The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 17

Things progress uncomfortably, and Azruhâr's good deed has unexpected consequences.

Amraphel had been right; Master Târik was wroth with me. When I finally returned to work the next day, Kârathôn greeted me with a playful "Well, look who's bothering to rejoin us!" and Mîkul told me that he was glad to see me, Master Târik first said nothing at all, staring right through me. A bit later, he did speak, and in a calm voice, too; but I could hear the tension underneath the surface, just as I could see that there was no smile either on his lips nor in his eyes.
"Good morning, Azruhâr."
"Good morning, Master Târik," I said uncomfortably. "I apologise for..." Where should I begin? I couldn't decide, so I ended in, "...everything."
"Yes, that about covers it, doesn't it," he said, and then turned and made for the stairs without further ado.
Mikûl grimaced at me. "I don't think it worked," he said. "You may have to be more specific."
I had realised that, of course, and hurried to change into my work clothing so I could walk down to the catacombs myself. I barely managed not to trip over my own feet.
"Sir," I panted when I had caught up with Master Târik, "can we talk about this?"
"Yes," he said, his voice flat, "I expect we should." But he did not stop walking until we were inside the first vault, where he leaned against the work bench, folding his arms in front of his chest and giving me the sternest of looks, his jaw firmly set. Behind him, I could see the notes Amraphel had taken of our conversation about my ideas. They had been nailed to the wall with, from the looks of it, rather more force than necessary: some of the nails were bent, others had been driven into the plaster all the way to the head. Somebody had been very upset. I was more than a little frightened.
On the rare occasions that I had seen Master Târik angry, it had been a quiet anger, turned inward; it was hard to imagine him furiously driving nails into the wall until they could not go any further. He seemed to have his anger under control now, but it was clearly there. I had no idea how to begin.

"About... that," I said, nodding at the mistreated sheets of paper, "I know I should have spoken to you first. I only thought of it during the holiday week and things happened rather too fast after that. I never meant to make plans without you. I am desperately sorry. I really wish things had been otherwise."
Master Târik's fingers were rapidly tapping the crooks of his arms. "You are missing the point," he said tersely. "Yes, you've presumed to send me instructions without so much as a 'by your leave'. But more importantly, you have made me look like a fool in front of the King and Council. And even that is insignificant compared to the danger you have brought upon us --"
"Danger?" I now had to interrupt him. "Upon you?"
"Yes, Azruhâr, danger! You have no idea how hard I have been struggling to satisfy the King's demand for good news while not raising his hopes pre-emptively. You have no idea how difficult it has been! We do not announce that we have a great new method before we are reasonably certain that it will work! And certainly not before we've even tried it! That is precisely what has been the Raisers' downfall – insisting that they had found a way to do the impossible, and then failing again and again and again. The higher his hopes, the harsher the disappointment, and by now, the King is at the end of his patience! Every disappointment may be the final straw. The Raisers just had to endure a day's punishment and are now out of favour, but we? If his Majesty decides that he is tired of us, he may very well remember the crimes that brought us here, and then..." His voice had risen in pitch and sunk in volume; now it failed him altogether. He did not know what to do with his hands, he shifted from foot to foot; I had never seen him so unbalanced.

And no wonder. I felt chilled to my bones myself. I was painfully aware of the presence of Mîkul and Kârathôn behind me, of their footsteps on the stone floor, of the deliberately slow way in which they seated themselves on the slab and shifted into a comfortable position. So far, I had thought only of the danger to myself. I had not considered that it might extend to my colleagues as well.
"You don't know that the King will have us put to death," I tried to defend myself. "He needs us!"
"No, Azruhâr. He needs our enterprise, not us. I have seen it happen! I do not expect that I will be lucky enough to draw the longer straw again. Are you feeling so lucky? Or maybe you will not need it, because you have a noble friend now? Unfortunately, the rest of us cannot boast of such powerful connections."
"He is not my friend, it's only --" Business, I had meant to say. But of course, it didn't ultimately make a difference, so I stopped. "I am sorry," I said, rubbing my nose. "I really did not think so far. Mind you, I had no time to think about anything. I suppose that is no consolation, but I did not want to announce the new method before we had tried it. The Crown Prince rather forced my hand."
"That may be, but the fact remains that you have incriminated us all in your attempt to save yourself! That was an incredibly selfish thing to do, Azruhâr."

I nodded despondently. He was right. "I did not realise it. But yes. I suppose that's what I did." I looked him in the eyes, full of honest dread. He was more afraid than angry, I realised – now, at least. Taking a deep breath, I declared, "I will take sole responsibility, I promise it. We can say that you were never involved in my new experiments, and that it is my fault alone that the King's hopes were raised and disappointed. It is the truth, anyway. It would explain why you did not know of them, too."
Kârathôn cleared his throat. "Don't make promises that you can't keep. You'll take sole responsibility? Really? If you had a chance to save yourself by spreading the blame, wouldn't you do that?"
I had no immediate answer to that. Would I? "Not if I had promised otherwise," I protested, but of course, I couldn't be certain of that. It is easy to say that one would never do this or that, but I knew only too well what fear, and pain, and fear of pain, could do to a man's resolve. I looked down, ashamed. "Maybe it will not fail," I said, though I myself wasn't convinced. "I know we haven't tried it before, so we can't know that it fails. Maybe it really will work. Then you have nothing to fear."
Master Târik gave a bitter snort. "I would say 'Eru hear you', but we are not exactly doing His work down here, so there is no use," he said.
"Lord Eärendur seems to think otherwise," said I. Even in my memory, the words seemed to be surrounded by a heavy fog, but nonetheless I recalled them: If the knowledge that their body will be preserved incorrupt helps people to accept the Gift of Ilúvatar more readily, then the Keepers' work is as valuable to me as it is to your Majesty. But perhaps Master Târik had not heard any of that. My colleagues had kept away from the commotion as long as they could, after all. I wasn't the only one keen on saving myself.

Either way, Master Târik actually moved away as if my presence had become physically revolting. "The less we speak of your lord Eärendur, the better," he ground out. I was shocked. I would have thought that Master Târik would be the first to admire Lord Eärendur; instead, his voice now bordered on venomous. I could see his jaw working, as if he had to chew down further words.
"Why? Do you know something that I don't?" I couldn't help asking, frowning with uncertainty. "I thought he was an excellent man."
Without turning to face me or stopping, Master Târik said, "Oh, no doubt he is the best man you have ever met, if not the best who ever breathed -- I want to hear nothing of it."
My eyelids fluttered in surprise. "Are you jealous of Lord Eärendur?" I heard myself say. I hadn't even realised that I was thinking these words because it seemed so absurd. Being jealous of a nobleman was like envying a bird or a rose – a complete waste of strength. And Master Târik had always been so sensible. Now, he did not even answer; instead he went into the corridor, and let the door fall shut behind him. I bit my lip until I thought it might split.
"No, you idiot, he's jealous of you," Mîkul said in his place, and I turned to face the other two. In spite of his words, Mîkul's expression could pass as sympathetic. Karathôn had his arms crossed in front of his chest just as Master Târik's had been, but he, too, looked wistful rather than angry.
Mîkul went on, "If he'd ever entertained the hope that Andúnië could look kindly upon one of our kind, he'd probably have worn his knees raw to try and win their affection. And you're not even an elf-friend!"
"They don't like that," I said absentmindedly.
Mîkul raised an eyebrow. "Not being an elf-friend? That's to be expected, but --"
"No, I mean, wearing your knees raw. Lord Eärendur says there is no need for," I tried to remember his turn of phrase, "constant demonstrations of power and subservience."
"Well, that's nice," Kârathôn said. "But see, you know these things, and he doesn't, and that alone is gnawing on him. So don't go mentioning your noble... patron around him all the time. He won't tell you, but he really wishes he was in your position."
"Without getting clobbered around the head, of course," Mîkul said drily, "he probably doesn't wish for that. How's your head doing, by the way? We haven't even asked about that. How shockingly rude."
"I'm fine. And you had other things on your mind. I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble. "
Kârathôn shrugged and raised his hands in resignation. "For my part, I'll pretend that there is no chance of failure until I am forced to think otherwise. Mind you, if you really have brought us to ruin, I might be tempted to clobber you myself!"
"Do that," I told him. "Spare me a traitor's death." At their surprised faces, I felt a surge of annoyance. "What? I'm in as much danger as the rest of you. If anything, I'll be facing the wrath of both the King and – my noble patron. So there's really no need to be like that," I said with a pointed look at the closed door. The door didn't seem to be moved in any way.
Mîkul slid from the slab to his feet. "He'll come around. But he is feeling betrayed, so it'll take a while. The stakes are higher for him than for us; he has a family--"
"Well, so do I," I pointed out. I was getting tired of all this. I could understand Master Târik's fear – only too well! - and to some extent, I also understood how he envied me my business with the lords of Andúnië, though I hadn't done anything that he couldn't have done himself. I hadn't even asked for any of it. Besides, I might not have needed to blurt out my secret plans if my colleagues hadn't kept their distance, I thought. It was a little unfair to blame me for trying to save myself first and foremost, when they had acted no differently. But I could hardly say that. Instead, I lapsed into silence.
After a while, Kârathôn heaved a sigh. "Well," he said. "There's a lot to do. Let's get to work."

In spite of his annoyance with my instructions, Master Târik did not seem to object to the new turn our experiments were taking. In fact, he expected us to be even more thorough than I had imagined, revisiting materials that had produced promising but only short-lived effects to see whether they could be made to last through the use of resin. We certainly used up a lot of the stuff (the resin-cutters of Andúnië must be creating a whole lot of revenue). We used it undiluted, but we also experimented with a solution in spirit of wine, along with resin-analogues like pitch and propolis. It was a messy business, but I could have enjoyed the feeling of trying something new and promising.
If only the work could have been done in better cheer. Master Târik returned to his civil self after the first day, and I was never punished for my insubordination; but he did not speak more than necessary. Kârathôn's usual quips were met with a stony silence also, and eventually, he stopped making them. It was probably better that way. There was too much frustration that might have erupted at the slightest provocation. I regretted it greatly, but I did not know what I could do about it. My apology had clearly gone wrong, but I could not undo what had happened. All I could do was work at my hardest and be at my most obedient to show that although I had pushed ahead without consultation, let alone permission, I had no intent of questioning Master Târik's authority. But since that was only a small part of the problem, it did very little to alleviate the situation.

At the end of the first week, I was accosted by a beggar on my way home. That is, I had to assume that he was a beggar – it was payday, a good day to pester folks for money, and dressed in only breeches and a stained shirt, this man seemed to be in need of just that. But his demeanor was not that of a beggar; he stood too tall for that. He stepped into my way unapologetically, and I stopped on instinct. "What do you want?" I asked, alarmed (and also a little annoyed).
"You are Azruhâr," the beggar said. It was not a question.
"Yes," I said, starting to wonder whether this was the prelude of a new attack. There were plenty of passers-by, which I considered a good sign. I could perhaps not be certain that their presence would deter an attacker, but a crowded street felt safer than a lonely corner. I tried to figure out what the stranger might want. He did look like a man who could be trouble, with strong legs and broad shoulders and the sort of straight-backed deportment cultivated by years of being in charge. No ordinary beggar, this; rather, someone who had been in authority, and only recently fallen on hard times. Crime and imprisonment, to judge by the marks on his wrists and ankles – not merely grazed, but actually chafed raw, which suggested a lengthy time in bonds. Studying the stranger more closely, I noticed that his breathing was deliberately shallow, like that of a man desperate to keep the strain off broken ribs or a flayed back. He was doing his best to hide it – he was clearly braver than I would have been under the circumstances – but I could deduce that he was in a great deal of pain. That probably meant that he was no threat just now, although I still did not allow myself to relax.
"Yes," he said, observing my stock-taking, "it's surprising how much resentment the city watch harbour for a palace guard – particularly one accused of treason."
Realisation dawned on me. "You are Balakhil," I guessed. "I did not recognise you without the uniform."
He gave a bitter laugh through clenched teeth. "My days in uniform are over. I have been dishonourably discharged."
"I am sorry to hear it," I replied automatically, and had to ask myself: Was I? Not really, I decided. A dishonourable discharge seemed appropriate enough. "But you are alive," I pointed out.
"Yes," he agreed. "I'm alive. Thanks to you, I am told."
"Thanks to his Majesty's mercy," I said. My hands were dangling uselessly by my side, and I folded them across my my chest to get them out of the way.
A dismissive snort, followed by a grimace of pain. "Either way, it would appear that I owe you gratitude. And an apology."

I should probably have been happy with this development, but I did not feel that I could trust it. Perhaps it was a trap. I glanced around uncomfortably, but the people in the street continued to walk past. It did not appear as if any of them wanted to close in on me while I was distracted.
"I suppose," I said cautiously. "Make it quick then. I want to be on my way."
He gave me a wide-eyed stare in response, and no wonder. There were probably time-honoured words to be spoken on such an occasion. I did not know them.
"That is all?" Balakhil said. "One should think that you would be happy."
Everybody seemed to know what I should do, I thought a little bitterly. "Yes, well, one should also think that I would have been happy to see you die a traitor's death," I retorted, "but I wasn't. I don't want revenge. I don't want apologies or thank yous, either. It's alright. I don't care. I am glad that you have been released, because it wouldn't have been right to send you to the scaffold. But beyond that, it doesn't matter." I had spoken more hotly than was my wont. But I had no time to regret it. Where the road met with the byway to the market, a troup of city guards rounded the corner. They moved steadily, like they were routinely patrolling the streets, rather than running as if to catch a fugitive criminal, yet I was certain that this was the trap that I had feared. Balakhil no doubt meant to keep me until they reached us. I tried to think of an escape route, and he duly distracted me again. "It matters to me!" he complained.

I closed my eyes with a heavy sigh. Clearly visible behind his broad shoulders, the soldiers continued marching towards us.
"It's over, Balakhil." Maybe I should just turn and walk away? I was not yet far from the citadel; at a brisk pace, I might be able to reach Lord Eärendur's house.
But Balakhil had now gone down on his knees, clutching the hem of my tunic. The glances of the passers-by slid over the scene and away again. A beggar pleading was hardly a novel thing; they were probably relieved that I, not they, had to deal with what to them looked like a common nuisance.
"No, sir, that will not do," Balakhil protested. "I must be allowed to have my say." He was maintaining his act convincingly enough, but I could still see the watchmen come closer, and closer. I could have extricated myself from his grasp easily enough. I could have struck him around the head and tried to escape. But if it was a trap, it would be closing in from both directions and I was already doomed. And so I stood transfixed to the spot, waiting for the inevitable. Balakhil, meanwhile, spoke on. His voice wasn't unpleasant to hear, and he managed to keep it firm and even, but I still wished I could have drowned it out.
"I hope you will believe me how very much I regret what has happened. I meant no harm to you, personally, nor did I mean to harm the King's prospects; in truth, I have only ever striven to protect the royal house from harm..."
"I never did, and never will, do harm to the royal house," I interrupted him sharply, briefly torn out of my worried observation of the approaching guards. He regretted what had happened? Of course he did; it had cost him his position and obviously gotten him flogged and who knows what else. Anyone would regret that! As for whether he had struck me personally or not – what should I care? It made nothing better!
"Do you regret hitting me too hard – or not hard enough?" I asked, deciding that there was no more point in escaping. At least I could show him that I was not fooled so easily, then. Balakhil flinched at the question, but he no longer needed to reply because the guards, six of them, reached us at that point. As expected, they stopped, surrounding us in a half-circle. I took a deep breath to brace myself when I realised that Balakhil's reaction did not fit my expectations. His eyes widened in surprise as he looked around at the guards, and I could see the dark in his eyes flare up in terror. It did not look as though he had been prepared for their arrival after all.

And indeed, they did not behave as if they had come to support him against me. Instead, their leader asked me, "Is that man troubling you, sir? Would you like us to remove him?"
My mouth had dropped open, but before I could respond, Balakhil spoke up. "No, please," he said hastily, "I am no trouble! Far from it, I swear!" His hands had relinquished their grip on my tunic and were now held up imploringly, revealing the crusted sores on his wrists. His voice had lost its confidence, sounding suddenly like that of a much older man, worn and weary. I glanced down at him, and his eyes met mine with a look of pure pleading that looked quite genuine.
"Sir?" the guard repeated, pulling my attention away from Balakhil, who went on, "I am only trying to settle a debt, please --"
The guard ignored him completely. The word of a beggar had no weight, of course, so it seemed to be up to me to make a decision.
"No, thank you," I said, "I think I can handle him." From the corner of my eye, I could see Balakhil's shoulders sag in relief.
After a moment's deliberation, the leader nodded to the other guards. "Very well, sir." With a curt bow, he took his leave from me. "Onwards," he told his colleagues, and they fell back into file and marched on.
A patrol. It had only been a routine patrol after all. I let out a long, slow breath, and felt very silly when I realised that Balakhil was heaving a similar sigh. "Thank you," he said softly, "I don't think I could have taken another beating."
"Oh, you're a brave man," I said, trying to mask my relieved embarrassment. "You'd have pulled through."
"I'm not so sure," Balakhil admitted, "it's hard enough to keep breathing."
I sighed, feeling suddenly sad and tired. "Yes. I know." I was chewing on my lip again; no wonder it was constantly chapped. "Come, get up," I said for the sake of saying something. "You don't want to draw more attention, don't you?"
A shadow flitted across Balakhil's face. "I don't suppose I can ask you to help me up?" he said quietly. "I'm – somewhat out of shape." He was, too. When I gave him my hands, his grip was shockingly weak – I could have easily torn free from him earlier – and I had to invest more strength than expected to pull him back to his feet. And it wasn't because he didn't try; I could feel him tremble with the effort, and I could hear his teeth grind on each other as he clenched his jaw. He kept quiet, though. My hands, which had needed to take quite a strong hold on his wrists, came away bloodied, but he didn't even groan. It was as annoying as it was admirable. Well, I suppose guards, even if they were mostly ornamental palace guards, were selected for a certain amount of valour.

We began to amble down the street, towards a little park. I knew there would be a fountain for washing my hands.
"I have been punished for both, you know," Balakhil said after a moment's silence. He was still speaking in that defeated tone; the ordeal had taken some toll on him after all, it seemed. When I did not answer, he continued uninvited, "For striking not hard enough, and for striking too hard."
I shrugged. I wasn't honestly surprised. I also didn't particularly care to discuss the matter further, but Balakhil seemed determined to – yes, to do what? I still did not feel like I had heard a proper word of apology. I had been honest when I had said that I did not care for it, but if he insisted that he had to deliver one, then I wondered why he didn't get on with it. Because he needed to settle this question first, apparently.
"First, his Majesty had me beaten for harming you," Balakhil explained, "and later, his Highness whipped me for failing him. In the meantime, I suppose my jailors were just delighted to have a fallen palace guard at their mercy, and they made me pay very dearly for my purported treason, also."
"I'm not sure your being a palace guard has anything to do with it," I needed to point out. "In my experience, they are delighted to make anyone pay very dearly."
"Maybe," he said sullenly, apparently disappointed because I wasn't impressed by the tale of his suffering. I couldn't help it. I pitied his pain, of course I did, but it didn't endear him to me. He shouldn't expect me to, since he tried so hard not to show it.

We reached the fountain, the decorative kind that had a sculpture – dancing miniature maidens, in this case – on it and water pumped up to splash down from a certain height. Perhaps the pretty maidens were supposed to be dancing in the rain, or maybe a waterfall, although that seemed to me like a dangerous thing to do. Either way, I was glad to be able to clean my hands. The smear of blood had mingled with my sweat, and the sticky sensation of it lingered even after there was nothing left to see. Balakhil cupped his hands into the water and drank it greedily. I dried my hands on my tunic and waited until he had finished.
"Look," I said when he stepped away from the fountain at last, "I really don't mean to be graceless, but unless there's something important, I would like to go home now. I'm sure you could use some rest, too. Recover your strength and all that."
Balakhil stared at me with his brow furrowed. "I thought you would have some purpose for me," he said. "I owe you my life, after all."
I felt my eyes widen in shock. Yes, he owed me his life. I had not considered that. Nor did I want to consider it now, in all honesty. The last thing I needed was a resentful bondservant.
"I don't want it," I said bluntly. "Keep it, and return to your home and family."
The look he gave me now was rather unflattering; he clearly felt that I should have known better. "I have no home or family. I was a palace guard," he pointed out slowly.
Of course, of course; he would have shared a bedchamber with other guards somewhere in the citadel, and was probably barred from marriage for the length of his service, which had only just ended unceremoniously. "Parents?" I suggested.
"Yes, they'll be delighted to take me in, dishonoured as I am," he said tersely.
I scratched my head. "Well, I don't want to take you in either," I said. "I don't really have a use for you."
That seemed to sting his pride. "I can pull my weight! I could be your bodyguard. Or your groundkeeper, perhaps."
I couldn't help laughing. "Balakhil, I live on a tiny plot of land. My house consists of three rooms and a kitchen. There is nothing to do for a groundkeeper. As for bodyguarding..." I wondered how I could put this diplomatically, and figured that I probably couldn't. "You'll understand that I'm a bit wary about trusting you of all people with my safety."

He looked down at the cobblestones, or maybe his bare feet. It must be an unusual sight for a man used to a handsome uniform and well-shined boots. "I am loyal," he muttered indignantly. "And I'm in your debt."
I heaved a heavy sigh. "So you are. But I don't want your service. Look, Balakhil, I release you from your obligation. You're free, alright? Go and live your life."
He didn't look as content as he should have, really. His eyes met mine again, and they were full of doubt rather than relief. "That is generous, I suppose. But what will I do?"
I closed my eyes, and immediately felt how weary I was. I felt as if I could have fallen asleep on the spot. Nobody had warned me about this, I thought grimly. Nobody had told me that I would have to figure out what to do with a dishonoured palace guard. I massaged the bridge of my nose, hoping to dispel the sense of exhaustion that way. It didn't help. I said, "I suppose you'll share the fate of everybody else who doesn't have a secure position in life. Do you have money?"
He grimaced. "A little. Not much. Guards aren't paid all that well, you know." I didn't. It was a prestigious post, being a guard. Then again, perhaps the prestige was considered reward enough. With no family and no house of their own and their food coming from the palace kitchens, they wouldn't need high wages, anyway.
Balakhil added, in a rather plaintive tone, "I would have been given a generous reward after retiring honourably, of course, but it is not going to happen now."
I pondered this, and had to acknowledge that his situation was looking rather bleak. Releasing him from his obligation to serve me was not enough if he didn't even have a place to stay. So I fished the coins I had just been given from my pouch and held them out to him. He stared at me as if he'd never seen a silver Crown before. "Here," I explained, "this should help set you up. Find yourself some lodgings. Register with a merchant in one of the lower markets so you can get your rations. See a healer, for pity's sake. And once you're recovered, you'll just have to go looking for work like other day-talers do. They manage. You'll manage."
Balakhil continued to frown at me as if I had spoken a foreign language. Very slowly, his hand moved to accept the money. He was no good as a beggar, and he would make a lousy day-taler, I couldn't help thinking; he didn't even kiss the coins to show how much he appreciated them. You always had to demonstrate your appreciation. Well, he would probably figure that out in time. After all, it didn't take a lot of learning to be a day-taler.

That encounter put a fitting end to an already botched week, and as a result, I attended dinner in Lord Eärendur's house in rather low spirits. I was not cheered when I learned that my benefactor would return to Andúnië the next day, leaving me (as I feared) more vulnerable yet. I felt as though I would be trapped in a city full of people who hated me. I chewed my meat until it had lost all taste, sipped listlessly on my wine.
My brooding was noticed and remarked upon, and I felt that I had to explain myself. "It is very hard," I said after my summary of the week, "to make an exciting discovery and then find out that one has offended – perhaps endangered – one's friends along the way. And there is so much to do now, and it's all rather gruelling. I suppose I forgot how miserable the work is, it's always been made bearable because we've worked so well together, and now... we don't. It brings back the horror." What I meant was that I was now seeing all these cut-off body parts again, all these remains of people who might have been criminals or might have been innocent but had, either way, been torn from life in the most brutal manner. In the past years, these had been specimens that I had handled. Now, they had become dead people again – and a gruesome reminder of what might become of my colleagues and me, if we failed. But that was hardly polite dinner table conversation.
"Surely you will be reconciled," Lady Nolwen said kindly.
"I certainly hope so, your Grace," I said, "but until we are, I dread every day that I have to spend in the catacombs." I saw the lord and lady exchange meaningful looks, and realised that I might be making it sound as if their investment was at stake. "It is not affecting our performance, I assure you," I hastily said. "We are still doing our very best."
Lord Eärendur smiled, a little sadly. "I do not doubt it," he said. "But it is taking its toll on you, I can see that. Do you think it would help if I spoke to your master?"
"No, please! He is frightened enough as it is!"
Tilting his head to the side, Lord Eärendur gave me a look that suggested that I was misunderstanding completely. "I do not mean to threaten him, Azruhâr; rather, I was hoping to reassure him. If he is worried about protection, I can offer it to him – whatever it may ultimately be worth, of course."
I blinked. "Really? But I thought you despised him!"
His smile looked a little more amused now. "Despise is too strong a word. I have no reason to love him – now as little as ever – but in this case, we are speaking only of reassurance. For that, I do not need to like him; it is enough that you feel he deserves it."
"Why?" I asked, foolishly.
Lady Nolwen raised both her eyebrows at me, and Lord Eärendur gave me a reproachful stare. "Because I like you, of course," he said flatly, and I was reduced to staring at my plate in embarrassment. I wished he would stop saying such things.
"That is generous of you," I muttered, looking up just in time to see the noble couple exchange eloquent looks again. I glanced sideways at Amraphel, who was also studying me with a somewhat exasperated expression. I looked back down at my glazed carrots.
"I shall postpone my departure then," Lord Eärendur announced. "I suppose it is asking too much that your Master Târik come to my house. I will meet him in the greengrocer's market near the citadel, then, by the fountain. That should be non-threatening enough, I hope. Tomorrow, after your work?"

I passed the message on, but the reaction wasn't promising. "What happened to not interfering in my affairs?" was all that Master Târik had to say.
My face grew hot. "I just thought..."
"Yes. That's one of the things you keep on doing. Just thinking."
"Sir, I thought that you would not object to noble protection. I have tried to convince Lord Eärendur that you're a good man. If he's willing to talk to you, shouldn't you go?"
"Oh, if his lordship deigns to talk to me, I'm sure I should go," Master Târik replied testily. "Thank you for bringing me to his attention. That is exactly what I was hoping for."
I understood where he was coming from – hadn't I been terrified of the journey to Andúnië? - but then, if Mîkul had been right, Master Târik was secretly longing for business with these people, so his opposition puzzled me. "I thought I was helping you," I said.
"What about us?" Kârathôn interrupted my attempted self-defense. "Are you going to help us too?" He raised an eyebrow pointedly, and I couldn't figure out whether he was seriously offended or just, as usual, poking fun at our argument. Either way, I felt as if I was caught in a web of guilt and obligations and foolish mistakes. "I can speak to him, if you want," I promised, and heard an angry snort from Master Târik. "If their conversation goes well."
In the event, the conversation didn't happen. The next day, Master Târik told me outright that he had not gone. "It would not have turned out in my favour," he said when I asked.
"How can you know that? You should have tried!"
"Don't you tell me what I should have done!" There it was, the anger that had bent nails into the walls. I took an involuntary step back. I trusted that Master Târik still had himself well in check, but I was still a little cowed. Still, I felt compelled to point out, "Lord Eärendur postponed his journey home to Andúnië in order to see you. Now you've wasted his time. That isn't going to work out in your favour."
Master Târik began to sort the jars of salts on the shelf. There was no need to do it; I suspected that he just wanted an excuse for turning his back on me – or maybe he needed to occupy his hands.
"Azruhâr, I could not risk it," he said after a while. "Absent displeasure is less dangerous than facing it directly. And before you accuse me of being a coward, I suggest that you look at your own decisions."
I bit my lips, hard. I would have liked to say that likely I would have to face Lord Eärendur's displeasure instead of Master Târik, but that would have done no good, either.
"Well, now you've gone and ruined it or all of us," said Kârathôn instead, and after that, Master Târik wouldn't speak to either of us for the rest of the day.

Thus, the second week at work was even worse than the first, and the third was no better. I had hoped that the tension would lift once the new experiments were prepared, but it seemed that I would have to wait until there were convincing results. Or maybe even that would not be enough. It did not seem to be enough that we already had a minor promise of success: the resin method allowed us to deal quite easily with those parts of the body that had previously been difficult to wrap safely, such as the fingers or the face or a man's private parts. The resin kept the bandages from shifting, and I found it reasonable to assume that this would in turn prevent these sensible parts from rotting. That should have been worth something, I felt, but Master Târik was quick to point out that it wouldn't help us if the resin didn't otherwise fulfill its promise. At least he was talking to me again by then.
He was right, too, but I still felt that something had been achieved. At the very least, it was something that we could present the King when we next had to account for our progress. "Very well; you present it then," Master Târik said to that. "It is only right that you stick out your neck for your idea. You asked to take responsibility, didn't you? So take it. Let us see whether you find it easier to preserve his Majesty's patience."
I did not like the idea of sticking out my neck, of course. I had indeed suggested it myself, but I had truly been relieved when the others had scorned the thought. But what could I do? "Yes, Master," I said, but couldn't help adding, "What if my idea turns out to work?"
Master Târik studied me for a moment. His eyes were hard, and I knew that I had not been forgiven, but he replied, "Why, in that case, it is just as right that you should be given the reward."
Of course, right now, any such reward was still a long way off, and I was by no means certain that the King wouldn't run out of patience first. That is, if we were lucky enough to escape any massive setback in the first place.

At the end of that week, Balakhil came to see me again. I recognised him at once, this time. I thought at first that he was doing well – he was wearing a clean shirt, and had shoes on his feet – but as he told me, he was now entirely penniless and quite lost.
"I am sorry to trouble you again, sir," he said, ducking his head, "but I don't know what else to do."
I sighed. He really was the last person I wanted to worry about. "Let us walk," I said, to avoid standing around stupidly again. We walked, slowly, down the street and towards the lower markets.
"It is harder than I would have thought, day-taling," Balakhil said.
"If you think so now, wait till it's winter," I said before I could stop myself.
He stared at me in confusion. "I am not joking!"
"Neither am I," I said, and then took a deep breath to calm myself. "I don't mean to be unkind, but maybe you are not going about it the right way? As I recall, summer tends to be a good time for finding work. There's construction and repairs. There are hands needed in the fields. There are loads to be carried and streets to be cleaned..."
"I had rather hoped to guard things," Balakhil admitted. "But nobody trusts a guard discharged, no matter the reason."
Now it was my turn to stare. "Of course not! Nobody wants to hear your reasons!" I bit my lips, but then I went on anyway. "Balakhil, you must be aware of the saying that beggars can't be choosers. That's what it's about. You're not in a position to choose your jobs. You take what you're offered."
"But I'm offered nothing! Sir, are you sure that you don't have anything for me to do?"
I pondered the question. Asking one of my colleagues was impossible at this time, and Lord Eärendur would not come back to the capital until the council was back in session. "Quite sure," I said.
"I thought so," Balakhil said, somewhat testily, and I felt a surge of annoyance. Amraphel had assured me that I was under no obligation to take responsibility for Balakhil's life; he was indeed bound to offer it, but I was as free to release him as I was to take him into service. In fact, being nominally no more than an apprentice, she wasn't even certain whether I was entitled to a servant, life debt or no. Apprentices were not normally house-owners, so it was all a little foggy. Nonetheless, I felt some measure of guilt because I could have afforded it. I just did not feel comfortable with the thought. I tried to buy Balakhil off by giving him another silver Crown.
Therefore, it was probably my own fault that he returned after another couple of weeks (when the money had run out again, presumably) to tell me about his woes. People kept picking on him, he said: house-owners, merchants, craftsmen, few were willing to hire him at all. Seeing the welts on his wrists, most sent him away outright, and some even struck him simply for asking, declaring that they had no use for criminals. When something was wrong or went missing, he was automatically assumed guilty. "Is it possible," he asked one day, "that once you are marked by punishment, people will happily assume that you deserve more of it?"
"That is entirely possible," I conceded.
"But that's awful!"
I was almost amused by his surprised shock. Of course it was awful, but he only found it so because it directly concerned him. "I bet that just months ago, you didn't care," I said. "You were happy to assume that I deserved punishment, weren't you, because you were told that I was a former convict."

Balakhil averted his face, which told me enough. "I know I shouldn't be complaining to you," he acknowledged, "but I don't know who else to talk to."
I had always been too soft-hearted, and his words shook me more than they should. The problem was, I could imagine too well that they were true. He could hardly have made friends among the other day-talers, with his strange manners and his delusions of grandeur. His parents, he'd said, had more or less disowned him. And his former friends, probably other palace guards, would either look down on him or at the least fear to be seen near him. His life, which had been one of certainty, had been completely uprooted, which was probably bad enough, but on top of that, he had to deal with the resulting mess alone – so alone that the one person responsible for his misery became the one person he kept turning to for help.
"Well, I don't know how to help you," I said. "I can't make people treat you more kindly. I'm not all that well-liked myself, at least not among the kind of people who hire day-talers." A thought struck me. "You know what, perhaps you should ask Master Amrazôr for work. If you tell him that your punishment was for beating me, he'd probably be only too happy to give you work."
Far from grateful, he stared at me as if I had lost my mind. "You are making fun of me."
"No, I'm not. Master Amrazôr is not fond of me."
"This is some kind of test, isn't it."
"No, it's an honest suggestion. It might work."

Balakhil gave me that hurt frown again. "What kind of man do you think I am? I will not ally myself with your enemies!" He put his hands on his heart. "Sir, I may not be happy with my lot, but I am not ungrateful."
I scratched my head. "Well, that's good to know," I said, because in all honesty, I felt that he was. I was only ever hearing complaints. Balakhil seemed to realise that, because there was another look of offended innocence.
"I am grateful," he insisted. "And perfectly willing to act on it, if you let me. I feel terribly dishonest about taking your money without giving you anything in return. If you took me into your service..."
"I already told you, I do not want a servant," I cut him short. "I don't mind supporting you until you've found your feet. I just can't do it forever."
"I know. But I can't seem to find my feet," Balakhil said, bowing his head in shame.
I thought. I thought long and hard. Part of me, to be honest, felt that Balakhil must be at fault. It simply wasn't feasible that at this time, at the onset of the busy harvest season, there was no work to be had for a broad-shouldered day-taler – even one who looked like a criminal. He must be going about it the wrong way. Of course he would have to put more effort into appearing meek and useful than other men. Well, I suppose he didn't know any better. Maybe even unskilled labour required something akin to an apprenticeship; I just hadn't thought about it that way because I had simply grown into it myself.
"Tell you what," I heard myself say. "I'll introduce you to my neighbours. They can show you how to find work in the markets. Follow their lead and you'll soon know how it goes."
He nodded without raising his head.
"Have you picked up your rations for this week?" I asked him.
"Well – no. I eat in the public house where I stay."
"You're staying in a public house? Good grief, Balakhil, you aren't some wealthy guest to the city. You're a day-taler – not even that, you're just a beggar right now – you should live with the other poor folk, and make your own meals like they do!" I was really rather annoyed. No wonder that the money I gave him didn't last long. No wonder, also, that he found no work, if he gave off the impression that he didn't really need it. I had to ball my fists to contain my anger, and Balakhil gave me an anxious look. "I don't know how, sir," he muttered. "You told me to find lodgings."
I had to swallow down a string of insults. "Cheap lodgings," I said, feeling that he really should have known that. "You know, I really have enough on my plate without having to look after you. I should just send you off, shouldn't I? I should call the watch so you'll leave me alone."
His shoulders were beginning to tremble; his hands rose to hide his face. Once more, my annoyance became diluted with pity. I sighed. "Well, come along. You're clearly in need of some guidance."

I regretted that decision before we had even reached my house. As we descended to the foot of the hill, Balakhil looked around anxiously, asking, "Where are you taking me?"
"Home," I said, and then added, "my home. Not some posh public house."
His silence didn't last long. "This doesn't look like a respectable quarter."
"As poor quarters go, it's the best," I retorted. And that was certainly true. We had a fine gravel road, after all. Some of my neighbours had even been able to do some repairs on their houses, thanks to the money they had made this winter.
"If you live down here, you must be in dire need of a bodyguard," Balakhil said with a hopeful note in his voice.
I felt my face go rigid with anger. "I trust my neighbours," I snapped. "I'm less sure about you." Of course, my neighbours had not been quite so trustworthy a year ago. But at least I had known that they hadn't brought their misfortune about themselves.
This time, Balakhil's silence – offended or abashed, I did not care – held until we entered my garden.
"You spoke the truth about living in a small house," he noted.
"Of course I did. Did you think I was lying?" And because I was already annoyed, I couldn't help adding, "And before you dream about speaking ill of my house, I am very attached to it."
"Is is a fine house," Balakhil said quickly, and I was hard put not to roll my eyes because he was so obviously trying to say what I wanted to hear.

"Really?" was all Amraphel said when I introduced Balakhil and said that he would be dining with us. I could see raised eyebrows on the faces of our guests, too – old Pâlatar and his daughters, Lasbeth and her son, the two Enrâkors and Târinzil. We had taken to throwing our rations together, to make them last longer and have a little more variety on the table. Besides, the renewed friendship with my neighbours was worth a lot now that the situation at work was so strained.
"Really," I said, and found two empty buckets. "Here," I told Balakhil. "You want to make yourself useful? Then go to the well and fetch water. Do you need instructions for that?"
"I'll show him the way," Enrâkor the Taller offered, rising from his seat. He stood a little taller than the former guard (who towered above me even with his head ducked between his shoulders), which, I suppose, nicely displayed that I knew where to find a bodyguard, if I felt the need for one. I wondered whether Enrakôr had thought the same, and had volunteered precisely for that reason. Perhaps not. Perhaps he was just being friendly.
While Balakhil was outside, I quickly explained to Amraphel why I had brought Balakhil here.
"Are you certain he deserves your pity?" she asked.
"No," I said honestly. "But I do feel responsible. I couldn't sleep at night if I thought he was starving - even if it's because he's too stupid to take care of himself."
Amraphel heaved a sigh, but nodded. "You need your sleep, I suppose."

To be fair, Balakhil behaved himself - he kept quiet and avoided intruding into our conversation, although that was muted by the very fact that he was present, and he ate sparingly enough. He gave every appearance of accepting the advice we gave him to get out of his overpriced lodgings the very next day, and to be less proud in his bearing. He nodded, and expressed his thanks, and he was much subdued when, after dinner, I brought him to the garden gate.
"So this is the best I can hope for?" he asked by way of farewell. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate your generosity. And the evening's company was pleasant. I am certain your neighbours are good people. But... if I do all that you tell me, and bear all the indignities, and work hard, the best I can hope for is a hut like that," he indicated Pâlatar's house across the road, "and a broken back at a hundred and fifty?"
"No," I said irritably, "you're starting much too late. You won't be able to afford your own house. But maybe you'll get to be a hundred and fifty. Right now? I wouldn't bet on it."
His eyes fell shut in despair. "I wasn't born for such a life," he said. "I don't think I'll be able to learn it. I don't think I can stand it."
Once more, I was torn between sympathy and anger. "Do you think we stand it happily? I have lived like that because I was born to it, and it made nothing easier. My gratitude to the King is infinite, both for sparing my life and for giving it a different turn. My neighbours do not continue to live in this manner because it pleases them; they do it because they have no choice. And neither do you."

Even in the fading evening light, I could see his lips work as he chewed on them. His eyes were glinting wetly; no doubt he was about to loose his composure any moment.
"I believe it," he said. "My gratitude to you would be infinite if you were to give my life a different turn." And then he broke down, even physically, casting himself on the ground and clinging to my feet with trembling hands. "Please, sir, Azruhâr, I'm a guard. I would be a very poor daytaler, but I'm a good guard. I will guard and protect you, if only you let me. I owe you my life, and that is a powerful debt, but if that is not enough for you to trust me, I will give you my oath."
"Let go of me," I said, very quietly. Balakhil obeyed at once. I quickly took a step back, safely out of reach. "You're embarrassing us both," I told him, "and you're putting me into a rotten situation. I don't want your service. But I don't want to be the sort of man who sends a desperate supplicant away, either."
Maybe I should not have let that slip, but it really was the core of the problem. I could too easily see myself in his situation, and although I myself had often met scorn whenever I had been reduced to begging, I could not muster it myself. Two months, I thought. Two months were all it had taken to turn a proud, self-assured palace guard into a man who grovelled at the feet of Azruhâr the Embalmer. It didn't help me to know that he was in many ways responsible for his own misery. It always came down to this: if I myself had cast myself on someone's mercy, I would hope that they would grant it. How, then, could I refuse to grant it when I was in the lucky position of being able to do so?
I covered my face with my hands so I wouldn't see Balakhil's prone figure anymore, but it didn't change a thing. I could still see him before my mind's eye. My ankles still carried the memory of his pleading fingers. Sending him away would solve nothing, I knew. I would always wonder what had happened to him, always worry that I had saved him from the scaffold only to let him starve.
"Get up," I said, giving up. "Come back inside. I suppose we need to talk this through."