teunc.org Stories
Holmes
Sherlock
 
At the "Admiral Falastur"
 
My curiosity, in a way, was stronger than the instinct of caution which, together with Holmes' hand, kept me from standing up; for I could not remain where I was, but crept back to the bank again, whence, sheltering my head behind a bush of broom, I might command the road before the door of the inn. I was scarce in position ere the Orcs began to arrive, seven or eight of them, running hard, their feet beating out the time along the road, and the Orc with the lantern some paces in front. Three Orcs ran together, hand in hand; and I made out, even through the mist, that the middle Orc of this trio was the blind beggar-Orc. The next moment his voice showed me I was right.
  "Down with the door!" he cried.
  "Ar! Don't shout at us like that, you ape", snarled one of them; but when he struck out at them with his stick, cursing them, they immediately shouted: "Ay, ay, Mr Radbug, sir!"; and a rush was made upon the "Admiral Falastur", the lantern-bearer following, and then I could see them pause, and hear speeches passed in a lower key, as if they were surprised to find the door open. But the pause was brief, for the blind Orc again issued his commands. He screamed out his orders, as if afire with eagerness and rage.
  "In, in, in!" he shouted, and cursed them for their delay.
  For or five of them obeyed at once, two remaining outside on the road with the formidable beggar, There was a pause, then a cry of surprise, and then a voice shouting from the house:
  "Thráin is dead!"
  But Radbug swore at them again for their delay.
  "Search him, some of you shirking laggards, and the rest of you climb upstairs and get the chest", he cried.
  I could hear their heavy feet pounding up the old stairs, so that the old house almost shook with it. Promptly afterwards, fresh sounds of astonishment arose; the window of Thrain's room was thrown open and an Orc leaned out into the moonlight, head and shoulders, and addressed the blind Orc on the road below him.
  "Radbug", he cried, "they've been here before us. Someone's ransacked the chest."
  "Is it there?" roared Radbug.
  "The money's there."
  The blind Orc cursed the money.
  "Thráin's map, I mean", he cried.
   "We don't see it here nohow", returned the other.
  "Rout the house out!" commanded Radbug, striking his stick upon the road.
  There followed a great to-do through all the old inn, iron-hard feet stamping to and fro, furniture thrown over, doors kicked  in, until the very rock re-echoed, and the Orcs came out again, one after the other, on the road, and declared that the map was not to be found. And just then the same whistle we had heard before was once more clearly audible through the night, but this time twice repeated. I had thought it to be the blind Orc's trumpet, so to speak, summoning his mob to the assault; but now I found that it was a signal from the hillside towards the hamlet, and, from its effect upon the Orcs, a signal to warn them of approaching danger.
  "There's Snaga again", said one. "Twice! We'll have to budge, lads."
   "Budge, you skulk?" cried Radbug. "Snaga always was a snivelling coward, like his entire breed of little snufflers. Whoever took the map must be close by; they can't be far; you have your hands on it. Garn!" he growled. "If only Shagrat hadn't squeezed out my eyes!"
  "Hang it, Radbug, we've got the doubloons!" grumbled one.
  "They are probably far away with the accursed thing", said another. "Take the coins, Radbug, and don't stand there squalling."
  "Fools and cowards!" howled Radbug. "Curse you, you filthy vermin! Do you think I can't do a search myself? I'lll untie every string in your bodies. I'll cut the lot of you to quivering shreds if you don't obey. Get back to it!"
  The quarrel threatened to come to blows, but then another sound came from the top of the hill on the side of the hamlet - the tramp of horses galloping. Almost at the same time a pistol-shot, flash and report, came from the hedge side. And that was plainly the last signal of danger; for the Orcs turned at once and ran, separating in every direction, one seaward along the cove, one slant across the hill, and so on, so that in half a minute not a sign of them remained but Radbug. Him they had deserted, whether in sheer panic or out of revenge for his ill words, I know not, but there he remained behind, tapping up and down the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling for his comrades. Finally he took the wrong turn, and ran a few steps past me, towards the hamlet, crying:
   "Azog, Mauhúr, Baggins", and other names, "you won't leave old Radbug, lads - not old Radbug!"
  Just then the noise of horses topped the rise, and four or five riders came in sight in the moonlight, and swept at full gallop down the slope. At this Radbug saw his error, turned with a scream, and ran straight for the ditch, into which he rolled. But he was on his feet again in a second, and made another dash, now utterly bewildered, right under the nearest of the coming horses.
  The rider spurred his horse and rode straight over him. Down went Radbug with a cry that rang high into the night; and the four hoofs trampled and spurned him and passed by. He fell on his side, then gently collapsed upon his face, and moved no more.
  Holmes leapt to his feet and hailed the riders; I followed him. Now I saw that they were Detectives of Rohan, lead by Inspector Lestrade. Holmes greeted him without surprise, and they both kneeled by the body of the dead Orc.
  "Mr Lestrade", said Holmes, "riding down that black, atrocious miscreant was an act of virtue, like stamping on a  cockroach."
  "Yes, Mr Holmes; the only good Orc is a dead Orc."
  A subtle smile crossed my friend's face. "Orc, you say?"
  "Yes, of course; this is Radbug, late of the Company of Cirith Ungol."
  "I'm afraid you are mistaken again, Lestrade", rejoined Holmes. "Radbug was, as you should know, not just maimed but killed by his commanding officer, Shagrat. No, this is an impostor!"
  He pulled away the hat, the green eye-shade and the scarf that had hidden the dead one's face. Lestrade's gasp was echoed by mine. There, in the light of the detectives' lanterns, lay Gandalf of Many Colours, the renegade wizard.
  "Yes", mused Holmes, almost gently. "In his greed to get hold of the map, Gandalf stooped at nothing; not even at disguising himself as an Orc and, by the sheer evil of his intellect and will, gain a complete dominance over his new companions."

Öjevind Lång
teunc.org Stories
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