Part 19

“Potatoes, my Lady!” cried Arador, from the burner well.

Eowyn stared at him, wide-eyed.

“There is a sack of potatoes we did not have time to stow—over there, by the rope locker,” he said. “When the Orcs are beneath us, drop them!”

…

There was a strange moment of calm, whilst the Orcs gaped at the ship, in awe and confusion.

And then they were running, and shooting, and hurling their weapons and, when they had got rid of those, they threw stones, and clods of earth, and then they stood defiantly, waving their fists and roaring.

Eowyn, taking her time, and aiming her arrows carefully (as Legolas had taught her), thought that she had hit at least two. Legolas and Haldir, each adjusting his stance as The Shieldmaiden flew closer and closer, were killing with elven efficiency.

Eowyn laid down her bow, seized the potato sack and, holding it up to the gunwale, tipped the vegetables over the side.

“Well done, melmenya!” shouted Legolas, seeing the Orcs cower under the deadly shower. The ship passed over them. “Stern!”

The trio rushed aft, and the two elves, leaping up onto the taffrail, finished the beasts with a storm of arrows.

“Please, my LORD,” roared Eldacar, “you are making it almost impossible—”

“I am sorry, sir,” cried Legolas, dropping to the deck and running to the gunwale. “Get away from this place,” he shouted to the astonished family as the ship passed over them. “It is not safe! Head south, along the river.” He moved backwards, trying to stay level with the men. “You will meet with Prince Faramir on the riverbank: tell him that Legolas has sent you! Leg-o-las!”

…

Lingering aft, Eowyn watched the travellers gather up their belongings.

The woman and the elderly man had righted the cart and, whilst the mother comforted her children, the grandfather rounded up the horse and hitched it between the shafts. Meanwhile, the younger man was moving from Orc to Orc, making sure, with a quick plunge of his knife, that the brutes posed no further threat to his family.

…

Eowyn turned away.

For a moment or two, she watched Master Eldacar, who seemed to be gazing into some sort of funnel that stood beside the wheel. Then, “What is that?” she asked.

The scholar gave her one of his childlike smiles. “I call it my seeing-tube,” he said, motioning for her to take a look.

Eowyn peered into the instrument. The tube was sealed with a picture of moorland, seen from directly above, and—she frowned—

The picture was moving. She reached out, and touched it.

The surface was smooth, and cold—A plate of fine quality glass, she thought, or perhaps some sort of crystal—and, after a few moments, she suddenly realised what she was seeing. “How…” She looked up at Master Eldacar, returning his smile. “How in Middle-earth does it work?”

“A simple arrangement of lenses to gather, and mirrors to bend, the rays of light emitted by the ground beneath us,” said the scholar, proudly. “It is essential for safe manoeuvring.”

“It is wonderful! But… We do seem to be flying very low,” said Eowyn.

“Low?” Eldacar looked into the seeing-tube. “Mmm… Arador,” he called, “do not reduce the flames until I tell you.”

“I have not changed the setting, Master,” the boy replied. “The flames are steady.”

Eowyn ran to the taffrail and looked over. “I think we are sinking, sir,” she cried.