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second time, since he ll have turned into a drooling cretin. Therefore, please allow me to
use more traditional methods.
Lady Galadriel: That was an excellent explanation, clofoel of Tranquility, thank you. I can
see that the investigation is in good hands, please proceed as you see fit. But I ve just
thought of something. Since the mechanical dragon flew here from outside, this
investigation may uncover really interesting nuances that have more to do with Middle Earth
than with the Enchanted Forests. Dear Lord Cereborn, do you think that it may be beneficial
to involve the clofoel of the World in the investigation, since she s better acquainted with
those specifics?
Lord Cereborn: Yes, yes, that s very reasonable! Isn t it, clofoel of Tranquility?
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Clofoel of Tranquility: I dare not discuss the directives of the radiant Lady, o radiant Lord.
But perhaps it will be easier to remove me from this task altogether, since I am not trusted?
Lord Cereborn: No, don t even think about it! I d be lost without you!
Lady Galadriel: We ought to consider the good of Lórien ahead of personal ambitions,
clofoel of Tranquility. This is an extraordinary incident; two experts are always better than
one. Do you disagree?
Clofoel of Tranquility: How can I, o radiant Lady!
Clofoel of the World: I have always dreamed of working with you, esteemed clofoel of
Tranquility. My stores of knowledge and skills are entirely at your disposal, and I hope that
they will prove useful.
Clofoel of Tranquility: I have no doubt they will, esteemed clofoel of the World.
Lady Galadriel: This is settled, then; keep us informed, clofoel of Tranquility. What did
the clofoel of Stars wish to tell the Council?
Clofoel of Stars: I have no desire to needlessly disturb you, o radiant Sovereigns and
esteemed clofoels of the Council, but it appears that this morning the pattern of the stars in
the sky has changed slightly. This indicates a change of the entire arrangement of magic in
the Enchanted Forests; some new, quite strong magical power has appeared here. The only
time something similar had happened in my memory was when the Lady s Mirror was
delivered to Caras Galadhon.
Lady Galadriel: Could your dancers be mistaken, clofoel of Stars?
Clofoel of Stars: I would like to believe that, o radiant Lady. We will dance again tonight&
***
Kumai came to sooner than the Elves expected. Lifting his head painfully, he saw brilliant
white walls with no windows; the sickly bluish light of the phial over a bar door seemed to
drip off them onto the floor. He had no clothes on and his right hand was chained to the
narrow bed, which was attached to the floor; when he touched his head he jerked his hand
back in surprise: it was clean-shaven, with a long recent scar on its top smeared in
something stinky and oily to the touch. He leaned back slowly, closed his eyes, and
swallowed convulsively: understanding everything, he was scared as never before in his life.
He would have given anything for a chance to die right then, before they got started, but
alas! he had nothing left to give.
Get up, Troll! No rest for the spawn of Morgoth! You have a long road to hell before you,
so let s get underway.
There were three Elves a man and a woman in identical silver-black cloaks and a
deferential muscleman in a leather jacket. They appeared in the cell without a sound,
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moving with unnatural lightness, like huge moths, but somehow it was clear that they had
strength to match a Troll s. The Elf-woman looked the prisoner over unceremoniously and
whispered something apparently obscene to her companion; the man grimaced chidingly.
Maybe you d like to tell us something yourself, Troll?
Maybe I would. Kumai sat up, carefully lowering his legs off the bed, and was now
waiting for nausea to subside. He had made a decision and fear receded, having no room
left. What do I get in return?
In return?! The impudence struck the Elf speechless for a couple of seconds. An easy
death. Is that not enough?
No, it s not. Easy death is already there for me; I ve had a weak heart since childhood, so
torturing me is useless; it ll end when it begins.
The Elf gave a silvery laugh. You lie beautifully and engagingly.
Kumai shrugged. Give it a try. The higher-ups will give you hell if a spy dies under
questioning, no?
We are the higher-ups, Troll. The Elf sat down on a chair just brought into the cell by the
man in leather jacket. But please continue lying, we re listening with interest.
What s there to lie about? He s no child and understands his position. But he s no dumb
fanatic and has no wish to die for Motherland, his oath, or other such phantoms. Whatever
for? The bosses keep sending them to certain death while sitting it out in the rear, cowardly
dogs that they are& He ll tell all he knows, and he knows quite a lot, having been on a lot
of special missions for a long time but not for free. Do you promise to keep him alive?
It s such a small thing for you. In an underground prison forever, in a lead mine, blinded
and castrated, but alive?
Say your piece, then, Troll. If you tell the truth and we find it interesting, we ll find you a
job in our mines. What do you think, milady Eornis?
Sure! Why not let him keep his life?
Very well, his name is Cloud (shouldn t get tripped up, he did have such a nickname as a
child that brat Sonya came up with it and it stuck to him until the University), Engineer
Second Class, his last military unit was a guerilla band led by& Indun (that was an old
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