The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

The first thing that struck me about Umbar was the heat. Úrimë was a hot month in Yôzayân as well, but here, it was worse. The sun beat down mercilessly, and as soon as I was away from the harbour, the clay walls of the city felt like an oven. My weary body was boiled in its own juice as I trotted through the streets behind the carriers I had hired for my sea chest. I had been told that there was no point in waiting for my bags and the second chest, since they wouldn't be unloaded until the rest of the cargo was out of the ship, but Captain Tamrubên promised that he would dispatch it to the governor's palace once he was done. The governor's palace was the first address I had been told to turn to, so I had hoped that I would be able to join Lord Herucalmo, his bodyguards and the mule-drivers who were transporting his (plentiful and already unloaded) luggage. But he had turned me away, pointing out again that he wasn't here to babysit me, and that there were plenty of day-talers in the harbour who would surely be happy to show me the way to the palace and carry my belongings. That part was certainly true. They would have carried me on a litter, too, but even in my weakened state, I felt uncomfortable with the idea. Besides, I wasn't certain how long my money would have to last, and it seemed wiser to keep it well together.

So I followed the carriers on unsteady feet, through streets that all looked the same to me. They were lined with two- or three-storied houses made from reddish loam, with narrow windows to keep out the worst heat. Clotheslines hung above the street, stretched between houses, full of colourful clothing already stiff and dry. A couple of trees had been planted between houses, but their leaves looked shrivelled. They were covered in dust the same colour as the houses. I wondered if they were even still alive. There were shops with brightly dyed awnings, but there were no wares underneath, and the doors and windows were closed up as if all the shopkeepers had gone suddenly bankrupt. Aside from myself and the day-talers sweating under the load of my chest, the streets were empty. The bright colours of the fabrics couldn't shake my feeling that there was no life here. Although I had always imagined that death would be cold as the catacombs, I was nonetheless beginning to suspect that we had strayed into the realm of the dead. Maybe I had in fact drowned. At other times, I would have laughed at such a thought, but just then, it didn't feel unlikely at all. In my dazed state it did not occur to me that the inhabitants of the city were simply sheltering from the midday heat, in which even the awnings of the shops and the dusty tree-crowns provided very little shade and no relief.

Finally we left the stifling air of the city and made our way up a hill. Although the road was steep and arduous to go and the only shadows here were our own, at least there were no clay-oven walls to intensify the heat, and a light breeze was blowing from the sea, cooling my sweaty skin. Nonetheless, I was wheezing as if I had run all the way up when we finally reached the palace at the top of the hill. I felt light-headed and dizzy, and I noticed that the carriers were giving me anxious looks, as though worried that I might faint and they would be blamed for it (although it was my own fault that I hadn't hired litter-bearers, or at least a third man to carry a parasol or fan). I felt guilty, especially as they had to carry my chest on top of their own weight. I did not faint, and when they left me in the shade (at last) of a sort of pillared patio, I gave them an additional Ship in payment. The price we had agreed upon had seemed fair in the harbour, but realising that they would have to walk all the way back there through the same heat - albeit downhill and unloaded - made me think again. They kissed the coins and thanked me with many words in a mixture of my language and theirs. I watched them retreat down the hill while I still struggled to catch my breath. Every gasp of hot air hurt. The dusty city stretched out underneath, baking in the glare. If I hadn't felt so parched, I might have cried at the thought that I would have to live here from now on.

In contrast to the stifling heat outdoors, the tiled inside of the palace was downright chilly (I shivered in my sweat-drenched clothing). My welcome, also, was somewhat chilly. The doorman let me in, but looked at me in mistrust as if I were a ghost; the servants seemed to compete to stay out of my way. At last, one of them approached me, probably having no-one below her in the order of passing on unpleasant duties. She was very young, almost still a girl with a boyishly flat chest and a pretty face framed by short curls. She was clearly Umbarian, but her Adûnaic was flawless when she spoke to me. His lordship was in conversation with the young lord, who had arrived earlier this day (which I already knew, of course). He would probably not have time to see sir before dinner, which was served late. Surely sir wished to rest and refresh himself in the meantime. She would show sir to his room, if that was agreeable. All this was delivered in an urgently pleasant tone underlaid with anxiety, as though I were some terrifying nobleman rather than an exile. I smiled in what I hoped was a non-threatening way, although she had her head bowed and couldn't see it anyway, and agreed that rest and refreshment sounded very good. As she showed me the way - I felt like a lumbering brute walking after this graceful maiden - we were joined by an equally young, equally handsome Umbarian who might have been her brother (as I later learned, he was). He walked behind me in a manner that felt nearly threatening. But as he was wearing the same white livery ribboned with green and gold, except his was a knee-length tunic instead of her floor-length robe, I decided that he either meant me no harm, or if he did, that it was sanctioned by their lord so I would not be able to stop it.

For the sake of my sanity (which was shaky at best), I decided to assume that neither Lord Roitaheru nor his servants intended to hurt me. I felt that it would make things easier either way. At any rate, there was a room for me. That was a relief. Part of me had expected that I would be told to find a place to stay in this alien city on the very first day, just to add to my trouble. The other part had feared that all this 'teaching embalming in the colonies' had merely been a ruse to make me go quietly, for the sake of public order, and that I would in fact be imprisoned or worse as soon as I got here. Instead, there was a generous room waiting. Although the window was covered with a heavy curtain with the exception of a narrow gap that let through very little light, I could see that the bed was spacious. I could have fit Amraphel and all three children in there as well as myself with ease (my stomach clenched at the thought). It had pillows enough for six, and at least three blankets, although I couldn't imagine needing even one. The walls were tiled, which I found unusual, but it probably accounted for the bearable temperatures. The same tiles could be seen on the floor, underneath lavish knotted carpets. There was a chest of drawers, and the sort of writing desk that is called a bureau and has secret compartments that can be locked. Additionally, there was a round little table, and several cushioned chairs around that. Apparently, I was allowed to be comfortable in exile. Outwardly, anyway.

Inwardly, I was anything but comfortable. I still hadn't quite regained my breath, and my throat and lungs felt sore, like a sunburn on the inside. I was grateful when the young serving-girl poured some Umbarian drink from an earthenware jug into a pretty clay cup. The drink had a milky colour, but it didn't leave the unpleasant aftertaste of milk. It was sweetish and tasted strangely fragrant, like flowers. My stomach was nowhere near appeased, but it didn't seem to object to this drink, and it did me well. "That is lovely," I said, "thank you." She curtsied and smiled in a manner that looked almost embarrassed.
"Would sir like to have a light meal, or would sir rather bathe first?" the young man asked politely.
I frowned. "You don't have to 'sir' me all the time," I said. "I won't take offense if you say you. Actually, I'll feel much better if you say you." I tried a friendly smile. "I am Azruhâr. Nice to meet you."
The servants exchanged nervous glances. I was probably violating some sort of protocol. I remembered my inability to address Lord Eärendur by his name, and said, "Never mind. Whatever works best. But I should like to know your names at least, if that's alright."
"Kâlil, sir," the young man said, and after another glance at the young woman, "and Sîmar."
"Pleased to meet you," I repeated, and when that was met with awkward silence, I said, "And I think I should bathe first, if it's no trouble." In truth, what I would have liked most was to sleep - really sleep, not the shaky patches of rest I had managed to get on the journey - but at the same time, I felt sticky with grime and salty with my sweat and the sea-water we had used aboard ship to maintain some modicum of cleanliness. Bathing certainly wasn't the worst of ideas. Eating, on the other hand, could wait until my stomach had settled. If it ever did that. I still had the sensation of swaying on my feet, not from exhaustion but because some part of my body still seemed to think that it was at sea.

I watched uncomfortably as Sîmar opened my sea-chest, which contained mostly used and generally messy clothing. I had made one half-hearted attempt at scrubbing some things in saltwater a few weeks ago, but the result hadn't been convincing. "The rest of my luggage is still on the ship," I said defensively, "including my clean things."
"We shall have these laundered," Sîmar said gently, and with no apparent judgement. "If you would just choose something to wear after the bath, sir?" I was relieved that at least I was no longer a third person sort of person.
I found a loincloth and a tunic that still looked reasonably clean, and then followed the two of them to the baths of the palace. The baths proper were being used by Lord Roitaheru and his son, we were told, but I could use what they called the lovers' bath. It was a smaller, secluded hall with a perfectly comfortable basin in it. The servants insisted on helping me to undress, as though I were a child (or, I suppose, some sort of noble). They sponged me down, too, and only then did they invite me to climb into the basin. I saw my reflection in the water and grimaced. No wonder that the carriers had looked scared, and no wonder that the servants hadn't wanted to address me. My face was grey, and my body, thin like after a long sickness and full of ugly scars, looked hateful to me. I felt doubly embarrassed in front of these beautiful young people.

But it couldn't be helped, and so I let my repulsive body sink into the depth of the basin. The water was hot enough to make me break into a sweat again, and had the same flowery scent as the drink I'd had earlier. Once I had grown used to it, it wasn't unpleasant. I leaned back and tried to relax, although the alert presence of Kâlil and Sîmar made me nervous - I constantly felt as though they would expect something that I didn't know to deliver. I heard them whisper, almost but not quite drowned out by the water that moved around me. I submerged myself, ostensibly to let the salt in my hair dissolve, but really so I was out of earshot for a moment. Not that I understood anything they said as long as they spoke the language of Umbar - but it must still be a relief for them to speak freely without worrying about causing offense by the tone of their voices.

Whatever they thought or said about me, they treated me with the utmost care, and although it was not my custom to let myself be pampered like that, I had neither the strength nor the inclination to protest. So I let them wash and trim and comb my hair until it was no longer stiff with salt and snarled from the wind. I let Kâlil shave my face and rub attar of roses into my skin - that latter part was a luxury I would never usually have granted to myself, even with less precious oils, and felt guilty indulging in even now, especially as Kâlil turned it into a very gentle yet very thorough massage. It was undeniably pleasant. My treacherous body had deserved no such indulgence, but I couldn't deny that it was quite enjoyable to be anointed and kneaded in this manner. No wonder that rich folk spent money on it. I tried to put my conscience at ease by telling myself that I should make a good impression when meeting Lord Roitaheru later on, since I was very much dependent on his goodwill, and for that purpose, I could use all the help I could get. I certainy felt more like a human being once I was cleaned up and scented and orderly and towelled dry; not just because I was looking somewhat more respecable than I had been after the nauseating voyage and the sweaty climb up the hill, but also because it lifts one's spirits to be looked after and cared for, even when one hasn't earned it. Even my appetite had made a tentative return from wherever it had been hiding, and I could now accept the offer of a light meal with only minimal worries about whether my stomach would cooperate.

The so-called light meal had three courses, which were served on the little round table in my room: A bowl of cold cucumber soup, flat white bread and cold skewered meat with a very spicy sauce, and huge fleshy figs so sweet and sticky as if they had been dipped in honey. The soup was strange, but very refreshing; the bread was a pleasant surprise, and it helped to take the worst edge off the spices in the sauce. I did not dare to eat the figs right away, in case I would be sick again, and asked the servants to leave them for later.
"You can have something fresh delivered whenever you wish, sir," Sîmar said with a slight frown.
"Is that so?" I asked, genuinely surprised. I would not have presumed to order things unless they were offered first.
"Oh yes, sir," Sîmar confirmed. "You are his lordship's guest, after all."
"I see," I said. "But I'd still like to keep those fruit for later."
"As you wish, sir."
I glanced at the bed, which was looking rather inviting. With the curtains in front of the window drawn, I had no idea how late in the day it might be. "Do you think there's enough time to take a nap? Before his lordship wishes to see me, I mean?"
Sîmar tilted her head. "Yes, certainly. Dinner is not served until nightfall. Is there anything else you need from us?"
"No, thank you." For some reason, I still felt the need to explain myself. "I did not sleep well on the journey, so I'm very tired. Some sleep is all I want right now."

Of course, I didn't fall asleep after I had laid down in the spacious bed atop the generously provided blankets. I lay there, my eyes closed, waiting for the dim light in the room to turn into the blackness of unconsciousness, but it didn't happen. In spite of the cool floor tiles, in spite of the drawn curtains, I was sweating once more, albeit less profusely than earlier in the day. After a while - it might have been half an hour or several hours - my missing luggage arrived, somewhat noisily, and I felt obliged to get up and unpack, or rather, to supervise the unpacking. I tried to help Kâlil and Sîmar, but I suspect I stood in the way more than I helped. When I apologised, they assured me that it was no matter, but of course they would have said that anyway. I sighed, feeling awkward and frustrated. Kâlil put a letter into my hands that he had found between the light linen robes that Amraphel had wisely provided for me. Since I didn't know what else to do with myself, I sat down at the bureau to read it.

My dearest Azruhâr, it said in Amraphel's handsome writing, when you read this letter, you have arrived in Umbar and found the time to unpack your chest. I hope that you had a safe and comfortable journey. But even if it was an unpleasant journey, it is over now, and you can put it behind you and look ahead. Here, we have been missing you every day that you are gone, but we must also pull ourselves together and look ahead.
My eyes were stinging already.
I hope that you are finding Umbar more agreeable than you feared, and that you will have the necessary help as you build your new life. If you can, take your time. It will surely be different from home, so do not rush things if you do not have to. Maybe you can find somebody who can advise you - there must be other craftsmen or maybe merchants who know the local customs. I unfortunately know nothing about Umbar, although I will try to educate myself. You, also, must educate yourself. Use whatever resources you are offered. If I am reading the situation right, Lord R. will not be hostile. I dare not speculate more. This letter should be safe if you keep it so, but we cannot be certain. When you write to us (and I trust that you will write as often as you can, so we can be close to you in words, at least), you must also be mindful that others than the recipients might read the letters. Do not write anything that can be used against you or anybody else, nor anything that you do not want your enemies knowing.
I sighed. She had warned me about the risk of spies reading our letters even before the journey, and I didn't find the reminder any more helpful now than it had been then. Once, I thought, had been quite enough; I was worried enough on my own.
It is terribly sad that we will not be able to confide in each other fully, but that is how it is. Fortunately, there are sufficient things that we can share: the little harmless joys of life. This is a short letter because I am writing it while you are still here, and know what we are doing, and we know what you are doing. It feels strange to write as though you were far away already, but you will be by the time that you read it, and I try to keep that in mind as I write. I also began to write with the intention of cheering you up, not lecturing you, and I suspect that I have so far failed to do that. So let me turn to lighter matters...

It made no difference. By the end of the letter (a short greeting from the children, written by Azruphel), I was struggling with tears. I read it again, and then for a third time, which did not help. I buried my face in my hands and tried to fight back the sobs, but they were stronger, and before long, I was weeping openly. Startled, the servants asked what was wrong and how they could help, and I had to explain through my tears that it had nothing to do with them, and that they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. "I'm missing my wife and my children, that's all," I said, feeling at the same time resentful that they were intruding, and ashamed of burdening them with my grief, after they had worked so hard to make me feel comfortable. "It's not your fault. Can you leave me alone for a moment?"
They exchanged worried glances, but went outside (I assume they waited right next to the door, but I did not check). I read the letter one final time, then locked it in the little strongbox I had bought for my exile. After all, Amraphel wanted me to keep the letter safe. How safe it really would be was anyone's guess - I carried the key on my person, but of course it wouldn't be hard to take it from me - but at least I had made an effort. Then I lay down on the bed again to cry properly and unashamedly.

I must have fallen asleep over that, for when Sîmar was knocking on the door and telling me in a muffled but urgent voice that it was now time to prepare for dinner, it had gone dark. Disoriented, I stumbled to the window and drew back the curtains to reveal swiftly fading daylight. The sun was setting fast in this place. "Yes, please come in," I called in answer to the persistent knock.
The servants were looking at me with unabashed concern when they had lit the candles. Kâlil had brought warm water (again, it was heavily scented), and Sîmar washed my face and then my shoulders and chest with great care and gentleness. She stood a little too close, as if to make up for the loved ones I was missing, which made the procedure even more embarassing than it would otherwise have been. Kâlil, meanwhile, braided my hair. Then they helped me slip into one of the clean new linen robes and buttoned it up, as if I were unable to do that myself. I hastily put on the belt before one of them felt obliged to embrace me for the purpose, but I couldn't keep them from lacing my sandals. These were not new - we had bought them for one of the first visits to Andúnië - but I had worn them only rarely. I was still more in the habit of going barefoot in summer, unless I had to make a good impression. Today, I very much doubted that I would make a good impression whatever I wore.
Their work done, Kâlil held up a mirror and said, "Satisfied, sir?"
I forced myself to smile. "You've done your best," I said. I was shaved impeccably, and my hair had been styled in a professional manner so that it looked quite neat. That was the best that could be said for me. Other than that, my face was still gaunt and unhealthily grey, except for my eyes, which were red from crying, with purple blotches underneath.

Accordingly, the second thing that Lord Roitaheru said to me was, "Good grief, but you look awful." (The first thing was "Oh nonsense, get up; leave the grovelling to the natives.") Once I had gotten up, he studied me with his brow creased in displeasure. "I knew you came here for the sake of your health, but Calmo didn't tell me that you were on the way of turning into one of your corpses." Calmo - Lord Herucalmo, already comfortably seated at the dinner table - raised his goblet in my direction with the slightest of smirks. "I think you actually looked better with that broken nose," Lord Roitaheru continued, evidently unable to get over my unhealthy appearance.
"My apologies, your Grace," I said for the sake of saying something. "It has been a trying year."
"So it appears! Well, never mind, we'll get you back to health sooner or later." Another probing look. "Later, from what it looks like."
I managed a tense smile. "I shall do my best to recover quickly," I promised. After all, I did not want him to get the idea that I might not be able to fulfill the task that I was here for. But he did not seem to worry about that. "No undue rush," he said. "That's something you can learn from the people of Umbar. Things get done - eventually. When the time is right. Sometimes that's the next day, and sometimes it's a month later. It can be infuriating when you're in a hurry, and sometimes you have to kick them into action; but in this case, there's no hurry. We've done without embalmers so far; we'll do another month. Or longer, if it comes to that."

I wondered whether I should be relieved that I wouldn't be expected to start training apprentices the very next day, or rather worried because what he had said meant, ultimately, that I wasn't actually needed.
"That is kind of you, my lord, but I am ready to do my duty," I said hastily, for which he whacked me on the shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a gesture of masculine joviality. There was no hiding my clenched teeth from Lord Herucalmo, who smirked again, though his father appeared oblivious.
"Commendable!" he said, "But really, no rush. This week, you won't have the time anyway. On Valanya, you'll introduce yourself to the local council so they know who you are. And of course, I'll take you hunting with us, up in the mountains..."
As prey? The question lay on the tip of my tongue. Fortunately, I managed to keep it there.
"In the meantime, you need to build some muscle," Lord Roitaheru went on, giving my shoulder (disappointingly weak, apparently) a demonstrative squeeze. "You'll need strength if you are to teach the natives on your own. Right now, you don't look the part. So." His hand left my shoulder, prodding me in the chest instead. I managed not to stumble backwards and even bit back the cough that wanted to escape. "First duty is to eat, drink, get to know the community, build strength. Then we'll talk about other duties."
I figured that there was no point in protesting. "As you wish, your Grace."
He grunted in acknowledgement. "Would you like something to drink? They're making decent wines here, both white and red. I recommend the red. We're having tuna tonight, which can do with something hearty."

The tuna was huge and fatty and did indeed tolerate the red wine (which, to my taste, was far more than decent). It was served with carrots, herbs and onions, and the white bread that I had already enjoyed at lunch. Back at home, I had not been among the fortunate elites who qualified for sufficient quantities of wheat, and Lord Eärendur had foregone white bread on his table first out of solidarity with his subjects and later to save money. Accordingly, I had eaten white bread only on rare occasions, and now expressed my delight at it.
Lord Roitaheru replied, "Yes, well, wheat grows well in the climate of Umbar. And there's a lot more space for fields than on the Island, as long as you manage to keep them irrigated. Naturally, we have to send half our harvest to the motherland, but even so, there's enough left for us." He smiled, satisfied with himself, before he sobered. "Mind you, a few years back there was a drought, and there was almost nothing to harvest. A lot of people starved back then. None of our own, of course!"
"I'm sure Azruhâr remembers that year well," Lord Herucalmo observed with another smirk. "It's when his rise to glory began."
My face flared up. "I'm pretty sure I never rose to glory," I said stiffly, "and I certainly remember that year."
Lord Roitaheru laughed. "Don't take Calmo so seriously! He's just teasing you."
I barely managed to keep my hands from shaking. I glanced at Lord Herucalmo sideways to see how he was taking his father's words. The idea of not taking him seriously seemed rather perilous to me; the mere suggestion would have bordered on treason if it hadn't come from Lord Roitaheru. It was probably safest to pretend that it hadn't happened. Lord Herucalmo was taking a deep swig of his wine, and apparently saw no need to comment. With any luck he would have forgotten about this exchange by tomorrow, I thought.

With much food and much drink and much talk of little substance, the evening passed. I had the impression that Lord Roitaheru was actually trying to put my mind at ease. My mind resisted and suspected a trap. Nonetheless, I obediently expressed my gratitude for his generosity and hospitality when it was time to retire for the night. "Of course, of course," he replied in his jovial manner. "After all, I've torn you from your home and hearth! You shall have whatever you need." I did not believe him, but I thanked him all the same.
I was truly tired when I returned to my room (dutifully accompanied by Kâlil and Sîmar, of course). The swaying sensation still hadn't subsided, but at least I felt no longer sick. Maybe I would be able to regain some strength, I thought. Whether or not Lord Roitaheru had been genuine, taking some time to rest would doubtlessly be a good thing. For the time being, I was undressed and put into my nightshirt like a helpless child. Sîmar even asked in her meek voice whether I wanted one of them to warm my bed. I nearly laughed, but I did not want to embarrass her by explaining what that phrase implied in my language, so I merely answered (perfectly truthfully) that it was quite warm enough. I could only assume that the blankets were for decoration, or maybe so the bed didn't look quite so empty.

At night, however, I awoke shivering. The room had grown surprisingly cold, and I realised that the blankets were there for good reason after all. Before I curled up underneath them, a flicker of light between the curtains drew my attention. I walked over to the window looked outside. The palace's surroundings were dark except for the torches of the guards standing in the street, and for the lamps of the night watchmen patrolling the grounds. But the streets of the city below were now ablaze with the golden light of lanterns. In spite of the late - or early - hour, there must be droves of people out and about. Considering the drop in temperatures, I suppose it was sensible. I watched the wandering lights for a while; they were warm and soothing somehow, telling of ordinary people going about their ordinary business (even if it was an extraordinary hour as far as I was concerned). When it became too cold to keep standing at the window, I crawled back into bed. This time, I had no trouble falling asleep, and if I dreamt at all, I didn't remember any of it by morning.