12: The ACCU Invades

Glorfindel bent down to look underneath the table.

"Don’t touch it," Amroth warned, speaking in Sindarin.

Glorfindel shook his head as he stood up. "Tiny little bugger isn’t it?" he said cheerfully in the same languge and Elrohir, standing next to him groaned while Amroth merely chuckled.

"And they get tinier every year, it seems," Amroth said, motioning the other two away from the table.

"Range?" Elrohir asked, also speaking Sindarin.

"Not sure," Amroth answered, "but my guess is that it can pick up conversations within the house as well as outside."

"Is this the only one?" Glorfindel asked.

Elrohir nodded. "I only saw him plant that one. He climbed the back wall and pulled out something that looked like a Blackberry."

"The transceiver," Amroth said authoritatively. "It probably has a microchip that is recording everything we say. With computer chips being what they are, it’ll not run out of memory soon. He will no doubt come by periodically to download the conversations to listen to later. He wouldn’t even have to come near it. He just has to be in the vicinity and he will be able to pick up its signal. I suspect he has another gadget that will allow him to do so at a distance."

"He’s going to be very disappointed when he listens to the conversations," Glorfindel said with a feral grin. "As of now we speak only Sindarin. Alert our Mortal friends. Most have a good enough command of Sindarin that they shouldn’t have a problem."

"What reason do we give?" Elrohir asked.

"They’re already used to speaking it when we are in council. I don’t see where they will wonder why we speak it all the time. If any ask just say we Elves feel they need more practice in speaking it and leave it at that."

Elrohir nodded, then asked a different question, directing it to Amroth. "Do you think he’s bugging the Academy?"

"Possibly. We’ll just have to be careful what we say there," Amroth answered with a slight frown. "I can go through it over the weekend to see if I can find them."

"And we’re just going to leave that where it is?" Elrohir demanded, pointing at the table.

"It’s important that he doesn’t know we’re on to him. At least not yet," Glorfindel replied. "Do we know who sent them the photos in the first place, yet?"

Amroth shook his head. "Obviously someone with access to us on a regular basis."

"So someone from the college," Elrohir stated.

"Or from the town," Glorfindel pointed out. "There are a few people who have no love for us."

"Yet, the question remains: who knows enough about the Agency to have sent those photos to Madison Washburn?" Amroth insisted.

"Well, we’re looking at one of them right now," Glorfindel said with a smile.

"Besides me," Amroth retorted with a roll of his eyes. Glorfindel and Elrohir both sniggered.

"That is the question, isn’t it?" Elrohir said. "It’s not that someone took our photos so much as they took our photos and sent them to a particular person. That means someone who used to work for the Agency."

"Or still does," Glorfindel pointed out.

"And what would an agent be doing here in the first place?" Elrohir shot back.

"Could’ve been on vacation," Glorfindel replied with a shrug. "It matters not. It only matters that someone took our pictures and sent them to a government agency that deals with terrorism and other global threats."

"And that brings us back to one Alex Grant, a.k.a. Artemus Gordon Meriwether," Elrohir said pointedly, looking directly at Amroth. "I actually like him. He’s not evil though a darkness lies upon his soul. How long are we going to pretend we don’t know who he really is?"

"It’s early yet," Glorfindel answered before Amroth could speak. "But I agree that we shouldn’t wait too long."

"He needs to make the first move," Amroth said with a shake of his head.

"And that thing recording everything we’re saying isn’t?" Elrohir retorted.

"No," Amroth replied firmly. "Quite frankly, I’m rather disappointed in my former student. He’s being very sloppy and unprofessional."

Glorfindel cast him an amused look. "He’s still very young even by Mortal standards and you know full well that he’s being worked on by others."

"You mean the Belain," Amroth said, giving him a shrewd look.

Glorfindel nodded. "Or the Maiar. I’ve sensed their presence on more than one occasion though they have not revealed themselves to me. I have no doubt that they are subtly influencing our young spy."

"To what end?" Elrohir asked.

"To bring him to a point where he realizes that all that he has thought was true isn’t. Until then there’s not much we can do. If we move too soon we may end up in a worse situation than we are now."

"And if we move too late, someone could get hurt," Elrohir pointed out.

"A risk we must take," Glorfindel said.

"I’ll remind you of your words when I’m comforting one of our friends because someone among us has been hurt or killed," Elrohir retorted with a grimace, walking away in disgust, not willing to listen to his elders’ excuses anymore.

Glorfindel and Amroth watched the younger ellon go into the house. "He’s right, you know," Amroth said.

"Daeron thinks we should confront Alex now rather than later."

"And you agree with him?"

"I told him it was your call. You’re the reason he’s here, more than anything else. We don’t know how much this Agency of yours knows about us, but we do know that he’s here to find out why you are still alive. Couldn’t you have arranged your death a little better?"

Amroth snorted. "I disappeared for fifteen years. It was just bad luck that someone took my photo and sent it to the Agency where I’d once worked."

"Bad luck or something else," Glorfindel said with a raised eyebrow.

Amroth gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, someone wanted one Artemus Gordon Meriwether to come here. He would not have had a reason to unless it was given to him."

"Meaning me."

Glorfindel nodded. "The arms of the Belain are very long," he said. "I have to go. I’m late for my Quenya class. Let everyone know that English or any other Mortal language is no longer allowed inside these walls."

Amroth nodded and Glorfindel gave him a sympathetic look. "It’s going to work out, Amroth. I have every faith that it will be so."

"As do I," Amroth said, but his expression was still doubtful.

****

Amroth reported to the others later that evening as they gathered for dinner. "As far as I can tell, there are no bugs anywhere in any of our offices but I would advise caution nonetheless."

Glorfindel nodded. "We must be cautious anyway, especially during the next couple of weeks. Marian has informed me that the accreditation committee will be here on Monday. So, begin implementing whatever changes to the curriculum you’ve planned to convince these people that we’re on the up-and-up."

"But aren’t we?" Elladan asked with a lift of an eyebrow.

"Yes, we are," Glorfindel said, "but we need this accreditation so let’s not draw attention to the fact that there are such things as Elves in the world."

"What about the rest of the college?" Mithrellas asked. "How do we control what others say?"

"We don’t," Glorfindel answered. "However, the committee members are only going to be dealing with us and the college administration and their point of contact between the two groups will be Marian." He gave them a significant look and there were knowing smiles all around. Marian Goodfellow was firmly on the side of the Elves and was a fierce protector of their interests.

"So what about our Ethir neth?" Vorondur asked, using the phrase they had agreed upon to describe Alex without having to mention his name.

"He’s Amroth’s concern," Glorfindel said decisively. "We are to continue treating him as we have. He is not to know that we know who he really is."

There was a general sigh of discontent throughout the room. "I know it’s difficult and I know some of you want to throttle either him or Amroth or even me because of what you see as indecisiveness on our part, but ultimately we need him on our side. If we move too soon, we could lose him and things could go badly for us."

"You know I disagree with you there," Daeron said, "but you are our lord and so we will obey you in this, but if any of our Mortal friends are harmed by this decision not to confront our Ethir neth now instead of later all bets are off, as the Mortals say."

Glorfindel nodded. "I would expect no less. Now tell me what you all have decided to do with your classes while the accreditation committee is here."

****

When Gil entered his Sindarin class, he was not too surprised to see a stranger there waiting for him. He was an older man in his late forties or early fifties with short blond hair and blue eyes that looked out upon the world myopically behind glasses who introduced himself as Mark Farrell.

"Please pretend that I am not here and conduct your class as usual," the man said. "I am merely an observer. I understand this is a language class."

Gil nodded. "Yes. We’re teaching our students the proper way to address the clients in keeping with their personae as Elves."

Farrell nodded and indicated that he would sit in the back. As students entered and took their seats, most of them stared at the newcomer, some of them with frowns, not knowing who he was. Gil took a moment to introduce Farrell to the class, stating only that he was here to observe Gil’s teaching style.

"Right then," he said. "I thought we would take a break from the grammar lessons and practice what we’ve been learning. Who can tell me all the ways in which an Elf can greet someone? Alex, what’s one phrase?"

"Uh... mae govannen," Alex answered readily enough. Gil wrote the words on the board.

"And that means what? Everyone."

"Well met," the entire class chanted. Gil nodded in satisfaction, then pointed to one of the young women. "Michelle, give me another phrase."

"Aur maer?" she said hesitantly.

"Close," Gil said. "You’re forgetting something."

"Oh...the mutation. It’s ‘aur vaer’ and it means ‘good morning’."

"Very good. Who remembers the traditional Elven greeting? Louis?"

"Gil híla... um... erin lû e-govaded mîn... uh no, vîn," the young man answered, stumbling a bit over the phrase.

"Are you sure about that?" Gil couldn’t help asking with an amused smile after he wrote the phrase out and Louis blushed while the rest of the class chuckled though there was nothing malicious about it.

"And what does it mean? Everyone."

"A star shines on the hour of our meeting," the class chimed.

"Very good," Gil said, smiling at the class though he was watching Farrell in the back taking notes and wondering what the Man was thinking. He put his own worries to the side and continued conducting the class, quizzing them on the phrases that they already knew, including how to introduce themselves.

"I still don’t understand why we’re learning these, though," Alex said at one point, though there was nothing confrontational in his tone, just honest confusion. "Can’t we just say ‘hello’? None of the tourists will understand us. They’ll either give us blank stares or start giggling."

"Obviously, you’re not expected to speak Sindarin all the time," Gil answered with a sly smile and the class chuckled. Then his expression became more serious. "Let’s face it. If all the safari companies and resorts wanted were plain old tour guides they would’ve simply recruited people who are already in the tourist industry or are studying tourism in college. But that’s not what they wanted. They wanted people who could take on the personae of Elves during the winter season. In spite of the recent economic downturn, this region is seeing more tourism during the winter months every year. Those who are involved in developing tourism in this region wanted an extra draw and having their tour guides be Elves was one part of it. So, these classes are designed to help you create a believable Elf persona with all the mystique that goes with it, while also teaching you what you need to be professional guides."

Gil was actually pleased that Alex had asked the question, for it had given him the opportunity to explain the raison d’etre for the Sindarin class for the benefit of Mr. Farrell, who was still scribbling away. "So, why don’t we put what we’ve learned so far into practice?" he suggested. "All of you will have Elvish-sounding names before the end of term. In the meantime, for purposes of this class, if you are a male, you will call yourself ‘Sador’ and if female, your name will be ‘Eirien’." He wrote the names on the board. "Get with a partner and take turns introducing yourselves. Try to vary your greetings and try not to look at the board."

For the next several minutes, the class rang with the students mouthing various Sindarin phrases while Gil went around the room, gently correcting mispronunciations. Alex naturally teamed up with Derek and Gil was pleased to see that the young man was willing to do the exercise without question.

"Mae govannen, mellyn nîn, a haur vaer. Gil híla erin lû e-govaded vîn. Im estannen Sador."

"That’s very good, Alex," Gil said with a smile. "You said that without hesitating once."

Alex shrugged. "I’ve always been good with languages and we’ve been saying these phrases all morning."

Gil just smiled. "Let’s hear you, Derek."

"Yessir," he said, then cleared his throat nervously. "Ah... um... mae govannen a dortho ví glass. Im estannen Sador... ah... how do you say ‘your guide?"

Gil told him and Derek repeated it and Alex copied him. When he was satisfied the two men were comfortable with speaking the phrases, Gil moved to the next group, all the while watching Mark Farrell scribbling away.

At the end of class, as the students were filing out the door, Gil was amused to see Alex trying his Sindarin on one of the young women, speaking in a suave manner, obviously using the phrases as pick-up lines. Lucy Barton giggled.

"No dice, sailor," she said.

"Hey! He’s the sailor, not me," Alex protested with his own laugh, pointing at Derek who stuck his tongue out at the two of them. Lucy just giggled some more and the three left together joking between them.

Farrell had stayed behind. "An interesting class," he said to Gil. "So who came up with this language anyway?"

"Ah, I guess you could say it was a group effort," Gil answered with a smile and then bid the Man a good day, leaving Farrell to his own devices.

****

Throughout the week the students saw several people sitting in on the classes. None of the strangers importuned the students during this time nor was it something they normally would have done anyway. Their main focus was on the administration and teaching staff and their main concern was that the students were receiving the proper education that would see them gainfully employed at the end of their studies. Glorfindel and Marian, along with Daeron, spent the most time with the committee, reviewing the questionnaire and explaining certain aspects of the curriculum.

"I’m still not sure why this emphasis on archery, fencing and martial arts," Mark Farrell said to Glorfindel, "especially when the other students at the college are allowed to choose whatever phys. ed. classes they wish."

Glorfindel nodded. "True, but when we established this Academy, it was decided to limit those classes for our students. Archery and fencing are very traditional sports and indeed originally they were not sports at all but part of weapons training in medieval warfare, though fencing actually is derived from the older sword fighting. We felt that in taking these particular classes our students would be able to slip into the medieval mindset more easily as they build up their Elf personae."

"And the martial arts?" one of the women from the committee asked.

"It’s actually a self-defense class," Glorfindel answered. "We have more women than men in our classes and given the times in which we live, we felt it prudent to teach all our students some self-defense moves for their own protection and the protection of their clients, especially the children."

There were nods all around. Then Farrell, who appeared to be the head of the committee, went on to another point, addressing Glorfindel. "It is our understanding that most of the administrative and teaching personnel were not originally recruited when the Academy first opened. In point of fact, I believe several were students in that first class, including yourself and Mr. Harper. Tell us, if you would, Mr. DelaFiore, what qualifications you bring to this college that allow you to be the administrative head of the Academy when previously Ms Goodfellow held that position."

Farrell leaned back in his chair, smiling slightly with an air about him as if he couldn’t wait to hear what lies were about to be told him. Glorfindel glanced at Daeron and Marian, the loremaster staring impassively at Farrell while Marian went pale. He turned his attention to Farrell and the other committee members and smiled an easy smile. "I have held administrative posts in previous jobs though admittedly not in a college setting. Should I tell you about them?" he asked rhetorically, then launched into a litany of his past experiences, producing documentation to prove his point, for he and the others had anticipated the possibility that such a question would arise and all the Elves had gathered what documentation they felt relevant in case they were asked about their own credentials.

By the time Glorfindel was finished with his resumé Farrell and the others were staring at him in disbelief. "You’re far too young to have done all that, young man," one of the older women said.

Glorfindel smiled. "I am older than I look," and left it at that. Farrell shuffled through the documents Glorfindel had given him, frowning as he read them, obviously trying to find something that he could use to discredit the man sitting before him, but with a frustrated sigh he handed the documents back to Glorfindel.

"They seem to be legitimate," he reluctantly averred.

"And they are," Glorfindel said smoothly. "And now I see that our time is up, for Mr. Harper and I have classes to teach."

"You don’t teach any classes here at the Academy," someone stated.

"No. We offer non-credit classes to the townspeople as part of the Adult Continuing Education department of the college," Glorfindel replied. "Darren is a musician and offers classes in music theory and composition for those interested in such things. I teach a class in wilderness survival and am often asked to give talks on the subject to the various scout groups in the area."

With that, Glorfindel bid Farrell and the others a good day and left with Daeron, leaving Marian to continue acting as hostess.

****

Alex noted the various strangers walking the halls of the Academy, sitting in the various classrooms, studiously ignoring the students, and automatically catalogued their every movement, memorizing faces and, when possible, their names. He noticed that Farrell seemed to appear in every one of his own classes, even going so far as to accompany them on their field trips and sitting in the cafeteria while Alex and his classmates studied the fine art of making snickerdoodles and marzapan. In a fit of mischief, he put together a small plate of the goodies that had been made that day and took them over to Farrell, giving him a toothsome grin as he set the plate in front of the bemused looking man. Derek grinned at him as he returned to their workstation to help clean up but didn’t say a word.

Since there would be no lunch offered at the cafeteria, Alex decided to skip it altogether even though Derek and some others were going into town to have lunch. He made his excuses, saying he would see them in the afternoon for fencing, then made his way out, heading in a direction opposite the one Derek and the others would take to reach the town, cutting across campus until he was on a side street that would take him down towards the mansion. He’d already pocketed the iPad-like gadget that would allow him to download the conversations already stored in the transceiver. Reaching his destination, he pulled out the device and stuck earbuds into his ears as he sauntered past the mansion, looking for all the world as if he were simply walking, listening to his favorite music. Instead, he fiddled with the device until he found the signal and hit the command button to download. He walked slowly so as to remain in range. The download icon turned green, signaling that the download had been successful and he opened another icon to allow himself to listen to the conversations.

"Avo lepto..."

Alex listened with growing disbelief as he heard absolute gibberish. He recognized Ambrose’s voice and Loren’s and suspected the third person was one of the twins, but he wasn’t sure which. He muttered in disgust as he checked the time stamp on the file and scanned to a later time, stopping to listen again. Now there were female voices along with male voices and not a word of English among them. He thought he recognized one or two words but they were speaking so rapidly he wasn’t sure. Closing down the file, he sighed, taking the earbuds out of his ears and shoving the gadget back into a pocket.

Useless. The bug was entirely useless. Either they were on to him or behind those walls no English was spoken. How were these people able to communicate so fluently in a language that he was still convinced was invented? He frowned, standing there in deep thought. Perhaps it wasn’t invented....

That thought startled him. Or rather, it was invented, like Esperanto. He knew there were plenty of Esperanto speakers though he himself did not speak it. And there were other such artificial languages running about so why not this one? Still...

He shook his head in disgust and continued on, deciding to grab a quick bite at the local MacDonald’s and get back to the college for his fencing class. Obviously, he was not going to learn anything from listening in on the conversations. He didn’t have enough command of the language yet to even make a stab at translating what he was hearing. He would return later to retrieve the transceiver.

He returned to the college and was on his way to his room to change into sweats, preferring to wear loose-fitting clothing for the fencing class. He was about to climb the stairs when Mark Farrell appeared at the door to the reading room.

"Ah, Mr. Grant. Just the person I wished to see. Would you like to step into the library for a chat?"

"And why would I want to do that?" Alex asked in annoyance. "I have a class to get to and I’m running late."

"This will only take a few minutes, Mr. Grant," the man said mildly.

"Sorry, but you’ll have to catch me another time," Alex retorted as he climbed the stairs, not in the mood to be polite. He was halfway to the second floor when Farrell’s next words stopped him cold.

"It’s snowing in Moscow I understand."

The very incongruence of the statement sent shivers down Alex’s spine, but he recognized the code words. Walking slowly back down the stairs he gave Farrell a shrewd look. The man simply smiled at him.

"But the sun still shines in St. Petersburg," he said, giving the countersign.

Farrell’s smile deepened and he gestured with his left hand for Alex to proceed him into the reading room. "As I said, Mr. Grant, this won’t take long."

Farrell closed the door, then crossed over to one of the overstuffed chairs and sat, gesturing for Alex to take his own seat. "And now let us speak of many things... Mr. Meriwether."

****

Words are Sindarin:

Ethir neth: (Sindarin): Young spy, literally ‘out-watcher’.

Dortho ví glass; ‘Remain in joy; welcome’; similar to the Quenya phrase hára mariessë ‘stay in happiness/goodness’, an attested phrase of welcome. The Sindarin phrase is not attested but is constructed based on the Quenya example.

Avo lepto: ‘Don’t touch it’.