[piosenniel]

Gondor

Two days before The Star sails south

‘I am sorry Saelon, but neither you nor any of the crew will be sailing south with us.’

Pio did not look up from her charts as she answered the man’s questions. And Saelon, for his part, well understood that she would not be moved on this point. There was too much chance that one of them might be recognized as crew members from that escaped ship from Gondor. He tried one more tack, though he knew it was futile.

‘We can stay below, Mistress. Out of sight. Hidden until we are needed.’ She could hear the pleading in his voice, knew that he and the others wished to make sure the safety of their captain and first mate. But she remained unmoved.

‘I would have you stay here, Saelon. Captain Tavar will have need of you.’

‘Captain Tavar, ma’am?’ Saelon’s brow furrowed as he started to ask another question.

‘Enough, please. There is work to be done. The Star must be refitted . . . redone to match this drawing I have here.’

Saelon’s eyes went wide at the picture.

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Previously . . . a few days after The Star returns . . .

Once the plan was clear in her mind, Pio spilled it out in a rush of words to Baran. She did not care that he did not understand it; she only wanted to hear herself speak it out loud. The sound of her own voice making points in the silence of the kitchen finalized her consideration. Baran was left to his own devices as she pulled her cloak from the peg by the door when she had finished and rushed into the deepening evening.

Sinda’s hooves clip-clopped down the narrow dirt path that in turn led to the lane which wound itself round farmer’s fields to the Great River. A careful horse, and one appreciative of the welfare of his lanky legs, he would not increase his speed. His ears twitched at the sound of his rider’s voice and burned at the stream of invective she hurled forth, bent low over his withers. He knew where they were going; she had laid the image in his mind. He intended for them both to arrive safely. And no well turned phrase from her earlier and rougher days would make him hasten any faster.

Faragaer was busy with the last of some shipment a late arriving merchant had brought to the docks. Crates had to be moved in the hold of The Scuppered Gull, and the bottles of wine the merchant had brought, nestled in straw in their small wooden boxes, secured safely for transport to Dol Amroth. He and his First Mate, Haladan, were below deck, discussing the logistics of placing the fragile and costly items when an urgent voiced hailed them from above. One of the crew hailed them from the top of the companion-way, then led Pio down to speak with them.

Faragaer had previously offered the services of himself and his crew should they be needed, and he was prepared to make good on it. The Gull would accompany The Star, to the small cove south of Umbar’s Bay. ‘You know you cannot take your crew with you on The Star. They’ll be looking for crewmembers from the ship that got away from them. And I should think that most of your crew was well known from their “stay” at the port of Umbar. Someone may recognize them.’

‘Yes . . . I had time to think on that on my way here. Once we are done here, I am bound for Captain Tavar’s ship. A number of them have sailed on The Star in previous years. I am hoping that Tavar and I can work something out. He should be doing his short runs north. My crew can sign on for him until The Star returns with her Captain and First mate.’ Haladan nodded his head at this, saying he and Captain Faragaer had spoken with Tavar. He was willing to assist in any way he could. His crew was a good one, Haladan himself had sailed with them a number of years ago. And The Star’s crew would be fine to man The Windrunner . . .

‘The crew is one thing,’ said Faragaer, breaking in on Haladan’s comments, ‘but what about The Star herself? She’s as recognizable as any sailor on her to the Corsairs, don’t you think?’

‘Only if she looks like The Star,’ the Elf replied.