhat. “Alrigh’, alright’, if yeh think he’s trustworthy, then I’ll just have to take yer word fer it. What’s his name?” he asked as he shrugged and slipped into the booth opposite Jarthen.
“Oh, uh, jus’ call him Pigeon,” Rethnaki replied, grinning when Jarthen shot him a dirty look for being named after so inelegant a bird. While Rethnaki slid into the booth beside him, Jarthen was aware that the spy was observing him closely, casually documenting his slightest movements.
“So, Goldfinch,” asked Rethnaki smoothly once he’d settled himself into the booth, “ye have any news fer me?”
Goldfinch nodded. “Aye, big news fer yeh actually. Yeh’ll want to be treadin’ awfully light around these parts. Given the silence on the front, most people ‘round – includin’, I’m told, Lilhelndine herself – think we’ve won the war. I had been feedin’ ‘em some misinformation ‘bout you lot, but accurate information has been leaking lately, an’ I’m not sure from where jus’ yet. News – true news - o’ yer lot’s movements has gotten through and the Cardinal isn’ exactly dismissin’ it out o’ hand.”
Rethnaki mulled this over, drumming his slender fingers on the table. “How seriously is ta Cardinal takin’ ta news? An’ how much does he know? Do ye t’ink he suspects ye o’ anyt’in’?”
“All he knows is that a group o’ yeh came through the mountains recently and that yer band is rather small. He’s not sure what to make o’ it, how important yeh are and whatnot. At this stage, he’s not prepared to rule yeh out as a threat, but he doesna have enough information to do anythin’ ‘bout yeh yet either. I’m not feelin’ any heat from it yet, and I can always jus’ blame it on a couple o’ bad sources.“
Rethnaki nodded thoughtfully. “How’re t’ings in yer roost, then?”
Goldfinch gave a wry smile. “Crowded. Since we last met, I’ve trained three new spies. I got them transferred here to Susselfen with me so as I can keep an eye on ‘em. Now two o’ ‘em yeh won’t need to be a-lookin’ out fer – daft as all hell. And, turns out, when they are onto to summat, no one believes ‘em anyway. Big, handsome blond git, an’ a smaller dark-haired one what talks too much an’ wears spectacles who’re always together. The third, though, yeh’d better steer clear o’ him – he’s the one what has been findin’ out ‘bout yer movements. Got red hair, smart as a whip, an’ got real talent fer spyin’, but he’s well-educated an’ it marks him out in his manners and speech. He’s been hoverin’ around the gamblin’ houses most o’ the time, so as long as yeh steer clear o’ those, yeh should be fine. Mind, though, I still dunna know who his sources are. I’m a-thinkin’ ‘bout tailin’ tha’ lad.” The spy turned and looked at the wall clock behind him. “I better be gettin’ on, Starling.”
“Send word when ye’ve misdirected the Stork? If ye give us enough lead time we can probably play along a bit ta make yer misinformation more credible.”
“Aye, yeh’ll be a-hearin’ from me soon,” replied Goldfinch.
Rethnaki smiled one of his warm, broad grins and leaned across the table to clap Goldfinch on the shoulder. “Well, I guess we best be partin’ ways then. But, next yer free, we really should grab a pint an’ catch up.”
Goldfinch stood and shrugged on his coat. “That we should, that we should. Well, nice to meet yeh, Pigeon, an’ Starling, please send me regards to yer brother when yeh next get the chance.”
Rethnaki nodded, promising that he would do so, while Jarthen watched as the spy walked out of the pub. His head was reeling with questions – how long had they had contacts in the Imperial army, he wondered to himself? How were Rethnaki and this ‘Golfinch’ character supposed to send messages to one another? And why, of all things, did he have to be called Pigeon?
Before he could interrogate Rethaki, the red elf sighed and slumped down a little in his seat. “I don’ t’ink I’d e’r be able ta forgive meself if all this double-crossin’ gets tha’ man killed,” Rethnaki said more to himself than to Jarthen.
McNab could not help looking over his shoulder as he quickly made his exit out of the dingy public house onto one of Susselfen's innumerable small, bending streets. He felt strangely exhilarated after seeing his old friend again.
It had been a very long time -- too long, really -- since he had seen his old friend Starling. He couldn't help smiling to himself as he thought back on the meeting. McNab knew that it was almost always a certain route to pain to develop strong feelings of affection for fellow soldiers, due to the caprices of war. The old soldier was all too aware of the suffering that comes from the loss of a comrade. However, to deny this impulse, to seek to impede the inevitable course of friendship, was to fight against his humanity itself -- a fight that even a hardened veteran would be well advised to avoid.
McNab was grateful for these rare occasions where he could let down his guard, albeit just for a moment, and not have to maintain the long held facade that separated his real identity from those around him who would do harm to a turncoat. He passed pan handlers, pick-pockets, prostitutes, and other unsavory sorts of characters, but none of them, no matter how unseemly, concerned him: after all, his occupation necessitated that he move amongst this section of society frequently. Though individuals like these might have intimidated some men, McNab feared his friends and acquaintances, some he had known for decades, much more than the most hardened street tough. He sighed heavily as he trudged through the foggy street, his face downcast, but his eyes nevertheless roved the street out of long held habit.
As he made his way wordlessly to the smoke stained door of the tavern where he and the young spies rented their rooms, his mind had already returned to the laborious task of concealing his true sympathies from his fellow Imperial spies. McNab felt once again torn by his subterfuge: despite his political leanings and the very dangerous game he had embroiled himself in, he could not deny that Scrudton was as good a friend to him or meant as much as Starling.
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