As Frodo prepared to leave the citadel, he wondered again where Beregond had gone. Once he left the royal apartments and was crossing the eastward gallery that led to the tower stair, he noticed some commotion going on below, outside the guards' hall. Was this the same emergency that had summoned the captain over an hour ago? If Beregond was needed elsewhere, then Frodo decided he wouldn't seek the captain out just to escort him home. Everyone might disapprove, but surely he could walk down to Gandalf's house by himself.
He took the stairs to the ground level. At the bottom, rather than go out through the door by the guards' hall and put himself in the middle of whatever was happening there, Frodo went through the building. He headed down the long corridor that took him along the front of the great hall, past the council-chamber and the Hall of Records, where the scribes worked, and came out by the enormous front doors.
After he passed the Hall of Records, a Man came to the door and called after him, "Investigator! Wait, please!"
Frodo stopped and turned. It was Councilor Imatibin's brother, Erlotibin.
"I was hoping to speak to you after the- ah- incident earlier, but I had my brother to contend with and you slipped away so quickly. May we talk now?"
"Yes," Frodo consented, "for a moment." Even at the heart of the citadel, he felt a little nervous being alone with a relative stranger. There were a dozen or more guards on the other side of the solid stone facade, but would they hear if he cried out for help? "What it is?"
"I must tell you that you've been misled," said Erlotibin. "My brother Imati's done his best to make you think Lord Larengar was responsible for Carathir's murder, but he doesn't believe it himself."
"Is he also lying about the theft from the treasury?" Frodo asked eagerly. It would be a great relief to the King and many other people if that were so.
"I don't know," the Master Scribe admitted. "The story's been whispered around the citadel for weeks. But I know he brought it to your attention today to distract you."
"From what?" asked Frodo. "Is he trying to protect someone?" And, when Erlotibin nodded, "Who? You?"
"No, not me." Erlotibin hesitated, then told him: "We have another brother, the eldest. His name is Gefetibin."
The name was familiar; Frodo recalled seeing it on the list of names Beregond had given him, and he understood. "He's a friend of Broneron's." Was Gefetibin the one Broneron was protecting too?
"You may know that Broneron was head of the Council in Denethor's day. Gef was his aide, and might've been appointed to the Council himself if he hadn't chosen the wrong side and supported the old steward in his madness--or rather, Gef stood by Broneron, who stood by Denethor. And when Broneron was asked to resign, Gef went too. Last night, we learned that you and Captain Beregond were talking to the expelled councilors and the others who'd left the citadel in disgrace. Our friend, Waldimir, called to tell Gef about it, and said he might very well be next. Gef said he'd have to see you when you came to him, but Imati wouldn't hear of it. He's devoted to Gef."
"And so he gave me this new story about Larengar's and Carathir's quarrel, in hopes I'd find it more interesting than a lot of expelled courtiers," Frodo murmured, understanding it all now. So, even the most duplicitous member of the Council had his own sense of loyalty to his family. But why was Imatibin so protective of his elder brother that he was doing all he could to cast suspicion on another Man? What was he afraid Frodo would find out once Gefetibin was discovered?
He asked, and Erlotibin answered, "Perhaps I'd better let Gef tell you that. He isn't permitted to set foot within the citadel, but our home isn't far from Mithrandir's. I can take you there, if you will agree to come."
"Thank you, but it'd be very foolish of me to go anywhere without telling Beregond or my friends where I'll be," said Frodo.
"No harm will come to you," Erlotibin insisted. "If you won't come, will you allow me to bring him-"
A horn was blown from the top of the White Tower to sound an alarm, putting an end to their conversation. Frodo went out to the great hall's front door. A number of guardsmen were running across the courtyard toward the tunnel. The alarm reminded him of that humiliating day when he'd fled the citadel and frightened everyone. Did they think he'd wandered off again?
When he caught sight of Beregond and Faramir, walking swiftly from the guards' hall in his direction, he waved his arms to draw their attention. "It's all right," he called out to them. "I haven't gone anywhere. I was only talking-" He glanced back into the corridor to see that Erlotibin had disappeared. "I'd only gone upstairs to see the King."
"The alarm is not for you, Frodo," Faramir explained from the foot of the stair. "It's Cirandil--he's flown."
"He was meant to report for duty at midday," Beregond added, "and when he did not show himself, others were sent to fetch him. He is nowhere to be found, but his horse is missing from the stable and some of his gear has been taken from his quarters."
"We fear he has left the city. The guard at the city gate reports that a lone rider departed at mid-morning."
"It must have been Cirandil."
Both Men looked dispirited. "As much as I hate to think it so," said Faramir, "this flight looks like a sign of guilt."
"No, not necessarily," Frodo said as he came down the steps to them. "He may have had other reasons for leaving as he did. In the last murder I investigated, our suspicions fell upon a young hobbit-lad, who escaped from a room we locked him up in and fled, we thought to his home in the woods."
"And he wasn't guilty?" asked Faramir
"No, he only went to find someone who could prove his innocence."
"What proof could Cirandil hope to find in the wilderness?" Beregond wondered.
"I don't know," said Frodo. "I've no idea why he's gone, but we'll find out when your Men find him... or when he returns of his own will."
Faramir went up to deliver the news to the King, and Beregond went to direct his guards' search for the missing man. Frodo accompanied the captain down through the tunnel, taking care not to let himself be trampled by the guardsmen on foot and horseback who were rushing out of the citadel at the same time. They parted on the sixth level, when Frodo turned to walk up the quieter end of the street to Gandalf's house.
Merry was there, waiting for him and growing worried since he was so late, but his lunch had been kept warm for him. Another, half-finished plate sat on the kitchen table.
"Gandalf was here too," Merry explained, "but he left when he heard the horn blowing. I think he's afraid it had something to do with you."
"No, not me," said Frodo. "We must have just missed each other going through the tunnel. It's Cirandil that's caused the alarm. He's run off."
Merry whistled. "So that's it then! He's the one."
"We can't say that yet, Merry. You know as well as I do he might've gone for some other reason."
"I know, but he is your most likely suspect. You've said so from the first. Everything's against him. He had the best reasons for killing both his uncle and cousin--money and love--and you even found a connection between him and herbalist. If she did help him, he's the only one who'd want her dead too. You remember that I asked Pahiril and the Master about punishment for herbalists who misuse their craft? They don't kill anyone. Nothing of the sort. It's against their code. They cast them out, so that they're never allowed to practice medicine again. No one at the Houses would kill another healer."
Frodo conceded that Merry was probably right. Only his memory that things had looked just as dark for Rolo Bindbole made him question Cirandil's guilt. He sat down to have his lunch, and was only starting on the soup when there was a knock at the kitchen door. Merry went to answer it, and was surprised to see two Men there.
"Your pardon, little master," said one. "Is your kinsman here? We would speak to him."
Frodo, recognizing the voice, got up and went to the door. When he saw his visitors, he understood at once what had happened to Erlotibin; the scribe had left the citadel and gone home to fetch his eldest brother.
Erlotibin indicated his companion. "This is Gefetibin." But the introduction was unnecessary. This third brother's face was a little fuller and his beard less closely trimmed than Imatibin's, but the family resemblance was obvious. "Since you wouldn't come with me to see him, I thought it best to bring him to you."
"I cannot be seen in the citadel," Gefetibin added. "I'm not permitted to enter without special leave granted by the King, but I want to talk to you, Investigator. May we please come in?"
At a nod from Frodo, Merry stepped back from the ajar door and opened it fully to admit the visitors to the kitchen. The two Men regarded Merry, who showed no sign of leaving the room to let them speak to Frodo in private, with apprehension.
"It's quite all right," Frodo assured them. "My cousin Merry is completely in my confidence. You may speak before him as you would to me alone." He sat on the bench that had been cut down to hobbit size and invited the two brothers to sit down as well. Merry took Frodo's bowl of soup from the table and dumped it back into the pot over the fire to keep it hot, then took a discrete seat on a nearby stool out of the visitors' immediate sight.
As he and his brother sat on the taller kitchen chairs, Gefetibin studied the tiny hobbit before him from the dark mop of curls and pointed ears to the furry toes. "So you're the halfling who's cast the Council into terror? I've heard a lot about you. My brothers bring me all the news. Many of the councilors laughed into their sleeves when the King first bought you in as an expert investigator. They thought it must be a joke. Some, in fact, made unkind jests about the King's and the wizard Mithrandir's obviously favoring a pretty young boy." Merry made a snorting sound of ill-repressed amusement, and Frodo blushed. "They aren't laughing now. You've got some of them badly frightened."
"Your brother Imatibin, for one?" asked Frodo. He was also sure that Imatibin had been one of those who'd laughed and made dirty jokes. His face was still pink over that.
"Indeed." Gefetibin smiled. "You look as harmless as a child, but I've been informed that you're remarkably clever at digging out everyone's secrets and that's always a dangerous thing. You would've found me out sooner or later."
"Soon," said Frodo. "You were next on my list." He and Beregond would almost certainly have seen Gefetibin today if Imatibin hadn't sent them off on an entirely different line of investigation.
"Then please take it as a sign of my good faith that I've come to you first. Imati means well--he only wishes to protect what remains of my reputation--but he's done more harm than good. He makes my situation look more suspicious than it is."
"And what is your situation?" Frodo prompted. "Your brother seems afraid I'll find out you're the murderer I'm looking for. Your friends too, or else they wouldn't take such care to keep your name from me. Not one of them has spoken of you, but it was obvious to me that they were concealing something important--Broneron especially. Will you tell me why they're so afraid? Do they really think you did it?"
"It isn't so!" insisted Erlotibin. "I would never had spoken if I believed that."
Gefetibin put a hand on his youngest brother's arm. "He means Imati, Erlo, not you. And he's right. I didn't poison Carathir, nor his son--I've told Imati and Broneron the same, but they don't believe me. Imati says otherwise, but I see it in his eyes. Broneron seems pleased to think it's true."
"You don't think Carathir was a traitor, as Broneron does?"
"No. He did what he thought best for the city, at the risk of his own life. He hoped to live, when we all expected to die. Broneron, I think, is sorry that he didn't die at Lord Denethor's side, but I am glad to be alive and that Minas Tirith still stands. I see that my allegiance to him was misplaced, but I had little choice. There are many who could tell you what it was like in the citadel in those days."
"Beregond's told me a little," said Frodo. "He said that Broneron called anyone who spoke against Denethor traitors."
Gefetibin nodded solemnly. "None could stand against him, but that didn't mean we must stand with him so ardently. I did as I was told. Imati was more clever than I--he has the good sense to turn whatever way the wind is blowing, and so not be blown away by it. If he was aware of the conspiracy to plan for the city's defense against Denethor's express command, he didn't join it, but he did not betray it. If his loyalties were questioned by Broneron, he never said yes or no, but gave answers that were neither. And when poor Lord Denethor was utterly lost to despair and set himself afire, and the new King arrived to claim his throne, Imati stood without reproach on either side. He has his faults, but it was his skill with words as much as our King Elessar's generosity and good will that assured our whole family wasn't blighted and my brothers have places at court."
"Imati would see Gef restored to his rightful place if he could," said Erlotibin. "Gef was cast out more for being Broneron's aide than for anything he did wrong himself--but for some, Larengar and Carathir among others, that was crime enough. They won out in the end, and Imati's never forgiven them for it."
"That explains why he and Larengar behave so poisonously to each other," said Frodo, "but you haven't told me why he and your friends think you killed Carathir."
A glance was exchanged between the brothers, and Gefetibin said, "They know what occurred just before Carathir's death."
"What happened? Did you quarrel with him?"
"It wasn't a quarrel." Gefetibin sighed. "I was attempting to procure a pardon for myself and those of my old friends who would accept it. We can't live out the rest of our lives as outcasts within our own city. I can't. I'm only five and forty, and have many years ahead. There's much good I can do if I'm allowed to."
"Didn't Broneron object?" Frodo wondered. "He didn't think you were betraying your friends?"
"Oh, no. He thinks we should all be restored, with full pardons. When I told him what I meant to do, he suggested I go to Faramir. Faramir and I were friends of old--and, after all, a Man who would ride out on a futile errand and face almost certain death at his father's command surely understands the meaning of duty."
"Did you speak to Faramir?" Frodo asked, and planned to ask the young Stewart as well. Faramir could not only verify Gefetibin's story, but tell him whether or not Gefetibin was trustworthy.
"No, I held back," answered Gefetibin. "You see, it was his father we obeyed. Even if I have Faramir's sympathies, he has his duties as Steward of the city and his loyalties to the new King, and I would not place an old friend in such an awkward position. Instead, I spoke to Caradan. He was a friend of Erlo's."
"I arranged it," said Erlotibin. "Caradan agreed to meet Gef in the Steward's Arms one evening at midwinter."
"Caradan thought I'd been treated unfairly, and he said he'd do what he could to help me. Unfortunately, his father found out we'd met, and what I wanted, and Carathir came to see me himself. He said not one of us would return--'not as long as I draw breath,' were his exact words. My brothers were there to hear what he said. Carathir vowed he would advise the King never to receive me. And then he went back to his chambers at the citadel, and died only a few days later."
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