The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 31

"I wonder whether he is hoping to drive a wedge between us," Lord Eärendur said when at last we met again. I had told him about what had been spoken during my visits to Lord Atancalmo's house, even the distasteful and outright treasonous parts - Lord Atanacalmo had told me that I shouldn't trust anyone, but I had decided to trust both my darling wife and my noble friend. If I could not trust them, then life was hardly worth living anyway. I wasn't weeping this time, although I had been tempted once or twice. But the fire in the Heart was warm and bright, and the wine was good, and Lord Eärendur had been as attentive and kind as my bruised dignity could ask for.
"Sometimes I almost feel that Atanacalmo is trying to claim you for himself," Lord Eärendur continued to muse.
Frowning, I shook my head. "He could have had my service, the last time we spoke," I said, "and he told me that he didn't want it anymore. So that can't be it. Besides, he isn't even particularly friendly to me."
Lord Eärendur weighed his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is not so much directed towards you, as rather against me. I do have the impression that he is jealous of me or of Andúnië, at any rate. Just a few days back he announced that Armenelos - and no other place - should be the foremost city in the world, a place in which there are neither poverty and despair. That is how he argued in favour of the Day-taler's Welfare Society, incidentally. Telemmaitë wanted to put an end to it, but Atanacalmo insisted that it was useful to his great plan."

That was news to me, but it also helped to make more sense of things. So I was useful to Lord Atanacalmo in other ways than just providing some meagre amusement. In a way, that was reassuring: I was far more confident that I could tell him how to make poor people less desperate, if that was what he wanted, than I could rely on my abilities as a jester. If he felt that this contributed to the glory of Arminalêth, so much the better. Less reassuring was the fact that he certainly didn't need to employ me for that purpose, because he knew by now that I'd blurt out whatever he needed to know if only he needled me enough. I had told him myself that I was already giving him all the information that was relevant to the Society, and thus the betterment of my erstwhile fellows. I grimaced in displeasure, and saw my expression mirrored on Lord Eärendur's face.
"I wish I could advise you to stay away from him," he said, "because he is certainly ruthless, and because I know how much he wears you out. But unfortunately, I must say the opposite: that you should seek his patronage, and please him as well as you can. Atanacalmo is now easily the most powerful man next to the King - Telemmaitë listens to him; he feels that his uncle is giving him all the affection and support that Ancalimon withheld from him, and he basks in it. So Atanacalmo can protect you far better than I can, as long as he cares to." He sighed heavily. "Stay in his favour, Azruhâr; it's the best hope for safety that you have, at this time. If that means cutting ties with me, I will not hold it against you--"

I shook my head violently. "No. I'll do my utmost to earn Lord Atanacalmo's goodwill, but I can't do it without you. I need you to counsel me and - to build me up again after he has worn me down." My face had grown hot with embarrassment. I felt very greedy - did I not have a loving and competent wife? Did I not have three wonderful children? Was I not, on the whole, surrounded by people who treated me well and even, on occasion, looked up to me? - but I suppose I was desperate to be loved, just like the new King, by those whose love I did not deserve.
In his boundless kindness, Lord Eärendur merely gave an indulgent smile at my demand, and even said, "I am glad if I can do that much, at least." He reached out to pat my shoulder. "And I shall be glad to lend you the money you need, too - for however long you need it. Do let me know before things get desperate." He gave me an uncomfortably earnest look, suggesting that he knew perfectly well that I wouldn't want to ask until things were desperate, but then seemingly changed the topic. "That was your amber pendant Telemmaitë was wearing for the coronation, wasn't it?"
I nodded, my face burning. "I tried to buy his favour with it, but I don't think it worked. I am very sorry. I assure you that I didn't give it away easily -- it has always been precious to me! But he threatened to take it by force, and I thought I'd be able to make things better if I gave it freely." I rubbed forehead with my fist, then forced myself to meet Lord Eärendur's eyes. "Are you very angry with me?"
Briefly, his lips twitched into another sad smile. "I am not angry - not with you, at any rate! I regret that you saw the need to give it up, without negotiating for a fair price. I hope you will get the value you bargained for." He sighed, and I bit down hard on my lip, at which he shook his head. "No, don't do that!" Taking both my hands in his, he said, "We'll get you through this. We'll find a way." He smiled again, lopsidedly. "What do you say, should we try to improve your chess? I am not as much of a player as Atanacalmo, but I'll do my best."
His best was certainly better than mine; he beat me just as easily as Lord Atanacalmo did. But he explained what he was doing, and pointed out where my choices had turned wrong, so that at the end of the game, it felt like a learning opportunity rather than a humiliating defeat, for which I was deeply grateful. Above all, it occupied my mind enough to keep me from bursting into tears.

To my relief, my income did not dry up right away. We were given the rest of the month at our usual pay to clear out the catacombs. Our tools and materials went to Master Târik's house after he had bought an additional strongbox to lock up the potentially dangerous or even poisonous salts. We discussed what to do with the remaining body parts. It had been a while since we'd worked with intact bodies - for the first time, I wondered whether the guards had merely stopped bringing the bodies of starved or frozen beggars to us, or whether fewer people had in fact died in that manner, alone, in the open, and unclaimed by family whose objections to embalming couldn't be assuaged with a few coins - and it seemed wasteful to preserve the heads or arms or legs of dead criminals, now that we no longer needed to find out how to do it well. At the same time, it felt respectless to throw them out, criminals though they had been. In the end, we settled for a compromise: We preserved the heads, but the other parts we brought to the refuse pits behind the tanners' quarter. It kept us busy, and although we didn't dare to drag our feet, we certainly did not hurry unduly, lest we were done too soon. Knowing the King, he'd happily have stopped paying right then and there, even if there was still a week of the month left.

"You are aware hat you are not allowed to use a private house as a morgue, of course," Lord Atanacalmo said in his dismissive manner when we were next playing chess. I did not know who had told him that we were storing the boxes of old experiments and newly embalmed heads at Master Târik's house, but then, we had not exactly worked in secret, and I suppose it was Lord Atanacalmo's job to know what was going on in his city.
I, meanwhile, had not known that there was any law in place that did not allow the storing of dead people, or their parts, in a private house. Not that I expected that to be a common occurance - but I had not expected it to be explicitly forbidden, and I said so.
"I was not aware of that, Lord. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I shall tell my master."
"Do that! You will need to find some other lodgings for your- specimens."
I nodded.
"I expect you will not find it easy," Lord Atanacalmo continued with his trademark smirk.
"Probably not, your Grace," I agreed unhappily. Yet again, my focus was very much not on the chess board. To be fair, my game would not have been much better if I had been allowed to think about it undistractedly; but at any rate, it certainly wasn't improved by giving me unpleasant news to chew on. "Maybe we can rent a cellar somewhere in the butchers' district."
"Dear me! I doubt that the good butchers of Armenelos would approve. And even if they do, I don't think I would. What kind of message would that send, dead human bodies in the same quarters as the meat that we eat? Hardly good for one's appetite."
I could not well contradict him. The mere idea was enough to put you off meat forever.
Lord Atanacalmo's eyes were glinting. "No, if you asked me, I should rather advise you to look outside the city walls," he said.

Staring at him in confusion, I asked, "In Arandor?" I was certain that I had misunderstood him, but then, perhaps he wasn't looking at things from my perspective. "I don't think his Majesty would be at all supportive, your Grace," I explained in case he didn't see the problem.
But he evidently saw it, and found it very funny, because he threw his head back and laughed out loud. "Indeed not! No, Arandor would be a very bad idea." He sobered, or at any rate stopped laughing, although his eyes were still gleaming with mirth. "But the land on either side of the road from the city to the Mountain is counted as part of the city, and thus under my authority." His stare seemed to intensify. Discomfited, I had to struggle against the urge to squirm.
"Is it? I did not know that, your Grace," I said for the sake of politeness. I was not certain what he expected of me. Even if the land was under his authority, that didn't make it useful for us. "Does that mean it belongs to you, Lord?"
"It means that, yes," he said, looking very satisfied with himself. I suppose he had reason to be satisfied, if he owned the city of Arminalêth and the pastures on either side of the road. I tried to keep my thoughts together. There must be a reason why he was telling me these things. Was it an offer? "Would it be possible, in theory, to rent that land?" I asked cautiously.
"Ah!" he said, sounding pleased. It appeared that I had guessed correctly. "Yes, it so happens that it would be possible. In theory. For the right price."
I was worrying my lips once more. "And what price would that be, Lord?"
Lord Atanacalmo simply smiled. "Are you authorised to enter into this kind of negotiation, Apprentice Azruhâr?"
That stopped me short. I had not actually intended to negotiate anything - I had merely asked because I needed to know what to do with the information he had given me - but it appears that he intended to understand it differently. "No, your Grace," I said meekly.
"Then we shall not negotiate." He was still smiling, and his voice sounded indifferent, but I was still worried that I had crossed yet another line that I should have stayed well away from.

But once again, I found that there was no turning back. Five days later, I was in Lord Atanacalmo's house again, armed with some good advice and with Master Târik's written authorisation to try and negotiate for a plot of land that we could use to build our own morgue. We had agreed that it was a pity to invest our own money into a business that was no longer encouraged, but since our lives depended on our work as embalmers, it was an investment that had to be made. Fortunately, Master Târik and the others had been able to save rather more money than I, and they were willing to pay without me. "You'll negotiate for us," Kârathon had said, patting my back, "that'll be your share of the debt."
"Mind you to negotiate a good deal," Mîkul had added, "or we might charge you for the difference after all!"
I knew that Mîkul was joking, but I couldn't find it funny. "I hate to disappoint you, but Lord Atanacalmo can and will shortchange me, and if you want to avoid that, you can go and talk to him yourself," I announced.

In the event, we did not even enter into negotiations. When I was shown into Lord Atanacalmo's study, he was studying a sheaf of papers with his daughter, clearly preoccupied. I was greeted, I was told to sit, and then I was ignored while they discussed the papers in hushed voices and what appeared to be the Eldarin tongue. I sat and waited, as unobtrusively as I could. I had not come unannounced - I had asked for an appointment and been told to come at this specific time of the afternoon, in fact - so I told myself that I was not truly inconveniencing them, or if I was, that it was their own fault. Nonetheless, I felt rather uncomfortable. I told myself that this was doubtlessly intended. Perhaps I should have been flattered that Lord Atanacalmo thought he needed the additional advantage. But then, he knew me well enough to know that I was not a strong negotiator, and that he would easily outwit me. Something else must be afoot. I resigned myself to waiting until they deigned to let me know what it was.

The time came - or I assume it came - when Lord Atanacalmo switched to Adûnaic, speaking so I could understand him. "Did you know that the rate of petty crime in Arminalêth has gone down significantly in the last three years?" he asked me, smiling languidly.
I tried to smile in return. "That is good, isn't it?"
"It is good indeed."
Lady Arancalimë also spoke - ostensibly, to her father, because she was pointing out something I couldn't see in the papers he was holding, but she was clearly saying it for my sake. "Look, the rate of untimely death has also gone down during that time," she said.
"Hmmm," Lord Atanacalmo agreed, and then looked at me again. "I have been governing well, haven't I?"
I tried to discern the trap in his words, but wasn't sure where to find it. "That is hardly for me to judge, my lord?" I said.
He rolled his eyes in response.
"You have doubtlessly been governing well, Atar," Lady Arancalimë said, her eyes never leaving my face. I hoped that my expression would be read as unassumingly affirmative.
"So what did it? Was it my new laws?" Lord Atanacalm said, likewise staring me down. "Those did not go without criticism. But even though we have more people now, we have less crime. Surely that is due to the stricter laws..."
Now the trap was obvious, and yet I couldn't help but step into it. "Then there might be less crime, but more death. Perhaps, instead, you successfully combated the afflictions of the poor that lead to both crime and untimely death?"
"Ah!" Lord Atanacalmo exclaimed. "You think it was my patronage of the Daytaler's Welfare Society, then?"
I glanced from him to his daughter nervously. "It might as well have been." I was certainly hoping that it had been, at any rate.
Lord Atanacalmo appeared to accept my suggestion, which made me suspect that he'd already thought of it himself. "That should be celebrated!" he announced. "Arancalimë, what should we do to celebrate?"

"I think one would usually have a feast," said Lady Arancalimë. "Or maybe we should make an investment?"
Lord Atanacalmo was smirking now. "Ah, yes, another investment. Azruhâr, if I were minded to pay a little reward to some deserving members of the Day-talers' Welfare Society - let us say, the sum you paid as surety for your neighbours? How much was that again?"
"Five Trees, my lord," I said, barely believing my ears. Something was very wrong, I was certain, but I did not know what to do about it.
"Ah yes, that's right, five shiny silver Trees." He had known the answer before I had given it, I was certain of that. Clearly, I wasn't the only one with a fair memory. "Let's say five Trees for the five most deserving day-talers, then. Who would that be?"
Once again I found myself looking anxiously from Lord Atanacalmo to his daughter and back. I was getting more and more worried about my role in the strange play they were performing - surely it was a play; they were not about to give away five Trees, even if that was a paltry sum for nobles like them. More likely, awful things would happen to the five people I was expected to name.

As a result, I named no-one. "I would have to check with our book-keeper to answer that question," I said. "I cannot simply say who is the most deserving; there are plenty of deserving people among them. Let me discuss this matter first and I will come back to you--" Above all, I would have to discuss it with Lord Eärendur, I felt, to help me see where the trap was.
"No, no, I am not minded to wait. Why don't we find out ourselves? Arancalimë, dearest, the people trust you. Go among them and ask what they'd do with our money; we shall decide based on their answers." He grinned even more broadly. "After all, everybody knows that the poor don't handle money responsibly. That's why they stay poor - they never save anything, let alone invest it wisely. We must make sure that we don't give it to such people."
I thought to myself that the poor people I knew never had so much money that they could put something on the side. Otherwise, they would do it - as I had done, before I'd seen myself forced to spend so much of it. But I did not voice that thought, especially as Lady Arancalimë was already rising. I rose as well, ready to tag along. At once, Lord Atanacalmo's eyes hardened. "Sit down, Azruhâr; I am not finished with you."
Frowning, I said, "I thought as the spokesman --"
"As the spokesman, you were unable to give us names. There is no need for you to go and put words into other people's mouths now. Let them speak for themselves. Arancalimë will take Fuinil along to take notes, so you needn't worry about her forgetting anything." He smiled with his lips only. "Sit."
I sat.

I could not help fidgeting in worry, however, and once Lady Arancalimë was gone, Lord Atanacalmo accosted me about it. "You do not trust our neighbours to answer wisely, I see," he said. "Interesting."
"I trust them," I protested. "But I do not trust noble folk to necessarily understand them right. Sometimes we seem to be talking at cross-purposes."
"We do, don't we! Even though we speak the same language." He leaned back and studied me, his lip quirking scornfully.
"When you choose to," I couldn't help saying.
"Hmm. Indeed." The smirk intensified. "Either way, it's out of your hands. But you had your own business to discuss with me, anyway. Let's hear it; I'm all ears."
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I tried to focus on my original purpose. "Yes, Lord. The last time we spoke, you mentioned land by the road that you might be willing to let, but you would not say any more because I didn't have the rights to negotiate with you. Well, I do now. I have my master's written authorisation right here." I handed him the letter Master Târik had given me.
He read it leisurely. "So you're spokesman of the embalmers as well now! You gather responsibilities faster than a dead body gathers flies!"
My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. "My colleagues think that you will be more forthcoming with me, since you know me already. But you need not worry - I'm not expecting much. I know perfectly well that you will drive a hard bargain. After all, it's not like we're friends."
Once again, his lips twitched. "That would be asking a bit much, wouldn't it," he said. "Very well. You know I have lands by the main road that I am, in theory, willing to let. So, what's your idea?"

I needed another deep breath before I could answer. I had rather hoped that he would begin the negotiations by telling me what was possible. As it was, I was afraid that I would give away too much, too soon. But apparently, it could not be helped. "Well, my lord, we do not need a large plot since we only need ground enough for a workshop, but the ground must not be too rocky because we will need a deep cellar to protect our... specimens... and we don't have much time to do it. We shall need a well to keep things clean, also. So we shall have to dig deep, and quickly."
Lord Atanacalmo had steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. "Well, I can't help you with that. You can't ask for deep ground free of rock in the Tarmasundar* of all places."
Again, my face flushed. "Then we cannot pay too much for it. After all, we will have no reliable income after this month, and if the ground is tough, then we shall have to pay for more workers, and employ them for longer, to get our morgue built."
I was very pleased with that, because I felt it gave me a basis on which to start bargaining, but Lord Atanacalmo merely shrugged. "You will realise that your financial limitations are not my concern," he said.
"They are if you want our business, Lord," I couldn't help saying, at which he shrugged again.
"I do not want it; I merely mentioned it as a way out of your current difficulties. I do not need to let that land at all; it may be of little use to me, but since you have use for it, that obviously raises its value."
Chewing my lips a little, I tried to figure out whether I should try to argue, or whether I should just skip to the haggling right now. I decided for the latter. "Be that as it may, we absolutely cannot offer more than two Crowns per month." Master Târik was, in truth, ready to pay as much as four Crowns, but obviously I would not begin with that.
"Ridiculous," Lord Atanacalmo duly responded. I had expected nothing else. "Permitting you to build at all is a great mercy, and I want to see something in return. Five Crowns."
"You will have our gratitude, and we shall glorify you as much as you like," I said, "but we cannot pay in coin. Two and a half."

I received a joyless smile in return. "My dear Azruhâr, maybe you have not realised it, but you are in no position to bargain. You have no alternatives, so you shall have to take what I offer you."
Taking another deep breath, I said, "As it happens, we have been exchanging letters with the dean of the Academy at Andúnië, and it is entirely possible that we will be able to store our specimens there, for use in their studies of anatomy and other sciences."
As it happened, we had written a single letter, and not yet received an answer. Still, Lord Eärendur had advised me to put more store in that single letter than it might hold (after first suggesting that we wrote to the dean in the first place). And I felt that with Lord Eärendur behind us, it was in fact quite likely that the dean would agree to help us. So I wasn't lying. It was entirely possible.
Lord Atanacalmo clearly didn't like hearing this, because his smirk was replaced by a very thin-lipped expression, and his gaze hardened to a glare. "I see," he said after a short pause. "Well, good luck with that, then. You may go."
Confused, I protested, "We have not yet reached an agreement, my lord...?"
He drew a very deliberate breath through his nose. "I said, you may go."
I bowed and made my escape.

I didn't dare to go down to the foot of the hill and find out what Lady Arancalimë was talking my neighbours into because that would doubtlessly annoy her father even more, but I went the next evening so I at least knew what to expect. (I had no doubt that Lord Atanacalmo would eventually summon me again, and I wanted to make sure that I knew what had truly been said.) So I asked around who had spoken with the grand lady the previous evening, and also what they had spoken about.
"She asked what I'd do if I had five Trees," said Khôrazon, whom I met at the well.
"And what did you say?"
"Well, I told her that I wouldn't have five Trees, right? I'm not a thief or anything of the sort. But she said I should imagine that someone gave me five Trees as a gift, which in all honesty is a bit ludicrous, isn't it? Still, I said that in the unlikely event that someone gave me five Trees, I'd use them to rebuild my house. I mean, it's not breaking down, but I'd like a proper house. Maybe with one or two separate rooms that we can rent out, because there are plenty of people these days who need a home. She laughed. But I was serious! Perhaps five Trees wouldn't be enough for that, though? What do you think?"
"It should be enough, if you don't get too fancy," I said. I did not see the joke, either.
"I would buy some farmland," said Zamâl, who had overheard our conversation. "Not a big farm, mind, but an acre or two. And seeds, of course. And a plough. The lady asked whether I was going to buy an ox, too, but I was thinking of a simple hand-held plough, really. I'd like to save the rest of the money in case I need it later."
"I would've bought the ox, too! It would make the ploughing so much easier. And the shit is good for the soil." That was Râpharil, sister of my gardener Râhak.

Others said they would have bought a vegetable patch, or a herd of goats, or some sheep. Indeed, growing food or raising lifestock were common desires. Some folk had other ambitions - for instance, Lîmar, who did a lot of weaving, would sensibly buy a proper loom, the kind that would allow her to weave patterned fabrics with ease; Thâmaris, of course, wanted guest rooms for the sick people who visited her; Obal, who had twin sons, would have tried to buy apprenticeships in respectable crafts for both of them; Mâkil wanted a horse and cart to transport goods from the capital to the havens at Rómenna and back. Some, like Khôrazon, wanted to add to their houses to rent out rooms, or add a dairy kitchen, or open a tavern. But on the whole, lifestock and food seemed the most popular choice. I felt that it made a whole lot of sense, remembering the shortages in the markets and the eternal plight to get enough food on the table, anyway. I felt that my neighbours had all proven that poor people could handle money just fine, provided they had enough of it in the first place. As long as Lady Arancalimë continued to be benevolent towards us, she could hardly find fault with these wishes. In all honesty, I was a bit worried that I'd have to help pick the five worthiest, because I would have found that very hard indeed.

But clearly, my expertise (such as it was) wasn't required, for Lord Atanacalmo did not summon me all week. I began to fear that he was seriously angry over the way our negotiations had gone, and that I had lost whatever goodwill he'd had for me.
I said as much to Lord Eärendur when he visited us that Valanya, bringing - among other things - a letter from Master Salquendil, the Academy's dean. "I am not sorry that I told him about it, because I really don't want him to think that I'm utterly dependent on him," I said, "but at the same time I'm frightened of the consequences."
Lord Eärendur nodded sagely. "You are not obliged to answer to him exclusively," he said, "and indeed, as long as he refuses to offer you any security outright, it seems to me dangerous to make yourself too dependent on him. But I understand your fear." He sighed. "Read your letter. I hope it can alleviate your worries at least a little."
I read, and found out that Master Salquendil had spoken to the heads of several departments of natural sciences and they had all expressed an interest in our specimens, which we were welcome to send to the Academy at our convenience. That was some small reasurrance - at least we did not have to risk arrest or worse over using Master Târik's house as a makeshift morgue - although the mere thought of procuring boxes and packing up the bodies and heads, then carting them to Rómenna and putting them on a ship made me break out in a cold sweat. Still, it seemed our best hope. Master Salquendil further urged us - well, only Master Târik, probably - to give a series of lectures about the purposes and means of our experiments in the Academy itself, which I was certain Master Târik would like.

Reassured on that point, I managed to tell Lord Eärendur about the rest of my conversation with Lord Atanacalmo, and about my neighbours' answers to Lady Arancalimë's queries. To my surprise, Lord Eärendur did not seem shocked or worried by what I told him: his eyes widened, but at he same time his lips twitched into a smile, as if he'd just had some kind of revelation. Frowning, I stopped to talk.
"This actually explains quite a lot. I think I am beginning to understand!" he said. "You see, Azruhâr, we've had a very interesting council session today, in which Atanacalmo announced his plans to turn much of the unused land by the road into farmland. He wants to hand these plots out to the poor folk of the capital to let them turn the land into fields and pastures. Apparently, this will help both to feed the growing city, and weaken the power base of a certain demagogue. That would be you, I believe."

He might be beginning to understand, but I couldn't claim the same. I was as confused as I'd been before.
"What's a demagogue?" I asked wearily.
"Somebody who influences the opinions of great numbers of common people."
"Huh," I said. "Is that a crime?"
"It would be if it turns into sedition," Lord Eärendur replied, "but I don't think that's what Atanacalmo is playing at. You see, Azruhâr, after this explanation there was quite a bit of enthusiasm for his plans, which might otherwise have seen more opposition. True, it's his land, and in theory, he can do with it what he wants - but it would be unwise to do so against the will of the King, right? And a King might question whether it is right to change the purpose of land that has been ornamental for centuries, and given to Atanacalmo merely to soothe the hurt of being second-born. And then, why give it to poor city-dwellers? Why not have enterprising peasants from other parts settle there? Plenty of lords on the council would like to rid themselves of their agricultural labourers with no property but plenty of agricultural experience. But in saying that putting the poor of the capital onto these plots, you would lose supporters - he won the immediate support of the King, and of those councillors who disapprove of your past successes. Oh, he is clever indeed!"
I sighed. "He is much too clever for me, and one day it'll be the death of me."

Lord Eärendur put a hand on my shoulder. "I think - though I cannot be certain - that he is not truly set against you; not, at any rate, like the King is. I think this is an elaborate move on his chess board. Let me see if I can unravel it." He closed his eyes and thought for a good while while I chewed on my lips in fear and confusion.
"Let me see," Lord Eärendur said again. "Unused land is turned into farmland, and given - free of charge, as I understood it - to paupers. What happens as a result?"
"Friends of mine will leave the city, apparently," I said.
"Maybe so - but will they stop being your friends? I think this is not about your friends, and their presence or absence, at all. I think Atanacalmo is planning something else entirely. Azruhâr, up until now his title has been meaningless. He was the King's brother, and he didn't marry an heiress, so he had to be given something; but Armenelos is the city of the King, and did not truly need a Lord to govern it besides. True, he was made responsible for the roads - and given just enough land outside the city to justify making him responsible for the road to the Noirinan, too - and for the guilds and markets. But all of that could have been done by a royal official, too. The taxes go to the Crown as always, and the city cannot even provide for itself! In all, Atanacalmo's was a purely decorative title, with little more power than your neighbour Saphadûl's lordship, albeit more prestigious. Atanacalmo was essentially invisible, and was expected to remain so until he died. But then, something unexpected happened." He paused as if inviting me to continue the tale, but I didn't know what I should have said.
So I just asked, "What happened, then?"
"Ancalimon didn't relinquish the sceptre," Lord Eärendur promptly replied. "He grew old - and ultimately, lost his power - without making place for the younger generation. The King could no longer look after his realm. For the most part, that load was borne by us lords. But what of Armenelos? Suddenly, Atanacalmo had to do something he was never meant to do - he had to actually govern! Suddenly, it was his fault if people in the capital starved - or rioted. Suddenly, it was his responsibility to keep them fed - and in line. But also, he could suddenly make and enforce the laws that had previously been his brother's prerogative. At first, it caught him on the wrong foot, but later on? If you ask me, he came to like it."

That sounded reasonable, but I still didn't see what it had to do with farmlands, or with my so-called power base.
"If I am correct, then it's his own power base that Atanacalmo is concerned with." Lord Eärendur tried to explain. "Aside from some market gardening, Armenelos doesn't grow its own food. Everything has to be brought in from Arandor or beyond. But if Atanacalmo turns these lands by the roadside into farms, then the capital is a little less dependent, and his fief is rather more valuable. I suspect he's setting his House up to stay! Strange that he has discovered such ambitions at his old age... but then again, maybe not."
"Is it... important?" I had to ask. "Does it make a difference?"
Lord Eärendur shrugged. "No and yes. No, in that it does not change his own role much. It will not harm him, of course - otherwise he wouldn't do it - but it won't gain him all that much, either. He won't grow much richer, nor more powerful. But his heirs... the House of Armenelos was always supposed to die with Atanacalmo. His daughter would traditionally be expected to rejoin her husband -"
"Lord Roitaheru of Umbar," I said, to appear a little less clueless.
"Yes, exactly. She would be expected to go to Umbar, or else to retire to some quiet place in the country. But now? I'm suspecting that he wants her to inherit Armenelos. With or without her husband? That is the question, I suppose! Roitaheru has no title if he resigns as governor - he is a second son just like Atanacalmo himself - so it would make sense to secure something for him. A fiefdom... and the farms to feed it... I wonder if Roitaheru is eager to return to the motherland, and to his lady?"

I recalled Lord Roitaheru, in the curiously loose, brightly patterned garments that were perhaps common in Umbar, but certainly not here. He had appeared very content to me, not at all like somebody who was unhappy with his lot and hoping to change it. He had sounded proud and happy when talking about Umbar, as if he was already looking forward to returning there. He had not even appeared particularly sad about the prospect of leaving his wife behind again, a thought that would have made me weep for days. Of course, Lady Arancalimë had never seemed sad to be without her husband, either. I suppose it was a political marriage without love.
"I didn't get the impression that he was eager to stay in Yozayân when I met him," I said out loud. "Mind you, it wouldn't be hard to fool me, but he rather seemed eager to go back to Umbar."
"Well, perhaps it isn't about him. Perhaps it's about Arancalimë after all. Perhaps she has no intention of going to Umbar, now or after her father's death? She could have gone there already, of course. Perhaps she has no intention of retiring, either. Perhaps she wishes to become Lady of Armenelos in her own right."

I still couldn't claim that I was fully understanding what was going on, but that last bit sounded like good news to me. Lady Arancalimë was shrewd as her father, of course, but she also seemed to be fair-minded. Not that I had any doubt that she'd sacrifice me as easily as Lord Atanacalmo sacrificed pawns on his chess board if she needed to, but until she needed to, she might protect me from the worst of the King's wrath. (As her father had been doing so far, I couldn't deny that.)
"That would be a good thing," I said fervently. "I hope you're right."
"So do I," Lord Eärendur said, "because it would mean I have understood Atanacalmo's plans at last - at least a little. It would fit beautifully, at any rate. And it would also mean that all that talk about weakening your position was a very, very clever distraction, and no attack on you." Seeing my frown, he explained, "Ancalimon would never have permitted his brother to extend his possessions in this manner, and even Telemmaitë would probably have been suspicious, even of his beloved uncle. But once it was presented as an opportunity to harm you... Telemmaitë probably began seeing it as his own idea, or at any rate in his best interest! Yes, Atanacalmo is clever indeed." With a heavy sigh, he added, "But I do not like that he uses Telemmaitë's hatred of you as a tool for his advancement. It's a terribly dangerous thing to do. I really wish I could take you with me to Andúnië - and keep you there."
"I really wish I could come - and stay," I said, and meant it, too. "But they'd find me."
"Yes. They would."Again, he sighed. "Try to get back into Atanacalmo's good graces," he told me. "Offer more money if you have to. I'll pay for it - though you shouldn't tell him that!"
"I'll never be able to repay you," I said automatically. I believed by now that he wouldn't ask me to, but that almost made it worse.
"It won't ruin me," he said, squeezing my hands. "Stay safe, Azruhâr. Don't tell him that we know - or suspect, anyway - what he's up to. It's not such a bad thing, and I see no reason to stop him even if I could, but I don't think he'd like it either way."
No, he probably wouldn't like it one bit. I couldn't help shuddering. Then I remembered the letter. "What about Master Salquendil?" I asked. "Isn't he expecting an answer?"
"I will explain the situation to him," Lord Eärendur said. "You have enough to do in dulcifying Atanacalmo."
That was true. Indeed, explaining the whole mess to Master Salquendil sounded infinitely preferable to dulcifying Lord Atanacalmo - whatever 'dulcifying' meant.

Chapter End Notes

*Tarmasundar, the "roots of the Pillar", is the name of the softly sloped grasslands at the foot of Mt. Meneltarma.