The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 23

A fortnight was a dreadfully short time to draft, discuss, correct and re-write a full set of statutes and responsibilities for a charitable society, and my days were no longer my own. When I returned home, Amraphel and I would discuss the matter until late at night; then in the next day, while I was at work, she took the notes up to Lord Eärendur’s house for comments and advice and additions, and presented the results to me in the evening, when we could hopefully agree on a final version and move on to the next issue. I had no mind for administrative matters and would, in all honesty, have preferred if Amraphel and our noble friends had dealt with the whole matter on their own. But Amraphel insisted that I needed to know these statutes and the reasonings behind them by heart, if I had to present and justify them before Lord Atanacalmo and generally act as patron and spokesman of the Day-Talers’ Welfare Society (as we were now calling it). No doubt she was right, as usual, but still it was a gruelling two weeks, and I would gladly have passed the responsibility to somebody else.

In that light, I was glad that at least I wouldn’t have to tackle the building of a meeting-place right now, since all available workers were now busy in the sewers once more. This time, you could smell it. Not only did the stench hang in my neighbour’s skin and hair and clothing as they came home exhausted; the open sewers in the place where the old were to be connected to the new also gave up the most disgusting stink. I had to pass through it on my way to work, and on warmer days, it hung over the whole quarter. Still, I knew that it was a temporary inconvenience that would soon be remedied – and I knew that the workers, who had to labour in this stench (and in its immediate source) for hours had it a lot worse.
Other citizens were apparently less reasonable, as I learned from my neighbours. "People yell at us for ruining their neighbourhood," Râhak said, "as if it had been our idea and as if we were doing it for our pleasure!" And it got worse. The venerable shopkeepers, merchants and master craftsmen who had to currently live with the smell soon were no longer satisfied with hurling abuse at the poor workers, but began to throw stones or empy the contents of their chamber pots over them. More than once, my neighbours had to flee from their work – they didn’t dare to raise their hands against the better citizens, due to the rioting laws, and the foremen, who should have authority enough to step in, were the first to run away – which meant that they weren’t even getting their pay for the day, and risked being laid off at the end of the week.
"Can’t your Society do something against that?" Târinzil asked. She was in our house every day, helping Amraphel with the children and the household, so she knew what we were planning.
"You are right," I said, sighing. "I will inform Lord Atanacalmo about these things when I bring him the statutes."
And so, with a heavy and anxious heart, in the afternoon of the fourteenth day, I once more left the catacombs and went straight to the grand house of Lord Atanacalmo.

He was indisposed, the steward announced. I could either come back in a week, or discuss the matter with Lady Arancalimë, who was informed about her father’s business and standing in for him. In all honesty, I would have been glad to have another week’s respite; but my neighbours’ hardship brooked no further delay. Besides, it might be better to get it all over with. "I would ask her ladyship for audience, then," I told the steward, who gave me his usual stare of disdain as he led me into the house.
Lady Arancalimë was occupying her father’s study, and as I was shown inside, she was still in conversation with her mother, the lady Hereniel, and a proud young man, who turned out to be her son. The young lord Herucalmo – in truth, he was my senior by many years, but he still had the fresh and unwearied look of a youth, making me feel the older of us two – had clearly been told stories, because he was looking at me half amused and half disparaging. Lord Atanacalmo’s wife stayed, probably as a chaperone, but withdrew to a corner with her embroidery, pretending to ignore me entirely.
"Azruhâr," Lady Arancalimë stated as if reminding herself of my name. "I do hope you do not mind discussing your business with me. I assure you that my father has fully informed me of your past agreement, and I am authorised to make decisions in his place."
I bowed once more. "I have no doubt that your ladyship understands it better than I do," I said, which made her lip twitch – she had much the same expression as her father, aloof and constantly enjoying some private joke. She gestured at the now-familiar chair, and I sat down and unpacked the fair copy that Amraphel had written down in her tidy, practiced hand.
"I will need some time to read these," she announced. "Would you like something to drink?"

I accepted the offer and was given a cup of hot wine, as if the study wasn’t already warm enough. I wondered whether I should make polite conversation with Lady Hereniel, but since she appeared to be fully occupied with her embroidery, I decided not to risk getting on her nerves. Instead, I studied the wall painting behind Lady Arancalimë, trying to guess when and where the depicted victory might have taken place. But my knowledge of history and the colonies was scanty, and I had to confess to myself that I simply did not know.
Lady Arancalimë continued to read, and occasionally made notes in the margin or, twice, struck out something Amraphel had written and replaced it with new lines of her own. I began to count the soldiers in the painting, and then the prisoners. Then I double-checked my count. I took a sip of the warm wine, which made me sweat even more under my woollen tunic. I reminded myself to sit upright. I glanced at Lady Hereniel, still applying gold thread to whatever pretty thing she was embroidering.

At last, Lady Arancalimë handed the papers back to me. "Here, I have made some amendments. See if you agree with them, and then we can discuss the matter further." I checked her amendments, and now it paid that Amraphel had made me follow her thought processes and Lord Eärendur’s explanations, because I could see what she had done and what difference it would make. "With all due respect, I must insist on the original version," I heard myself say, pointing at the line in question, which made her laugh.
"Legal instruction? Really?" she asked. "Isn’t that a bit too far from the original purpose?"
I was forced to explain the plight of day-talers and the lack of security they faced every day, how people were robbed of their payment if an employer decided to send them home after half a day, despite all the work they’d done up till then; how people faced starvation if they were injured in an accident or punished so harshly that they could not walk, let alone work for a few days; how her father’s law made criminals of innocent folk who simply had not found work early on in the morning, making them even more dependent on the whims and conditions of potential employers than they had been before.

Lady Arancalimë raised an eyebrow, sceptical. "Surely that happens only rarely."
"It happens too often."
"Really?" she smirked a little. "How often have you been incapacitated in this manner?"
"At least twice," I said. "More often if you count all the times when I forced myself to work with gritted teeth and on the verge of tears because I had no other choice. If you ask a healer, he’ll tell you one should rest in that state, but that’s something we day-talers can’t afford. Not that we can normally afford healers, either. My own father died because he had his leg injured and it turned foul and poisoned him from the inside. If he’d been able to rest, if the owner of the building had paid for a healer, then Father might still be alive." My fingernails were cutting into my palms because I had clenched my fists so tightly. I forced myself to lay my hands on the armrests of the pretty chair. "A man from my neighbourhood lost an eye when he was beaten about the head. Now he has to live with one eye and some people don’t give him work because they say he’s been careless before, as if it’s his own fault! And the man who did it never owned up to it, nor did he pay a single Star of compensation. So you see, my lady, the day-talers need to know what they have to put up with and what they can ask for, because people aren’t going to give it to us by themselves. And we also need to know what we don’t have to put up with. I’ve been whipped nearly to death once, over what was ultimately a misunderstanding. Now I know that my punishment should’ve been ‚reasonable and appropriate’, whatever that means! I didn’t even know that then. I thought my – my employer had the right to do to me whatever he wanted. I didn’t even dream of protesting!" My throat felt raw because I was struggling to keep my voice even, although I felt like weeping. "So yes, our primary purpose is to make sure that the day-talers are fed and have access to a healer, but the legal part is just as important, and it’s part of the same purpose. Helping people get compensation. Making sure they get paid if they’re injured. Helping them sue for damages if their employer is to blame for the injury." I took a deep breath. "Ideally, we could also make sure that ‚reasonable and appropriate’ really means something reasonable, but I’m not holding my breath for that." I felt myself growing angry, and decided to shut up before I could talk myself further into trouble.

Lady Arancalimë had listened with her head tilted, which at least gave me the impression that she was paying attention. Now she took some notes on her own, nodded, and then moved on to the next point on the list as if the matter was settled. I was less certain, but I had no chance to think about it because I already had to focus on the next issue.
"Concerning the distribution of provisions, I will need a list of members before I can authorise any delivery to your society," Lady Arancalimë was saying. "Do you have it with you?"
I bit down hard on my lip. "I’m sorry, my lady, there is no such list. Yet. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone in case Lord Atanacalmo – or you, of course – withheld permission, so I didn’t tell the others what we’ve been planning yet..."
"Well, if I do not know how many people these provisions need to serve, then I cannot have them sent," she said with a shrug. "Maybe you can give me an estimate, at the very least?"
I figured that my neighbours, at the very least, would be interested in joining. "A dozen, at the very least," I said.

Lady Arancalimë pushed a sheet of paper and the inkwell towards me. "Then list the names, and also the number of people in their household. And whether they have paid the entrance fee, of course."
I gave her a bland look. "They haven’t signed up yet, so obviously none of them have paid."
She very nearly rolled her eyes at me. "Look, Azruhâr, they need to be paying members before they can benefit. I have no way of knowing whether they paid their-" she rustled back through the draft to see the membership fee, which we had deliberately kept as low as was legally possible, "their Star themselves, or whether you paid for them, if you understand what I’m saying."
The quill had a silver grip that I promptly dunked too deep into the ink because I wasn’t used to writing with fancy tools like this. I listed the two Enrakôrs and Zâbulon and Elzahâr and Râhak and the others who hopefully trusted me enough to believe in the benefits of the society to invest one of their hard-won Stars per year. "You are not going to use this list for anything that would hurt them, would you?" I thought of asking before handing it over, hoping that I’d still be able to tear it up.
Her lips quirked. "I see that you think the best of your betters," she replied dryly. "Write the purpose on your list yourself, if that will set your mind at ease." It did not yet my mind at ease, but I assumed that showing my distrust would be offensive, and as she had so far demonstrated some goodwill towards my project, I did not want to risk losing that.

"I will also need the address of your meeting-place, of course," she went on. "You left that out of your statutes. You can write it on the same sheet; there’s still room there."
"Yes, my lady. The problem is, we don’t have an address yet. It’s not a good time for building."
She steepled her fingers, looking at me with something like pity and something like annoyance. "Then you will have to use a pre-existing building, don’t you? For all I care, you can use your own home, as long as you manage to keep everything safe there. I won’t be responsible if the grain rots because you stored it in a humid cellar or if the dog tears up your account-book; you will be."
Even as I was writing down my address, she lept onto the next weak spot in our draft. I had been right; she knew her business far better than I did, and she had the same quick wit and attention to detail that her father liked to employ against people. I tried to argue my points as well as I could, and wished that I myself could have received legal education, not the quick summary Lord Eärendur had provided (although I was deeply grateful for that) but the years and years of study of a proper lawyer.
Still, in the end, we reached an agreement that did not seem to be too far from our original idea, and the important part was that Lady Arancalimë sealed it and sent it to the scribe’s office to have a fair – and official – copy made. "You may wait in the vestibule," she announced by way of dismissal, holding out her hand for the customary kiss.

I had to breach protocol this time. "There is one other matter, my lady," I said, and saw her eyebrows go up . "As spokesman for the Day-Talers’ Welfare Society, I have been asked to bring to your attention – well, I’m sure you’ve already heard about it. But at any rate, there is quite a bit of trouble about the work on the sewers, because the inhabitants of that quarter don’t like it at all, and they’ve attacked the workers several times now and driven them from their work -" I realised that I wasn’t sounding particularly coherent, and pulled myself together. "It’s important work for the whole city, isn’t it? So I was hoping that his lordship, or you, might have an interest in protecting the site better, so people don’t throw stones or, frankly, their excrements at the workers, who really have it bad enough as it is."
Her bemused expression was now very much mirroring her father’s, and I knew I hadn’t made my point well. Nonetheless, she said, "Duly noted. I shall investigate the matter tomorrow. You will be there also." It was not a question.

Therefore, Balakhil went to explain my absence to Master Târik in the next morning while I kept around the construction site. During the night, someone had pushed part of the spoils back into the open ditch, which meant that it would have to be dug out again. That was a disheartening start, and it got worse as the day progressed and the first angry residents arrived with their buckets and chamberpots. I tried to stand in their way (which was more than the foremen did), which was almost beyond my feeble courage. "Do you want some?" one of the men – a shopkeeper by his clothing, and a wrestler by his girth – snarled at me.
"Certainly not," I said. "And neither do they. Let them do their work in peace."
"They cost me my business! Now get out of the way." He roughly shoved me aside.
As I stumbled back, I saw that the city guard had arrived, blocking the streets that led away from the square while others were approaching at a half-run. My heart fell. I was certain that they’d arrest my neighbours, and me as well, for causing offense to the upstanding businessmen.
But instead, some of them positioned themselves between the mobsters and the poor workers – I could hear shouts of astonishment from the ditch below – and a loud voice announced that any attack on the workers or disruption of the work would be considered rioting, and punished accordingly.

The voice was Lady Arancalimë’s. She was sitting on a white horse, robed in white – even her cloak was white – and looked quite out of place in that down-town road, muddy from the excavation and smelling of the open sewers, which doubtlessly was the entire point.
She went on, "This vital enterprise has been commissioned by your lord, and it’s his business you are hurting."
"The stink keeps our customers away!" called the belligerent shopkeeper who had shoved me.
"The faster you let these men work, the faster the stink will be contained again," Lady Arancalimë said coldly. "And look at them! They are standing up to their knees in your shit! I do not hear them complaining. I hear only you." She shook her hand dismissively. "Be grateful for their sacrifice and go home."
"But our business!" someone further back protested.
Lady Arancalimë gave him the ironically detached stare I knew so well from her father. She made a great show of sniffing the air (which, it must be said, really did smell abysmally). "If your customers are less brave than I am, then I’m afraid you must rest your business for a while. You can apply for compensations if you list the exact losses that you have suffered due to… squeamishness," she said, letting the last word drop like a used handkerchief. I could see smirks among some of the guards, and I thought that this would finally be the end of the disruption.

But then one of the would-be rioters did something incredibly stupid. "Wait till your father hears about this, missy," he said, probably hoping to amuse his chastened fellows. But he spoke too loudly, and though some of the merchants and shopkeepers guffawed at his words, they quickly realised that shocked silence had fallen around the square, and fell silent themselves.
Lady Arancalimë’s face had become very rigid, all irony and amusement gone. Very slowly, she rode up closer to the group of merchants. The hoofbeat sounded unnaturally loud, and it was almost a relief when she bridled the horse to a halt.
"Who said that?" she said. Her voice could have been mistaken for pleasant – she was putting great effort into letting it sound pleasant, I suspect – but there was an icy edge to it. Of course, nobody replied.
"Who said that?" she asked for the second time, less pleasantly, and again, nobody answered.
Now she was smiling, which only made her furious face more terrifying. "Why should my father care for a coward’s opinion?" she asked, her voice ringing over the square. "Why should my father listen? Azruhâr!"

I flinched as I heard my name, still pronounced in that icy tone. I did not know whether she had recognised me, or was simply testing whether I had followed her order. I hurried to show myself. "My lady?" I said, bowing low.
"Tell them who I am, Azruhâr."
My cheeks were burning in the cold winter air. "You are the lady Arancalimë."
"And my father?"
"Lord Atanacalmo of Arminalêth, who owns our allegiance under the King."
"Indeed. Did you see who said it?"
I swallowed hard. "No, Lady."
She gave an impatient sigh. "Who said it?" she shouted at the shopkeepers, who were now huddling together as if trying to warm each other, giving each other anxious – or calculating - glances.
"Cowards all," Lady Ancalimë announced, and then turned to the guard by her side. "Seize the next best man and bring him here." The guard complied, grabbing the shopkeeper who had attacked me earlier by the shoulders. He gave a small yelp and shouted, "Rabakhôr did it!", pointing at the hapless culprit. The soldier cast a questioning look at Lady Arancalimë, who nodded in the direction of Rabakhôr, now easily recogniseable by his pallor. He must have realised that there was no point in delaying the inevitable, and so he stepped from the throng of businessmen, who were eager to distance themselves from him.

Most of the day-talers had by now climbed out of the ditch to see what was going on, while the guards that surrounded the square had drawn closer to make sure that none of the shopkeepers got away before they had permission to do so. Everybody was watching as Rabakhôr was brought before Lady Arancalimë, who was beginning to recover her look of indifferent superiority as he went to his knees in the dirty square. He looked like the kind of man who was an authority in his neighbourhood – broad shoulders, his hair and clothing demonstrating wealth and knowledge of the latest fashions, an air of self-satisfaction – although the latter was somewhat marred by the nervous way in which his larynx was bouncing in his throat right now.
"Rabakhôr," Lady Arancalimë said, savouring the name. "Rabakhôr. I’m afraid you have the advantage. Remind me who your father is?"
At first, I thought Rabakhôr wouldn’t answer, but he must have realised that he wasn’t helping his cause by being stubborn, because eventually he muttered, "Miyikhôr, my lady."
"A man of great renown, I am sure. Now tell me, Rabakhôr, why I should wait until my father hears about this? Assuming that he does not already know – that he did not in fact authorise me, of course." She waved her hand dismissively, showing the golden glint of Lord Atanacalmo’s signet ring.
In spite of the chilly day, beads of sweat had formed on Rabakhôr’s forehead. "It’s just something we say, you know, when a neighbour’s daughter misbehaves..."
Lady Arancalimë raised her eyebrows. "And you thought I was one of your neighbours’ daughter, playing dress-up and commanding the city guard, did you? Maybe we should revoke your business licence; we cannot have an idiot in charge of his own shop, can we?"
Rabakhôr shook his head, mumbling, "It was a thoughtless jest, my lady. I beg your pardon."
Lady Arancalimë’s lips quirked unpleasantly, as if she were trying to work a piece of gristle free from her teeth. "And you thought I was jesting material, did you, Rabakhôr? Well, I assure you that my father will hear about this, and he will not like it."

"I did not mean it like that!" By now, Rabakhôr was clutching his hands in front of his chest, ready to plead.
"Then how did you mean it? Enlighten me. Tell me under what circumstances your jest would have been appropriate."
Rabakhôr’s jaw was moving unhappily, as if he was trying several different explanations and found all of them worthless. "I just wanted to..." he eventually said, and then trailed off.
"Yes?"
"I meant to lighten the mood, Lady. I am dreadfully sorry. I beg your forgiveness, and will never do it again."
"Not so fast! You have insulted my authority and my house. If one of these men-" she pointed at the day-talers, some of whom looked very alarmed about the sudden attention - "had addressed you or your daughter as you spoke to me, what would you do with them?"
Rabakhôr, clearly knowing that whatever he said now would fall back onto himself, gave the matter some thought, and then declared that he would reprimand the offender very sternly and demand a contrite apology. I couldn’t hold back a snort at such a blatant lie, and I was not the only one to express my disbelief; there were chuckles and laughter among the guards and the foremen and even among the intimidated day-talers, because we all knew that his reprimand would leave the unfortunate offender bleeding, and the contrite apology would be delivered through screams of pain.

Lady Arancalimë looked around at the reaction Rabakhôr’s answer elicited, pointedly, before returning her focus on the man himself. "You are a coward and a liar," she said flatly. "But never mind. Azruhâr, come here. Refresh my memory. When my father felt that you were being insolent towards him, what punishment did he propose?"
I briefly considered feigning forgetfulness so I would not be responsible for whatever happened next; but then, she doubtlessly knew the answer perfectly well. "Fifty lashes, my lady," I said, unable to meet her eyes.
"Possibly sixty, if I recall correctly," she said, confirming my thoughts. "Or?"
I studied the dirty cobblestones. "Or a week in the stocks."
"Or?"
Involuntarily, I gritted my teeth. "Or my tongue cut out, Lady." I glanced at Rabakhôr, who had, if that was possible, gone even more pale now. Lord Eärendur had insisted that it would require the King’s permission to do something like that, but I still wasn’t wholly convinced that these nobles wouldn’t find a way around that if they were angry enough. At any rate, Rabakhôr clearly knew as little about it as I had, because he was raising his hands imploringly. "My lady, surely none of that is necessary… I will pay good silver to make good for my blunder..."
Again, she cut him short. "You insult me further. Do I look like I am in need of your silver? No, Rabakhôr, you will not buy your way out of this. You will pay the same price as any lesser man would. If you were in my place, what would you do?"

Rabakhôr was shaking his head vigorously, unwilling to bring his punishment upon himself. Nobody stepped up to defend him; the other merchants and shopkeepers and whatever else they were stood rooted to the spot, muttering to each other, doubtlessly glad that it wasn’t them in Rabakhôr’s spot, perhaps hoping that they wouldn’t end up there next, perhaps even secretly gloating about their colleague’s – or competitor’s – predicament. The day-talers were keeping their safe distance from both the guards and the better citizens, lest they got dragged into this mess, while still craning their necks to watch, because most of them had been in situations like that, only with people like Rabakhôr in charge, and there was some satisfaction in seeing someone like him brought low. The guards stood to attention, most of their faces expressionless, though some evidently found the whole thing quite entertaining. The air seemed to be charged, as if a thunderstorm was brewing; we were all waiting for the lightning to strike.
Lady Arancalimë fixed the would-be rioters with a stare. "I need some help, gentlemen," she declared. "Rabakhôr has lost his power of speech. How would you deal with a man who insulted your family?"
Rabakhôr’s fellows exchanged further glances. "A good whipping," one them eventually said.
"Yes, that’s what I thought," Lady Arancalimë said. "Rabakhôr, if you would be so kind as to bare your back?"
"I am an honourable man of business," Rabakhôr protested desperately, "and I refuse to be beaten in front of all these people!"

Lady Arancalimë narrowed her eyes. "Honourable? You insulted me in front of all these people," she pointed out. "Where’s the honour in that? Thought you were a strong man, did you? Someone to put the meddling lady in her place? Well, let’s see how strong you really are. Now take off your clothes before I have them cut off you." Two more guards had stepped up by now, one of them holding the dreaded lash, the other reaching for his dagger, and Rabakhôr hastily began to undo the pin on his cloak. One of the guards took his clothing and handed it on to me, who would have preferred to hide among the other onlookers instead of holding Rabakhôr’s fine shirt and tunic and cloak at the ready. Underneath them, he had the imposing figure of a man accustomed to good food and athletics and regular massages at the bath-house. Once he was done stripping, the guards took a firm grip of his wrists, pulling his arms to the side so his back and shoulders were fully exposed to the whip-wielder, an awkward and vulnerable posture that I remembered only too well. Rabakhôr was shaking, from the cold or from fear or from anger - probably all three. I saw the third guard position himself behind Rabakhôr and couldn’t help feeling pity for the honourable shopkeeper, because I recognised that guard from my own brief imprisonment and knew that he had a very hard hand. I was torn from my reminiscences by Lady Arancalimë, who addressed me once again. "Azruhâr, can you count to fifty?"
My stomach clenched with anxiety. "Yes, my lady," I said, clinging a little more tightly to the bundle of clothing in my arms.
"Then you will keep count," she commanded. "Loudly." I clenched my eyes shut. This was a lot more involvement than I was comfortable with. I have always been squeamish about pain – both inflicted on myself and on others – and I would infinitely have preferred to hide somewhere at the back of the crowd, or ideally to leave the scene altogether, instead of standing in the middle of the square, calling the lashes and seeing the damage they did.
But of course I did not dare to disobey. The guard gave me an expectant look, nodding to signify his readiness; and I took a deep breath, and said, "One."

The lash hissed through the air and hit Rabakhôr’s back with a cruel snap. Even in my position of safety, I couldn’t help flinching. Rabakhôr, meanwhile, jerked forwards with a shriek; if the guards hadn’t held his arms, he would have landed flat on his face. They pulled him back into position, and I could see that his eyes had widened in disbelief at the all-encompassing sharpness of the pain. I realised that this might be the first time he felt the lash bite into his own flesh, because he was accustomed to inflicting punishment on his assistants and apprentices and people he suspected of thieving and whoever else earned his ire, not to being beaten himself. Perhaps he mocked his own victims for being weaklings when they cried out. The thought helped me a little to come to terms with my uncomfortable role of executioner’s assistant, but not much.
"Two."
Again the sickening whistle and crack. Again, Rabakhôr fell forwards. He stifled his shout this time, grinding his teeth, but his eyes were still wide with horror, and no wonder. I remembered all too well how overpowering the sting of the lash was. Fifty lashes wouldn’t take Rabakhôr to within an inch of his life, but they would cause him trouble for several weeks to come, and right now, they were going to feel unbearable.
"Three." Fourty-seven to go. Rabakhôr was probably doing the same disheartening calculations in his head, very much aware of how far away the end of his ordeal still was. Perhaps he was trying to tell himself that he would get used to it at some point, that the sting would grow duller, and I knew that instead, it would only get worse. He was breathing fast now, trying to fill his lungs before the next blow would knock the breath out of him again.
"Four." Crack. "Five." Crack.

At twelve, Rabakhôr could no longer bite back his groans; at nineteen, he began to scream; at twenty-seven, he was gasping for mercy. I paused after thirty, looking up at Lady Arancalimë in case she felt inclined to waive the rest. She was looking ahead with a stony expression, her lips pursed in disgust. Clearly, she was not enjoying the spectacle, but she appeared to feel that it was necessary, because she raised her chin and said, without looking at me, "Continue."
I swallowed. "Thirty-one." I tried to keep my voice even, but I was tempted to cry myself by then. My own back was tingling in sympathy. To some extent, it felt as if I was witnessing my own torment – although that still felt like too strong a word – at the hands of Niluthôr, and it took all my self-control to keep counting, steadily, loud enough for all to hear. At thirty-four, the lash started to draw blood. Rabakhôr was trying to twist away from the flashes of pain at that point, and further guards were necessary to hold him in place for the final stretch of his punishment. I heaved a sigh of relief when I finally reached fifty. Rabakhôr was spluttering for breath, and when the guards let go of him, he crumpled forward, landing on his forearms and hiding his tear-drenched face between them. I couldn’t help wondering whether the experience would make him more kindly disposed towards his inferiors in the future, or whether it would rather turn him vengeful.
"Still in the mood for jesting?" Lady Arancalimë asked. Rabakhôr shook his head without speaking, and she said, "I thought not."
She rode past the weeping man, halting in front of Rabakhôr’s fellows. "I trust you will not interfere with these works anymore. Otherwise…" she glanced back at Rabakhôr, who had now scrambled back to his feet. Thin rivulets of blood were snaking their way down across the bruises and wheals on his back, which was still shaking with suppressed sobs. "That is not the worst that could happen. Rioting is a serious offense. You and you, make sure that man sees a healer. The rest of you, go home and hold your peace."

I pushed the bundle of Rabakhôr’s clothing back at the guard who had handed it to me – I did not want Rabakhôr’s friends to memorise my face, in case they felt that I was somehow to blame for this. He would be alright, I told myself. Even I had been alright, in the end, and I’d been struck worse and been less fit to bear it to begin with. This man would be looked after by a good healer, who would stitch him up so that there would be minimal scarring, and drug him senseless for as long as he needed it. The cloak I’d held had been lined with marten, the shirt had been of fine linen, the tunic of thick soft wool, and nicely embroidered; Rabakhôr’s household would not starve if the healer forced him to remain flat on his belly for a few weeks. In fact, his assistants would keep the shop running, and were probably grateful enough for their jobs that they would not use his absence to steal from him. I told myself all that. But I still felt guilty, and only marginally less so because I knew that Rabakhôr and his fine cronies had attacked my neighbours and other people like them, and would have done it again today.

For the time being, I hurried after Lady Arancalimë. She was now riding over to the workers, and I hoped that she would not accuse them of idleness since they had paused their work to watch. The day-talers knelt in greeting as the horse stopped in a safe distance from the yawning ditch. Lady Arancalimë looked around – her expression was one of disgust, and I hoped very much that it was for the stench (which was even stronger here) or for Rabakhôr (now awkwardly huddling into his cloak as he was led away by his cronies), not for the besmeared people at her feet. At any rate, she told them to stand and asked, without the slightest trace of irony, how they could bear the smell.
"We have to, your ladyship?" one man I didn’t recognise suggested.
That brought the amused glint back into her eyes. "A good reason," she agreed dryly. She asked whether the working conditions were otherwise agreeable and whether the pay was sufficient, as if anyone would have dared to complain after the scene they’d witnessed. Then she asked the foremen how long the work was going to take, and how long in particular it would take until the sewers were connected and closed.
"Two to three weeks," she mused. "A long time to be smelling like that. Well; you’d better get back to work, then." She nodded by way of parting. The day-talers scrambled back into the mire of earth and excrement as she turned her horse around, and I heard her ask the foreman where she could find the nearest bath-house. Then she seemed to remember me, beckoning to me until I had caught up with her.

"Well, Azruhâr!" she said, looking down at me with a curious tilt of her head. "How do you like your first day as spokesman of the day-talers?"
I returned her gaze nervously. "Not particularly, my lady," I confessed.
"No stomach for punishment?"
"No, my lady."
"That is unfortunate, if you're striving for authority."
With a wide-eyed stare, I protested, "I am not striving for authority!"
She smiled in a knowing way. I wasn’t certain what exactly she knew, but it might as well have been everything. "They’ll be more obedient in the future, don’t you think?"
"Without a doubt, my lady." I wondered whether I should leave it at that, but as usual, I could not keep my mouth shut. "They’re not going to speak kindly of you, though, my lady."
Her lip twitched. "They better watch their tongues, then." She smiled to herself, and I hoped that I would be able to take my leave now, but then she said, "Out of curiosity, Azruhâr – if that had been one of your men, what would you have done?"
I felt myself break into a sweat. "They’re not my men, my lady," I pointed out to buy myself more time.
With an impatient flick of her hand, she said, "A member of your society, then – you know what I mean."
"I would have begged you to lower the count," I said. "Fifty is a lot."
"More than is reasonable and appropriate?"
I wondered how I could answer that question without causing offense. "Your ladyship is not bound by these terms, as I understand it..."
"You understand it right. I take that as a yes."
Grimacing, I said, "Well, I think it would be more than is reasonable and appropriate if someone like Rabakhôr had done it. But clearly, it is worse because he insulted you – as a noblewoman, I mean."
"Is it?" There was proper amusement in her eyes now.
"It means that he didn’t respect your authority, doesn’t it. You have to uphold the law, and if people don’t respect you, you can’t do that."

She smiled a thin smile. "Very well; then let us assume that it was one of your day-talers who disrespected me."
"That would have to be a severe misunderstanding, my lady. They tend to err on the side of humility. And if one somehow didn’t, you’d probably have him accused of rebellion right away."
Lady Arancalimë sighed heavily. "Stop dissembling and answer the damned question, Azruhâr."
I wrapped my cloak more tightly around myself, as if that could protect me in any way. "I’d still have asked you to reduce his punishment to twenty. Thirty at the most. That’s bad enough." I looked up, trying to figure out her expression.
"And if I had ignored your request?"
I shrugged. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have expected her to agree. "Then I would have had to make sure that the man got a healer’s attention and that his family was fed until he had recovered."
"Ah. And Rabakhôr?" she asked, studying me intently. "What would you have done with him?"
I thought for a while. "Maybe he could have been made to work alongside the day-talers," I eventually suggested, "Shovelling shit down there in the ditch. That would have been punishment, too."
She chuckled. "An interesting thought. I’ll keep it in mind for the future." She gripped her horse’s bridle more firmly, giving me a nod. "I have business at the bath-house now; and you, I expect, will be late for your proper work. But it has been a very educative morning, hasn’t it?"
"It certainly has been, my lady."
"A good day to you."
"And to you, my lady."
I bowed low, and then looked after her as she rode up the street, wondering whyever she was headed for a commoners’ bath-house.

That evening, there was of course no other topic than the merchants’ and shopkeepers’ attack on the sewage works, and Lady Arancalimë’s astonishing appearance. Most of my neighbours agreed that Rabakhôr had deserved what he’d gotten. Even those who pitied his fate in general felt that it had been exceedingly satisfying to see someone like him reduced to screaming under the lash, rather than one of their own. Accordingly, Lady Arancalimë was the heroine of the day. "And you’ll never guess what she did after that," Târazôn said, looking smug and satisfied and surprisingly tidy for a man who’d been working in the sewers all day.
I did not even try to guess.
Râhak held his hand underneath my face, and I drew back in alarm, thinking that he meant to strike me. Then I realised that he wanted me to sniff his skin, which I did with great caution. But oddly enough, there was very little sewage stink about it, and instead a flowery note reminiscent of the perfumed soap we used in the catacombs to get rid of the corpse-smell. "The lady negotiated with the owner of a bath-house," Râhak explained happily, "and now we can go there for free for an hour after work – every day! She said it’s part of our compensation. Isn’t that grand?"

I conceded that it was very grand indeed, even if their clothing still had the smell hanging in it. Târazôn explained that tomorrow, those who could would be bringing spare clothing to wear afterwards, and they were allowed to wash their used clothing at the bath-house also. Not a bad deal at all. I spent some time lost in thought. I remembered my diatribe concerning the so-called unwashed masses. I remembered telling Lord Atanacalmo that he should give people a piece of soap on top of the money if he had them do dirty work and still wanted them to admire him. Granted, a free visit to the bath-house – with its steaming tubs and comfortable basins, soft towels and scented oils – was even better than a bar of soap, but still, didn’t it veer into the same direction? I came to the conclusion that Lord Atanacalmo and his daughter were paying a lot more attention than I had previously assumed, and that I would have to be even more cautious around them. So far, it had worked out to our advantage, but the tide no doubt would turn. I did not tell my neighbours about these thoughts. Instead, I made a point of praising Lady Arancalimë’s generosity, so that her name would be spoken with reverence and admiration at least among the lower classes.

After the next council session, it was announced that the legal passus concerning the rights of property-holders to informally punish their inferiors had been amended from ‚reasonable and appropriate’ to ‚not exceeding thirty single lashes (or equivalent)’. Lord Eärendur later told me that the motion had been brought forward by Lord Atanacalmo of all people, who had cited cases of "men beaten to the brink of death over mere trifles" and "excessive cruelty wielded by men with no sense of proportion" and the like. That latter part had mobilised the council, who agreed, on the whole, that only the ruling class were responsible enough to be trusted with meting out harder punishments. Lord Eärendur in his turn had enthusiastically supported the motion, and that had pushed over a few traditionalists who felt that it had never been necessary to restrict the rights of the middling sorts, since they were "all reasonable folk". Some of the guildmasters had still resisted, which had led to Lord Atanacalmo questioning them in detail about their own use of the lash, to part mirth and part horror. In the end, it had become a discussion about the maximum number (Lord Eärendur had suggested that ten should suffice to get the point across, but he had been overruled), and the Crown Prince had signed it into law.
„I expect he didn’t like that much,“ I mused. „Does he always have to do what the majority of the Council wants?“
Lord Eärendur gave a non-commital shrug. „In theory, no. The King – or his Regent – is the law, and the Council can only offer advice. But it is considered the sign of a bad ruler to directly oppose the advice of the greater part of the Council, so in practice, the King tends to follow it. At any rate, Alcarmaitë had no particular interest in this matter, since it doesn’t touch upon his own rights.“ And thus, that far-away goal of the Day-taler’s Welfare Society was met before I’d even dreamt of campaigning for it.

Naturally, I mentioned the role of Lord Atanacalmo when my neighbours celebrated the news. As for myself, I still did not know what to make of the whole thing, fearing very much that the attention we were suddenly getting would sooner or later turn into a liability. I certainly did not go and claim credit. It was much better, really, if the nobles thought that one of their own had had the idea. My neighbours, at any rate, were convinced that Lady Arancalimë had put her father up to it, since she had previously shown sympathy for their plight. I did nothing to dissuade them. Accordingly, the noble house of Arminalêth had won itself a loyal base of supporters in the paupers at the foot of the hill in two easy steps.