[Amanaduial the archer]

Callath grinned at Telson, beginning to take a liking to him. When the older man using the irritatingly arrogant tone of voice, he followed it up with a wink that was barely a flicker of an eyelid; unlike most who Callath came across using that tone, it wasn’t his actual voice. Callath snuck a look back the way they had come to see whether their followers were still coming. Telson looked at his sharply.

“How are w– I mean, how is…my horse?” Telson asked the stable boy, a trace of bemusèdness in his voice.

“Your horse…Pirate…has kept acting up since you left her in,” Callath said, the noise of the crowd forcing him to raise his voice and therefore ‘speak in code’. “If we manage to pull it off, I don’t think we should have any problems with her tail any more.”

Despite the fact that to anyone who had ever even encountered a horse this would be completely nonsensical, the message was conveyed, and Telson shot Callath a questioningly look, one eyebrow raised, but was unable to say anything as the youth darted forward into a gap that had just opened in the group, grabbing Telson’s wrist and pulling him through into the street leading off from the surging central square, effectively leaving their pursuers behind for good. Callath picked up his pace, knowing Devon would probably already be there, and Telson kept up easily.

As they came into the square in front of the stables, Callath straightened his cuffs absentmindedly, looking back for Telson and giving him a small, polite smile, every bit the part of the anxious stable boy rather than the stable boy surreptitiously scanning the yard, paddock and near field for any sign of Garth – or of their pursuers. As he put his hand on the door latch, Telson cleared his throat slightly and Callath turned, expecting bad news. But the man just grinned, raising his eyebrows once more.

“Pirate?” he said quietly. Callath grinned back, pulling open the door and stepping into the peaceful musk of the stable block. Looking down the centre, he tensed suddenly as he saw a figure going into a stable – before it ducked suddenly and a surprised head backed out as the bucket swung over it, with an expression Callath would treasure.

“Alright there, Master Thrann?” he called softly, advancing towards his friend. “I see you found my earlier visitor then.”

“You nearly took m’head off!” The Ambassador’s son replied accusingly. Callath just winked, popper his own head in to check that his’ visitor’ was still sleeping soundly, apparently knocked out on the alcohol whose stench hung around him clothes – as, of course, Callath had meant it to when he had soaked the man’s back in it; it wouldn’t be seen as he was lying there that there was a tell-tale damp patch, but it was certainly smelt. He reached up to the bucket to secure it when he heard a sound from outside, a familiar man’s voice calling orders to another. Telson immediately tensed, a hand flying his belt, but Callath shook his head urgently. “Garth,” he mouthed to Devon who, understanding, beckoned Telson to come closer so they looked less randomly sprawled around. Undoing the bucket quickly, Callath stepped back out of the stall as Garth entered and turned to look at the stable-master as he entered, with the air of having been half-way through something. Smiling politely, he gestured towards Garth, explaining to Devon and Telson, “This is horse-master Garth – he is in charge of Umbar stables.”

The stocky stable master swelled slightly more with pride and took in his visitors, smiling widely when he saw Devon, whom he recognised, and even more so when he saw that the youth had an older companion – more business.

“Good day, Callath. And you, Mr Thrann, Mr…?” he left a space inquiringly.

“Sontel. My name is Sontel.” Telson’s acting was as good as Callath’s own as he achieved a mild composure, smiling absently at Garth as he looked around the stables. Garth nodded. “Mr Sontel. Can I help you?”

“Actually, this young man was helping me with a few inquiries – a few years ago I put my horse, Pirate, in livery here, and I intended to place him here again, under your able care.” He smiled mildly. Garth nodded once more, then turned his gaze to Callath, where it settled on his forehead. “Excuse me gentlemen, I just need to talk to Callath.” As he was drawn aside with a sinking feeling, Callath touched his forelock over-ingratiatingly to his visitors then turned politely to the stable master.

“Horse master Garth-?”
“What is that on your forehead?” The man referred to the moderately long cut slanting into his parting from Doran’s thugs.

“I was kicked by a horse, sir – just a glancing blow,” came the automatic retort. Garth eyes him suspciciosuly, but Callath had just seen his perfect chance. He coughed, turning his head sidewards as he did so, so he was facing the stall with the stricken man inside, and when he opened his eyes, he allowed them to widen as he gasped.

“Good gri….Horse master, look at that!” He swung open the stable door slightly more to reveal to the horse master, ut not quite to the ‘visitors’ the ‘drunk’ corsair inside, flat on his back and reeking of ale, just as was planned…