The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 22

And then, in the middle of winter, when I was least expecing it, two important and completely unconnected things happened.
The first, I grant it, was important only to my own family, because Amraphel announced to me that she was pregnant again. I do not know why I was so surprised. It wasn't as if we'd practiced especial care during the past months, and Amraphel was certainly not of the age where women no longer conceive, so really, it had been bound to happen. Yet somehow, Amraphel's news caught me completely off guard. I suppose that I had grown so used to anticipating bad news that my mind no longer knew what to do with good news.

The second amazing thing didn't concern me personally, but I appreciated it nonetheless, because it meant I wouldn't have to find a way to circumvene Lord Atanacalmo's new law. Apparently, the sewage system of Arminalêth - which was nearly as old as the city itself - had failed to grow along with the capital, and was likely to overflow within the next few years. In all honesty, I was astonished that this was noticed before it actually happened. It appeared that Lord Atanacalmo had applied his clever mind to a map, and done some calculations, and decided that pre-emptive measures were indicated.
Even at their current size, ending at the old city wall – now the inner ring - the sewers were vast. Digging them out to broaden them, and moreover adding new branches that would allow the newer quarters - even poor neighbourhoods like my own! - to convey their effluent out of the city underground, was going to be a massive project that required thousands of workers. Most of my neighbours eagerly applied, and to my endless relief, this time there was no ban on people who had been involved with the Copperhoods. As Enrakôr the Smaller reported, they would be paid in rations, not in money, but that was still very attractive at a time when the prices of food were, once more, frustratingly high. Accordingly, there was no shortage of people willing to get their hands dirty - and dirty they would get. "We're going to smell to the heavens, of course," Enrakôr warned me.

For the time being, however, all they got to do was remove the fine gravel road they had built last winter, and to dig deep ditches that were ultimately turned into subterranean tunnels. The smelly part would only begin when these new sewers led well out of the city in one direction and up to the old wall that had long since turned into the inner circle of the city. By that time, however, spring was in full swing, and it was decided that the connection between the new sewers and the old would have to wait until next winter, so the reek of the open sewers wouldn't get unbearable in the summer heat. And so, once the ditches had been shovelled shut and the road restored (a lot less nicely than it had originally been, it must be said), my neighbours were out of work again.
Still, we had all made it through another winter, and once Amraphel had sold the wool, my funds were no longer drained quite so badly, either. The weather got milder, new growth appeared, and the King, now old and frail, took part in matters of government again. All that gave me hope that I might be able to catch up with the bewildering mess that my life had become, and that my third child might be born into a time of calm and prosperity rather than the upheavals of the last years. It was wishful thinking, of course, but it still would have been nice.

Amraphel gave birth in the middle of summer - a decent summer that was neither too hot nor too wet, although Amraphel had still found the warmth taxing with her heavy belly. I think she was relieved when the baby - a fine little boy - was out, which happened while I was at work. There had been no signs of labour in the morning when I'd left (although Amraphel had naturally suffered from the occasional false labour in the preceeding weeks), and when I came back in the late afternoon, I was greeted by the sight of my already cleaned and swaddled newborn son. Words cannot describe my feelings.
After some discussion and obtaining the approval of the parties concerned, the baby was given the (admittedly unwieldy) name of Palatârik, to honour the men to whom, next to Lord Eärendur and the King, I felt the most indebted. "I did not name the child after you since that is already my own name," I explained to Lord Eärendur, when he offered his congratulations two days later. I had invited him to the customary feast, but I was honestly surprised when he and Lady Nolwen actually came to my little house, bringing lovely cushions and a blanket embroidered in the style of Andúnië, as well as pretty white frocks and bracelets for all three children. My own amazement was nothing compared to that of Master Amrazôr and Mistress Raphûmil, whom we had invited with mixed feelings and after a great deal of deliberation. I noticed that Lord Eärendur, contrary to his custom, was in no particular hurry to raise my father-in-law from his genuflection, and generally treated him with no more than bare civility. It was touching in a way, although Master Amrazôr probably didn't even notice, since Lord Eärendur at his most harsh was still no more unfriendly than the other nobles were on a good day. Towards my family, he was kindly and good-humoured as ever, and with the exception of my in-laws, he extended that good humour to my friends - he had evidently warmed up to Master Târik, too - so that, despite the absurd difference in status between the present parties, it was a pleasant evening. The children were all amazed at how tiny Palatârik was, and yet, fully formed. In all honesty, so was I; it was so easy to forget how small they all had been, once, because they kept growing all the time. Lord Eärendur and Master Târik spoke the Eldarin blessing together while the Faithful among my neighbours listened in awed silence. Master Amrazôr had tears in his eyes, but for very different reasons.

Later, he asked whether I was planning to have my son follow in my footsteps. I had to laugh. "I hope not," I said. Planning for the future of a newborn child was not something that I was familiar with - you took things as they came – but I certainly did not intend for Palatârik to become an embalmer. Maybe I'd be able to secure a decent apprenticeship for him. That was decades away, however, not something that I needed to think about now.
"Then you would not object if I left my business to him?" Master Amrazôr asked.
I gaped at him. "He's a baby!"
Now Master Amrazôr laughed out, and that eased the tension a little. "Well, I don't plan to retire so soon, do I? I just thought, we can have him written into the guild-book as my heir, to clear things up, and then I'll train him when he is old enough."
"What about Niluthôr?"
"Niluthôr! He's hardly trustworthy, is he? And Ulbar isn't smart enough. No; I have no heir, and I have been fully resigned to selling my business to the highest bidder when the time comes. But now, with a grandson..."

I cast a helpless look at Amraphel. As far as I was concerned, this was an excellent offer, but she was the one with the mind for business, who could determine whether this was a good idea. Besides, it would mean forging a much closer bond between her parents and us, and I didn't know whether she was willing to forgive them so far. Me, I couldn't deny that the shimmering possibility of my son as a wealthy horse-dealer was very tempting indeed.
Amraphel gave the matter some thought, and I suspected that she, too, was weighing her grudge against the future of our child, who was sleeping peacefully against her shoulder, unaware of the momentous decisions being made.
"What do you think, Azruhâr?" she asked.
"I would like it very much," I admitted.
She shrugged. "Well, then," she said.
And the next day, the infant Palatârik son of Azruhâr was written into the book of the Merchant's Guild as the heir of Amrazôr son of Amrahil, horse-dealer. The deed was witnessed by Master Tûmuzin son of Atalzin, horse-dealer, and none lesser than His Grace Eärendur son of Elendur, Lord of Andúnië. At only four days of age, my son's outlook was brighter than mine had ever been.

In autumn, after a plentiful harvest, the rationing was lifted. One day later, the markets were depleted entirely because everybody who could afford it had carried home as much as they could possibly take, and the rationing was put back into place. Once more, the only way of stocking up in any significant manner was through one's guild, and men who were no members of any guild had to rely on the mercy of nature and the markets. True, they might be able to earn half a loaf of bread per day and a bag of some easily preserved vegetable at the end of the week once the works on the sewers continued. But we did not know when that would be, and at any rate, it seemed terribly unjust that the needs of such a great part of the populace were overlooked. I vented about it at home until Amraphel sighed and said, "Well, then there's only one thing to do: Someone will have to found a Day-taler's Guild, and that someone is you."
"Why me?" I couldn't help but whine.
"Because you've got the connections and access to the money. None of the others have either."
"I'm not even a day-taler anymore."
"No; but you can be the patron who sponsors their guild, since the day-talers themselves can't."
"I can't do it."
Amraphel stroked my cheek. "I understand. Then it will not be done."

Unfortunately, she was right; and now that the thought had been uttered, I could not get it out of my mind. Could there be such a thing as a Day-taler's Guild? It would ensure a marvellous level of security that, up to now, seemed impossible for the poor. At the moment, the guilds were more important than ever, but even under normal circumstances, I knew that guilds provided their members at least with the minimum they needed to survive, as well as a roof over their heads if they were burned out or the like. They offered some legal advice and protection. They also had a voice in the King's Council. My head span at the mere thought. It was surely impossible. On the other hand, Balakhil's case had shown that there were some skills involved in day-taling, which suggested that it was a profession that had to be learned like any other. That in turn implied that there could be apprentice day-talers, and also masters - which would open up the possibility of a guild. It was far-fetched, of course, but wasn't it worth a try?
I discussed the matter with Amraphel, torn between the desire to keep my head down and the urgent sense of having in my hands the possibility to do something momentous. We addressed the topic with Lord Eärendur, who was cautiously supportive and provided us with the necessary basics of guild law. At the same time, he warned me that my idea would likely not be met with enthusiasm, and urged me to send a runner to his house when I applied to Lord Atanacalmo, so that he could hold himself ready to bail me out if need be.

There was that, of course: I would have to apply to the Lord of Arminalêth. The thought cost me a week of sleepless nights and almost made me decide to forget about the whole venture. I had kept it secret from my neighbours so far, so nobody's hopes would be dashed. Only Amraphel and Lord Eärendur would know, and they (I hoped) would judge me kindly. It was, after all, known that I was no hero.
On the other hand, I was trying to be a decent man, and a decent man probably couldn't throw away the precious (if unlikely) chance of a Day-talers Guild without at least a bit of a fight.
So, with a great effort, I scratched together what courage I had; and on a grey and rainy fall day I made my way up to Lord Atanacalmo's house, feeling heavy inside as if I were heading to my execution.
The snobbish steward let Balakhil and me stand in the drizzle while asking for further instructions. I wondered whether I should pray that he would return and give me a far-off appointment, or whether it would be preferable if he just sent us off right away. In the end, he did neither. With a sour expression on his face, he announced, "My Lord will see you now." He tossed me the two Ships I had been forced to give him. Being unprepared, I fumbled the catch, and Balakhil had to fish the coins from the dirt.
I sent Balakhil to to alert Lord Eärendur and return to await further developments. Then, my heart beating hard, I followed the steward inside. I left my dripping cloak in the vestibule, and cursed myself for not bringing my notes with me. I had assumed that I wouldn't have any chance to speak to Lord Atanacalmo today, without summons, so I hadn't thought it necessary. Oh well; I would be able to sort my thoughts and prepare myself while waiting in the corridor.

Except I was not. We reached the now-familiar door, and the steward opened it for me, looking at me as if I had crawled out of a cesspit, stinking and dripping nasty things onto the precious carpet. I tried not to be disheartened by his glare on my back as I made my obeisance, and heard the door click shut behind me.
Lord Atanacalmo was sitting at his desk, evidently in the process of writing, since there were an inkwell and a sheaf of paper on the desk and his quill was scratching busily across the sheet before him. I wondered whether I would have to wait until he had filled all the pages before him. He was writing quickly, but it was nonetheless a lot of paper. Lady Arancalimë was nowhere to be seen this time.
After a minute or so, Lord Atanacalmo addressed me without even looking up. "What, waiting for a special invitation?"
I blinked. Should I have come forward without being told to? That sounded like a risky thing to do. "I did not wish your lordship to think me insolent or presumptuous," I said.
He glanced at me for a moment, his eyebrows raised. "I shall think of you as I wish," he said, "so you may as well act as if your behaviour were of no consequence whatsoever."
I tried to figure that one out and decided that it was safe to get up. The way to his desk felt simultaneously like an endless stretch, and like much too short a distance. Suddenly I stood in front of it, looking down at the papers and the inkwell and the aged but perfectly manicured hand filling the sheet with line after line of carelessly elegant writing. There were also, I noticed, two full cups of steaming tea on the desk, and a bowl of spiced nuts, and the chessboard with its beautifully carved pieces. I had probably been lucky that he hadn't yet started another enthralling game with his daughter.

"May I sit, Lord?" I heard myself ask.
He wordlessly gestured at the chair in front of the desk, and I sat down and clasped my hands and chewed on my lips, waiting for an opening. There was a great mural on the wall behind the desk, depicting some military victory. A shining warrior who did not look much unlike Lord Atanacalmo – perhaps it was his father or grandfather, one of the old kings – was accepting the accolades of his triumphant troops and the homages of his humiliated prisoners, and I very much related to these unhappy creatures, even if there were no chains on me and I wasn't clothed in the tattered remains of some alien livery, either. The quill was still eagerly running across the paper. Even if my behaviour really was of no consequence – which I doubted – I didn't dare to begin a conversation while Lord Atanacalmo was evidently busy. Eventually, it seems that he got bored of my silence. "Well then, Azruhâr. I assume you have come to complain. I was expecting you sooner, I confess."
Again, I was blinking in confusion. "Complain, my lord?" I realised that I was sounding like a fool, but I honestly did not know what he was talking about. I had been expected to complain? I, Azruhâr the Nothing, glad to have escaped a whipping the last time I had spoken to Lord Atanacalmo?
He tapped the quill on the rim of the inkwell and put it in a silver holder. He pushed one of the two cups in my direction. Then he leaned back, looking at me fully for the first time, one eyebrow raised as if he was surprised. "Why, yes. The last time we spoke, you offered me advice – unsolicited advice, but advice nonetheless – concerning mass employment for poor citizens, which I ended up taking, to my own and the city’s profit. So you have not come to claim credit?"

I was honestly speechless. He had taken my advice? Well, I suppose he had, but – he was admitting that he had taken my advice? And I was expected to claim credit? How did that even work? I shook my head, realising with a sinking feeling that I had been pulled out of my depth very quickly.
Lord Atanacalmo's eyes hardened almost instantly. "Then what brings you here?"
"A request, your Grace," I said, struggling against the constriction in my throat, and then I pushed on before the momentum could leave me. "At this time, the only way of filling one's larder for winter is – for us commoners, anyway – through our guilds. That means that all the many unlearned workers who have no guild to look after them have no means to prepare for the hungry gap." I took a deep breath. "Therefore, my lord, I formally request your gracious permission to create a Day-taler's Guild." I breathed again. There: It was out.
Lord Atanacalmo studied me – now both eyebrows were raised – as if I had suddenly grown a second head. "I see," he said after what felt like a long time. "You wish to be guild-master, I trust?"
I shook my head hastily. "Not at all, Lord! I could not do such responsibility justice. Besides, I am no longer a day-taler, so I would not qualify for that post. No, the guild would vote on one of their own to be guild-master, as is customary. I merely ask your lordship for permission to form and fund such a guild, since the day-talers themselves are in no position to do so."
He leaned forwards, cupping his chin in one of his long-fingered hands. "You are not exactly a likely patron," he pointed out.
I tried to breathe evenly. "On the contrary, your Grace, I am the only likely patron. I am a citizen of Arminalêth. I have a personal interest in the well-being of the poor, but I also have some modest wealth. Who else would invest in a Day-talers' Guild?" I do not know what possessed me to say such a thing. It was true, but I didn't know where I'd found the nerve to say it. I hoped that it would stay with me until the end of the audience.

Lord Atanacalmo's lips pursed for a moment as if savouring my words. "Who else indeed! So you would build and furnish a guild-hall? You would set up statutes and procedures? You would pay the foundational fee and the guild tax? You would ensure the safe-keeping and distribution of gratuities? You would look after the welfare of the guild’s members? Do you honestly think you are up to any of that?"
I felt a little less uneasy now, because these were terms that Amraphel and Lord Eärendur had used, making me feel more prepared. Moreover, I was fairly confident that while I wasn't up to any of that, they would give me the necessary advice – and also, in the case of Lord Eärendur, lend me the money. He had promised as much. So I replied, "I will need help with that, of course. But I know where to find it."
There was a snort in reply – disdainful, but possibly amused as well. "And what would be in it for you, if you do not aim for a seat on the Council?"
"It would take a great worry of my mind, Lord. It would put my neighbours in a more secure position and better their circumstances significantly."
He shook his head, slowly, incredulously. "That’s it? This is your cause, Azruhâr? You've come into… how did you say?… some modest wealth and some modest influence, and you're intending to waste it on the betterment of the unwashed masses?"
I sniffed. "I assure your lordship that they are not unwashed! They wash as often and as eagerly as anyone – with water. But soap is expensive, and if we have a choice of eating the lard or using it to make soap, then I'm afraid food comes first!"

His lips were now stretching into a smile that could almost be described as sweet, if his eyes hadn't still glinted so dangerously. "Well! It seems that little Azruhâr has grown a spine at last! I hope you came by it legally."
My hands clenched into fists before I could stop them. "It's always been there," I protested. "It's just been bent and beaten down for a long time."
Again, Lord Atanacalmo was shaking his head in what I assumed must be disbelief. His hands were now folded on the desk, the candlelight reflecting brightly on the precious rings on his fingers. On his right hand, every finger but the thumb bore bands of gold and silver, adorned with glittering jewels, making the single golden signet ring on his left hand look nearly paltry in comparison. I looked down at the two rings on my own fingers – the ring crafted by 'some lesser Noldorin smith' that I had been given by the King, and the narrow marriage band. My fingers were flexing nervously.
"A Day-talers' Guild," Lord Atanacalmo said, drawing out the syllables to make the words sound as ludicrous as he probably found them. "What's next? A Beggars' Guild? A Guild of Wives?" He chuckled at his own joke. "It is such a pity that you have never been properly educated."

I felt my cheeks flare up in embarrassment. "Allow me to establish the guild, Lord," I said, "and I promise to make sure that future generations of paupers will be educated better."
That made him laugh out loud, and it was all I could do to pull myself more upright again and let the snorts of his laughter wash over me. I told myself that as long as he found me amusing, at least he wasn't angry.
"Tell you what," he said when his mirth was done and he had begun to stack the papers on one side of his desk. "Let us play a round of chess and I'll think about your request. If you beat me, I'll grant it."
I swallowed hard. "My lord, I’ve already told you that I do not know the game well."
"Oh, I'll give you a quick overview of the rules," he said carelessly, arranging the pieces on the board. "I'll even let you open the game. Come on. I insist."
I did not like the idea of chancing the outcome of my application on the outcome of a game I hardly knew. "What if I decline? With all due humility, of course?"
A shrug. "Then I'll dismiss you and this conversation is over."
I thought again. "What if I play and I loose?"
He gave me a smile that seemed to contain dozens of unpleasant possibilities.
"I will think of something," he said, quite ominously, as I thought. I wondered whether Balakhil would even hear me yelling for help, down in the sheltered vestibule. That is, if the steward had even let him in and not left him to wait in the rain.

The rules of the game were as complex as I had feared, and several times Lord Atanacalmo snapped at me because I attempted maneuvers that were not permitted. I was growing increasingly worried. Even as I began to remember more clearly what piece was allowed to make what move, I had no means of opposing the onslaught that he unleashed on the checquered board. I made my moves haphazardly, hoping to get it over with quickly. Lord Atanacalmo, in his turn, gave long and serious consideration to his every move, as if he actually needed some clever strategy to beat me. He didn't. I hadn't even realised that my king was nearly surrounded when he pushed his knight into a killing position. "And… checkmate," he announced cheerfully. "Shall we try again?"
I had no desire to try again, but of course it hadn't been a genuine question. Once again, I desperately tried to protect my pieces, and once again, one by one they were taken from me. Perhaps the game lasted a little longer than the first; perhaps I wasn't beaten quite so easily this time. But beaten I was. "Checkmate," Lord Atanacalmo said once more, flicking my king over with a bejewelled finger. "Third time pays for all." He swiftly rearranged the pieces, then looked at me with a wolfish grin. "Make your move."
This time, I tried my hardest. I thought well before moving a piece. I tried to consider the different ways in which he might react to my moves. I tried to figure out what he might be planning. I was sweating as if I was an actual knight fighting on that battlefield in heavy armour. I wondered whether one could be put in the stocks for Playing Chess Poorly.

That round was the shortest of them all. "Well, that was pathetic," Lord Atanacalmo said, shoving the board to the side. "You really are completely artless."
"Yes, your Grace," I said glumly, studying my artless hands. I realised only now that I hadn't even touched the tea I had been offered. Now did not seem like the right moment to amend that. "I believe I told you so. I beg your pardon."
Smiling his narrow smile, Lord Atanacalmo reached for a new sheet of paper and pulled his inkwell close again. The quill dipped into the ink, and then hovered expectantly over the page. "Very well," Lord Atanacalmo said, beginning to write. "You do not have permission to establish a Day-talers' Guild."
I bowed my head, unsurprised, and waited to be dismissed.
"What I will permit is the establishment of a Day-talers' Society," Lord Atanacalmo went on, unperturbed, and I could just barely stifle a gasp. The quill ran over the paper. "There will be no guild-master and no right to representation, of course. What a nightmare. We have uncultured fools enough on the Council." He was still writing. "I expect full statutes and a list of responsibilities in a fortnight. You will deliver and justify them to me. There will be no provisions before that is settled. You are responsible for providing storage and a meeting place for that society of yours. You will pay the obligatory fees and taxes. You will keep a book of records and a book of expenses. You will lay these books open whenever I demand it. You will ensure the education and well-being of the members of your society. You will also answer for their behaviour." The quill stabbed a final stop onto the paper, then added a scrawled signature before it was put aside. Lord Atanacalmo sealed the document. I was watching in bewilderment.

"There. May you get what you asked for," Lord Atanacalmo said, pushing the finished writ over to me. It was completely covered in Eldarin words that had no meaning for me.
"Thank you, your Grace," I said dutifully. "May I have a copy in the vernacular, please?"
Once again, the aloof expression on his face was briefly replaced by astonishment. "What, you cannot read it?" he said. "I thought the first thing Eärendur teaches his pet would be Quenya."
I felt the familiar glow of embarrassment on my face. "No, Lord."
He gave a disdainful snort. Then he reached for a brass bell and shook it loudly, and within seconds, a servant appeared. "Take Azruhâr here to Fuinil," Lord Atanacalmo commanded, "to have an Adûnaic copy of his charter made and sealed. I authorise it."
"Very well, my lord," the servant said with no apparent curiosity.
Lord Atanacalmo held his left hand out to me. "I'll see you in a fortnight at the latest."
"Yes, Lord." I bowed over the desk to kiss his signet ring and touch his hand to my forehead, as custom demanded. The sweet scent of his perfumed skin and the resinous smell of sealing wax were still in my nose as I followed the servant to the scribe Fuinil’s office.