"You're hired," said de Ferni, when he had recovered from his complete stupefaction. Naturally Samouard – or Éarendeau le marin, as he preferred to call himself – fairly promptly became the de facto leader. He determined to exploit his new status to find the isle of Monte Fato; but permitted no sign of this purpose to evince itself. He carefully counted the days after the abbé's death, recalling that the savant had predicted that Durin's Day would arrive 23 days after said death. (Frodia of course knew all calendars – save the New Computation that proved his downfall – by heart.)
"Our food supplies are running somewhat low," he remarked, when he realized that the Day had dawned. "Does any island nearby offer good game?" Of course, he knew the answer well, given his exact recollection of every detail upon which the abbé had instructed him.
"Why yes; the isle of Monte Fato," said Gamlino, an old retainer from Eriadorsica.
Bingueau! thought Gamgès. "Then we should surely head there," he suggested aloud. "If M. de Ferni wishes it, of course."
M. de Ferni merely grunted, and so the decision was put into effect. "Now," reflected Samouard as they set sail, "I will learn whether Frodia's teachings regarding Monte Fato are sure as Shirdonnay or cheese from Brie – to use a rustic proverb of which the good abbé would certainly not approve."
