The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

My days in Umbar had so far - with the exception of the hunting trip - been days of rest and leisure, but the new arrangement put an abrupt end to that. Whereas I had so far slept until it grew uncomfortably hot underneath my blanket, Sîmar now woke me at the crack of daylight. Half-awake, I gulped down a cup of almond milk (which was what the sweet draught I had liked so much after my arrival was), and then hurried to the second courtyard where the members of the palace guard assembled before their morning run around the palace grounds. That run took an hour, during which the sun rose steadily. Afterwards, the proper guards went to their breakfast while the raw recruits - with whom I had been sorted - continued with their training. Before lunch, that training was mostly of the athletic kind - running, jumping, climbing and tiresome exercises of endurance that were probably meant to take us to our limits and make us earn our mid-day gruel. On other days, we just had to stand to attention, in our practice armour and weaponry, for hours on end, which was worse than any of the other exertions.

In the afternoon it was time for combat practice, which meant swordplay, javelin-throwing, archery and unarmed fighting (on different days, of course, not all at the same time), or, three times a week, horseback riding. I had been thinking of myself as a sufficiently competent horseman, at home, but what we had to practice now was entirely different - riding blindfolded so we had to trust the horse and our sense of balance entirely; riding one-handed or even with both hands occupied, having to rely entirely on our legs to guide the animal, which was often being spooked by the instructors or older guards who made plenty of noise, banging iron rods on shields or yelling war-cries, or threw pieces of wood at us. Unlike me, the horses had already been trained for the battlefield, but they still grew skittish or even reared up when the racket grew too much. They did this more often with me than with the other recruits, and I fell off quite regularly. I assumed that my lack of practice was to blame for this, but the instructors claimed that I was frightening the horse because I was frightened myself, and that I needed to conquer my own fear so I could conquer the horse's fear. Easy for them to say, I suppose.

Grandfather had always claimed that he had taken to soldiering like a fish took to water (especially when he had upbraided either Father or me for our softness). I had found that hard to imagine. What I did discover, now that I went through the training myself, was that my day-taler's experience stood me in good stead for getting it done at all. Although I hadn't had any of the preliminary training the other recruits had already gone through, I did know a lot of the things that were apparently considered important in guards, such as taking orders, disregarding my body's exhaustion, and completing tasks I had been given no matter what. Having been told to learn soldiering, I tried my best. It was tough going; sometimes I suspected that I was already too old for it. The other recruits were far ahead of me, and besides, they were a lot younger, with the grace and energy that young men have. They recovered in a single afternoon from exertions that took three days to fade from my muscles. There was no way around that, so I had to grit my teeth and return to the guards' court still hurting from yesterday and the day before that. I suppose Lord Atanacalmo hadn't been wrong in claiming that I was desperate to prove myself (although it was infuriating to know that he knew such things when I wasn't even properly aware of them myself). Even though I didn't even want to be a guard, and even though it was probably impossible in the first place, I tried my hardest to catch up with the other recruits.

In some ways, my lack of heroism was not a problem (as long as we did not have to fight actual enemies, at any rate). In spite of my mistakes - and I made a lot of them in the beginning - I wasn't ever beaten, as I had been in the lumberyards and construction sites and sawmills and fields of my youth. I was yelled and frequently laughed at, but nobody laid a hand on me (except accidentally, in training, when I was too slow to avoid or parry a blow that came my way). When I fell off the horse yet again, someone caught it, and someone else helped me back to my feet. The hardest part was to unlearn cowering and apologising when I had done something wrong. Soldiers were expected to stand proud and silent and straight-backed while they were yelled at, to listen and acknowledge, but never to apologise or explain. I knew this, on the surface, but the habit of decades is hard to break.

In time, I got somewhat better at the exercises and also at holding my head up, and the yelling grew less. Nonetheless, I never came to enjoy the training. It was clear that I was an outsider in the group, and although they weren't openly hostile, the other recruits treated me as such. I did not share their evening duties, their dormitory, or their jokes. I was older than they were and less competent. My habits were different. For me, there was none of the cameraderie that grandfather had often waxed lyrical about. I also found it hard to warm up to the warrior life in general. I suppose I should have been excited to be permitted to use a sword (we mostly used wooden swords when we practiced with a partner, but we used real swords during drills) - as a child, I surely would have been - but instead, it made me uncomfortable. Part of me hated the thought of having to use it; the other part was simply afraid that I was getting out of my place once more. Day-talers weren't permitted to use anything more sophisticated than an axe (and only for wood-chopping, that). Even Grandfather hadn't been allowed to use a sword, or fight on horseback, in the actual battles that he'd been in. One day, I thought, Lord Roitaheru would realise what I was, and I did not want to imagine the consequences.

After combat practice, I was released to return to gentler company, to soak in the bath and have Kâlil try to knead the pain from my muscles if I wasn't too bruised for that. If there was still time, I slept before taking dinner with the lords, making civil conversation as well as I could, or, more often, listening and looking attentive. Along with the hunting trip, all this gave me enough to write home about, although it took me several drafts until I dared to believe that my letter to Amraphel was harmless enough, should it be read by my enemies. Moreover, Lord Roitaheru took me to his library on one of the first days, firstly so I knew the way and secondly so he could show me the ledger of records of the war. In this way, I learned that Grandfather apparently hadn't exaggerated the tales of his soldiering success. Lord Roitaheru showed me the entry that declared that Hârukhil son of Zadankhil, citizen of Arminalêth had served with distinction, achieved the highest rank possible for a soldier of base birth, and been honourably discharged after severe injury. It recorded where Grandfather had lodged, what skirmishes he had been involved in, and what Lord his troup had been assigned to. The name, Lord Ortaron, meant nothing to me, and I asked Lord Roitaheru if the nobleman in question was still alive. "Ortaron of Sirilyanta*? Of course he is. He isn't even that old. Nasty bugger, though. Calls himself Têrakon these days to sound more modern, but I doubt it has made him any less nasty."

I was stunned. The fact alone that my grandfather's life - or part of it, anyway - was recorded here in distant Umbar was strange; it was stranger yet to hear that he had served under Lord Têrakon of all people. So far, I had assumed that Lord Têrakon despised me because I was an apprentice to Master Târik, or possibly simply for being an embalmer, a former criminal, or even just plain low-born. Those were reasons enough, after all. But if Lord Têrakon was the nobleman who had been guilted into employing my father after grandfather had been crippled, the man whose service Father had left as soon as he had been able to do so, then perhaps he had more personal reasons to dislike me. It was a lot to think about. As I thought about it, I realised that Master Târik and my father might have known each other. That meant another letter home was unavoidable, and this time, there was no way of wording things cautiously. Father hadn't told me anything about his time in Lord Têrakon's service (if that truly had been who it was) except that he had hated every second of it, and that it hadn't been worth the pain and I should stay well away from great lords, but Master Târik might be able to tell me more. I didn't even know why I wanted to know things that my father clearly hadn't wanted me to know. It was unlikely that the knowledge would help me, least of all here and now. And yet, I couldn't stop myself.

In the meantime, I acclimatised to life in Umbar as far as that was possible. I grew somewhat more accustomed to the heat and to the different rules of behaviour. I learned the drills and ignored the pointlessness of it all. I learned to parry most attacks (unless they surprised me too much). I didn't learn to master my own fear, but I learned to fall off the horse without hurting myself too much. On the appointed day, I sat through another council meeting, and this time, I managed to keep my mouth shut. That evening, there was a lot less interest in my person (or, more likely, in stories from the capital, which were no longer as hot as they had been right after my arrival), but Lord Laurilyo nonetheless sat down to chat with me while the others were dancing again. I caught a warning look from Lord Herucalmo (himself involved in the dancing, and looking quite proficient at it, too), so I told Lord Laurilyo, as diplomatically as I could, that I was not interested in love-making. He smirked almost from ear to ear in response. "Did my uncle warn you about me? You needn't worry. Contrary to what he seems to believe, I don't actually seduce every man who comes my way. Even though you have very nice lips, I must say. Quite kissable. Hmm." He gave me a mischievous stare, then laughed at my blush. "No, calm yourself. I like my fellows rather more dominant, if you know what I mean, and you're not that. So you needn't fear that I'll try to get in your bed. I'm just being sociable. Feeling sorry for you sitting here all alone and foregoing the joy of dancing, you see."

"I see," I said, although I wasn't sure that I did. I was relieved that he hadn't taken offense, though.
"I'm glad," Lord Laurilyo said, still smirking. He made himself comfortable and waved to a servant to bring more wine. After a generous sip, he said, "So, what have you been up to these past weeks? I trust you've recovered from the journey and the hunt? You look less pasty, at least."
"Lots of fresh air and exercise," I couldn't help saying - with, perhaps, less enthusiasm than I should have shown. "Lord Roitaheru assigned me to train with the guards."
Lord Laurilyo chuckled. "Ah yes. Military training. Been there, done that. Uncle's cure-all for disappointing young men - though I find it hard to imagine that you'd disappoint. So what did you do to earn yourself the displeasure?"
There was something disarming about his irreverence, I suppose. Or maybe it was that he reminded me of Mîkul in some ways. I answered truthfully. "Apparently, I'm inviting doubts about the strength of Yôzayân by being, well, a very weak man of Yôzayân. His lordship thinks that training with the guards will make me look stronger." And then, worried that I wasn't displaying the right amount of appreciation, I said, "I expect he's right."
"Hmm," Lord Laurilyo said. "Possibly. He feels that he is, of course. And you, no doubt, are already feeling the positive effects on your courage?"

I bit my lips and made no reply, which of course was answer enough. "Yeah, it didn't make me a better person, either," Lord Laurilyo observed, watching the wine as he swirled it in his glass. "I thought it would suit you fine, though. You're the responsible type, after all. Happy to serve and to protect and all that."
I wasn't certain whether it was a compliment or further mockery, but then again, it didn't matter much, anyway. "But I am not fond of violence," I said.
He studied me, half-smiling, for an uncomfortably long time. To break the unsettling silence, and to distract from myself, I said, "If I may ask, how did you disappoint his lordship?"
The half-smile turned into a full grin. "Can't you guess? I'm too irresponsible for his tastes! Well, not just his tastes. Laurilyo of the three Ls, they call me behind my back - loud, lazy and lascivious. They're not wrong. Also, I'm unrepentant, but that doesn't alliterate, so maybe that's why they're leaving it out." He shrugged; he did not seem to find these terms offensive. "Uncle was hoping that I'd be converted to the way of the warrior by being among handsome shirtless young men and the rigor of training, but I hated it too much to go along with it."
"How did you get out of it?" I asked, hoping that he might have some useful advice for me.
"Oh, I threatened to seduce all his precious recruits, one after the other, and to openly disobey orders - after all, it's not like Gohenor or his underlings could've punished me. What a shocking example for the other soldiers, right? So Uncle saw reason and released me."

Although I was fascinated by his brashness, I knew that this path wouldn't work for me. "Good for you," I said dutifully. "I'd probably be court-martialled if I tried that, though."
"I doubt it. Uncle likes you, doesn't he?" The mischievous glint was back in his eyes, but the conversational tone of his voice hadn't changed. "I wouldn't have tried that with Father, either. He'd have tried to whip me into submission. But Uncle? He pretends to be that gruff general, but he's got a heart of gold. And if he has patience with me and my dissolute ways, then I'm sure he'll look kindly on you, virtuous as you are."
I flinched at the mockery. Nor did I believe him. After all, Lord Roitaheru wasn't my uncle. To use Lord Atanacalmo's picture (and wasn't it frustrating that he kept intruding on my exile?), I might be back on the ice for the time being, but it was still creaking, and I could easily fall back into the freezing water; I had to take great care to stay afloat. "I'm really not virtuous," I said defensively. "But if his lordship is so kindly disposed, then that's all the more reason not to disappoint him."
"See? So responsible! You could take over as my father's heir any day!"

The idea was absurd enough to make me laugh. "That would be very irresponsible indeed," I said. "I'm not cut out for governing."
"Well, neither am I," Lord Laurilyo observed. "But I've got the feeling that you, at least, would try your damndest to make a good job of it. Me? Having to figure out taxes and judgements and crop rotation and property disputes? What an absolute nightmare. I'd leave them all to their own devices and probably run the place down within months. No; it's pleasure I seek, not power. So it's much better for me to be here." He gave me a wry sideways glance. "I'd be tempted to bet whether you can convert me to the path of virtue, or whether I can turn you to hedonism, but I expect you're not the gambling kind."
"I'm really not."
"I thought not. Pity. You could have my province as a prize. Orrostar isn't too shabby, if you're into that sort of thing. Lots of grain. Wealthy. Or you could have my sister's hand in marriage, which amounts to the same thing, really."
I couldn't laugh anymore. "That is hardly yours to give away, least of all to me, and besides, I'm already married."

Lord Laurilyo threw up his hands in exasperation. "Well, I hope for her sake that you're more fun in the sheets than you are in conversation!" he exclaimed, making me flush red once again.
"She has never complained," I said stiffly.
"And if she had, you would have amended your behaviour at once, of course." He gave a winning smile and even bowed his head, although his eyes remained on my face, sparkling with what looked like laughter to me. "Don't be offended. It would be a grave mistake to take me seriously. I know I don't." His voice, at the least, sounded quite contrite. "I touched a sore spot, I see. Do forgive me. Let us remain friends."
I pursed my lips briefly, but of course there was no use in refusing an offer of friendship, and besides, some of what he'd told me might be useful in some way or another. "You are forgiven," I said, forcing myself to unclench my jaw.
"Very kind," he said with another winning smile. "Always keep in mind that I might be jealous of you and your steady ways. I expect life is a lot easier like that."
"It really isn't," I couldn't help saying, more tersely than I would have liked.

I saw Lord Laurilyo freeze for a second. Then he said, "Another sore spot. Looks like I should shut up for a while, except I won't make a promise I can't keep."
"So responsible," I said, which made him laugh.
"Yes, looks like you're rubbing off on me already! Another evening in your company and I'll probably start studying agriculture or fiscal law." He shook his head with a horrified expression. "Quick, let us speak of something else. How do you like Umbar so far?"
I chewed my lips. "It's not too bad," I acknowledged finally. "I'm -- I'm missing home. And the heat took a lot of getting used to. But I mustn't be ungrateful. I've been treated very kindly, so far."
"Treated very kindly!" Lord Laurilyo laughed out loud. Lord Herucalmo turned into our direction mid-dance to give us a furious glare, which made me swallow hard. Lord Laurilyo ignored it entirely. "What did you expect, being tossed about by savages? No, Umbar is a perfectly civilised place."

That wasn't what I had meant, but I felt that it would be too complicated to explain. Instead, I hastened to agree, adding, "Especially in the day-time."
Lord Laurilyo snorted at that. "In the day-time, it's dead! But it's still perfectly civilised at night. Have you been down there often?"
"Not at all - not ever, in fact."
He gave me a wide-eyed stare. "Never been to the city at night?"
"No. I haven't been there since the day I arrived."
"And I can see that it didn't leave a favourable impression - but aren't you curious at all?"
I rubbed my nose, embarrassed. "A little. But the occasion didn't arise."
"Didn't arise? Just make the occasion yourself!" He shook his head, exasperated. "You know what - let's go."
"What, right now?" I looked around. The hall had begun to grow somewhat emptier, but there was still dancing going on, not to mention conversation at various ends of the table.

Lord Laurilyo didn't seem to care. "Sure, why not? It's not like you're using any of the amenities this festivity offers. Aside from the wine. There's wine down in the city, too. Let us go!"
"That can hardly be proper."
He made a face. "Bah. In fact, Uncle has already retired, so it's perfectly proper for everyone else to retire as well. Nobody cares if you go to bed after that, or down into the city."
Once again, I was chewing my lips. "I should still prefer to ask his lordship's permission."
"You really are no fun at all, are you?"
"I really am not keen on punishment, that is all."
He tilted his head and studied me with unaccustomed earnesty, and I suppose there must have been something in my eyes or whatever that made him relent. "Fine. I assure you there's no need to be afraid, but if you want to be all proper, do ask Uncle's permission, which I know he will give, and I'll pick you up tomorrow. Just don't eat too much; you wouldn't want to spoil your appetite."

Lord Roitaheru did, indeed, give his permission readily. In fact, he seemed quite enthusiastic about the idea. "Yes, of course you should explore the city! You'll have to know it when you start working there, after all."
Lord Herucalmo appeared rather less enthusiastic. His forehead had creased as I'd made my request, and his jaw had worked as if he'd had to swallow a whole bunch of reasons why I should not be permitted to go. But all he said was, "Is that prudent?"
His father laughed. "Prudent? With Laurilyo involved? Hardly." He patted Lord Herucalmo's shoulder. "But it's perfectly safe, if that's what you're worried about. Laurilyo won't go causing trouble - he hates inconvenience - and the natives are tamed, anyway."
"I am not worried," Lord Herucalmo said, though the way that his brows met in the middle and his shoulders had stiffened suggested that he was not relaxed, either.
"If it displeases you--" I began, but Lord Roitaheru shushed me with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense! Why should it displease us? Just remember to behave suitably. And, of course, not to miss your training tomorrow. No excuses!" On newly acquired instinct, I slammed my fist on my chest in acknowledgement, which he seemed to like, because he smiled broadly at that. Lord Herucalmo, on the other hand, was still glaring.

"Maybe he's envying us for our little night-time stroll," Lord Laurilyo suggested as we made our way down to the city - on horseback, and accompanied by six bodyguards. I had suspected that perhaps it wasn't as safe as Lord Roitaheru had said, but when I voiced that thought, Lord Laurilyo said that it had nothing to do with safety, merely with rank. I had then told him about Lord Herucalmo's reaction to our plans, and he said, "Might be getting bored with his father's company. I mean, they barely know each other, right? He's Atanacalmo's grandson more than he is Roitaheru's son. He probably needs to plot and scheme to be happy. No plotting going on here. Just keeping order and enjoying life. He's probably desperate for a distraction, and getting none, or not the right sort. Mind you, he could just have come along. I don't mind playing guide for two."
"That would be beneath him, I am sure," I couldn't help thinking, and saying as well.
"Well, that's his own problem, then," Lord Laurilyo grinned. "You got Uncle's permission, right? That's the important thing. You're not doing anything forbidden. So forget Herucalmo."
I did not forget Herucalmo, of course, but I tried not to worry about his opinion, at least.

Accordingly, I reached the city of Umbar with mingled anxiety and anticipation - a bit like the uneasy but excited tingle you feel when your parents first take you along to a night market or bonfire. Nighttime is just different from daytime, and it feels unnatural to be out and about when you are accustomed to being tucked up in bed at the time. Mind you, nighttime in Umbar was quite unlike being awake at night in Arminalêth. It was warmer, of course - not unbearably hot as by day, but so warm that the cloak I had brought was uncomfortable, with the buildings and the streets still retaining much of the day's heat. But more than that, the whole city seemed to be on its feet. In Arminalêth, the streets - with the exception of the night market - were empty at night, and you walked uneasily, in fear of thieves or thugs or the nightwatch, or maybe all three. The night market existed purely to feed people who had to work late or very early, or those who had no fireplace of their own. But here, we rode through crowded streets, and every business seemed to be part of one big night market. The people weren't hurrying about furtively, but walking at a leisurely pace, with lanterns that announced their presence and lighted their way held high. Some of them were wearing no more than simple kilts or shifts, walking barefoot, but others were dressed in elaborate (albeit ungirded) robes, so it wasn't just poor people, either. Children walked by the hands of their parents or rode on their fathers' shoulders; adolescents were strolling around or giggling with their friends; there were young women with (I assumed) chaperones, and old folk with crutches. Evidently, it was entirely customary - and entirely safe - to walk these streets at night.

But then, there was reason enough to be out and about at this time. The spaces underneath the colourful awnings I had seen empty and abandoned on my first day were now filled with goods. There were stalls that sold ready-made food - bowls of soup, stacks of flat bread, fried meat or fish on skewers, sticky-looking cakes - as you would expect on a nightly market, but there were all other types of wares as well. Besides stores of food, such as sacks of beans or peas or grains or nuts, live fish and crabs and snails and sea urchins in buckets of water, clucking chickens in make-shift enclosures, huge bowls of dried fruits or herbs or powdered spices, trestle tables full of lettuce and gourds and artichokes, barrels of oil or vinegar or wine, you could buy pottery and tiles, cloth, gemstones, jewellery, tools, even furniture was on display right in front of the houses in the streets, and craftsmen were working in the open courtyards of their houses. Customers and merchants were haggling and arguing and laughing in the language of Umbar. Everything smelled of spice and perfume - rose-water and jasmine and orange blossoms and cedarwood and other scents I couldn't identif - and I concluded that these scents must be much cheaper here than they were at home, because even the less well-dressed people that we passed gave off some sweet scent or other. It was sensible, I supposed, to make perfume attainable, because people must be sweating a lot in these parts.

In spite of the crowds and the stalls all over the streets, we had no difficulty getting around. Lord Laurilyo evidently knew where he was going, and people politely made way for us. Occasionally, he pointed out a landmark or told me where a particular street was headed, and I tried to fix it in my mind. But for the most part, I simply took in the sights and the smells, the noise and the colours. Although I hadn't realised that I had been missing something while secluded with the nobles and the guards in their palace, it was good to be among normal people again - even if they were the normal people of an alien place. In spite of the unnatural hour, it was familiar in many ways - the crowds, the haggling, the shouts and cries and laughter of small children, the occasional beggar pleading with the passers-by to spare a coin or some of their food. There were day-talers at the busy street corners too - even without understanding their words, I could guess that there were offering to carry people's purchases or sweep their courtyard or look after their children or whatever else needed to be done, because I recognised the posture, the hopeful expressions when they saw someone who might be in need of their service, the pleading gestures as they negotiated their pay.

"Do people here not sleep at night?" I asked my guide.
"Oh, they sleep - they sleep at night, and they sleep in the day. But not yet." Lord Laurilyo had to turn around and shout so I could hear him. His horse went on unperturbed. "Around the second hour, as we count it, they pack up and go to bed for a few hours. Then shortly after dawn, they get up again and do their business until it gets too hot. Then they hole up again and only come back out around the eighth hour, when it starts to cool down. That's why the city feels like dead in the afternoon. It's different in winter, of course, but that's then, and now is now."
"I see," I shouted back, probably louder than necessary. Unlike him, I felt I had to pay attention to the street and to my horse - well, not really mine, the horse I had been given by Lord Roitaheru, which might be part of the difficulty - because I didn't know how it would react in crowds, even as well-behaved crowds as the ones we passed. That said, I did feel reasonably safe. Even if the horse tossed me off, it did not look as if these people would take advantage of me. It struck me as strange, that I should feel safer in this alien city at night than I would have at home, where I knew my way around. But I did not think about it for long, because I was distracted by music - the trilling of pipes and the mesmerising rhythm of a drum - that drew nearer, or rather, that we were approaching. It had a beckoning quality; I might have followed the sound even without Lord Laurilyo riding ahead.

As we came from the street into a broader, open place, I could see the musicians. The pipers stood on barrels, while the drummer was on the ground between them. They were apparently playing for the patrons of - well, I assume it was the local equivalent of a public house, except that it was in the open just as the shops had been. Benches and tables had been put up underneath a couple of sweet-smelling trees that were flowering despite the arid days. The branches had been hung with paper lanterns, which looked very pretty. A couple of young lads came running and offered to watch our horses as soon as we entered the space. "This is a very nice spot," Lord Laurilyo called to me, "mind if we have a drink or two?"
"Not at all," I said. He shook his head at the young Umbarians and pointed at the bodyguards, who took the reins as he and I unhorsed. They disappeared into a side street so the horses wouldn't be in the way, and I briefly wondered how I would make my way back if, for some reason, I lost Lord Laurilyo in the crowd. I told myself that surely people would be able to point me the right way, and that I had made it to the palace on foot under worse conditions, and besides, I probably wouldn't lose my guide anyway.

The benches were packed, but a group of three appeared to have finished their drinks just as we looked for a place to sit, so we could quickly take their warmed seats. I looked around at the other patrons as unobtrusively as I could. The audience was of mixed origin: men of Umbar, with short hair and lose, but elaborately patterned robes, and young men and the occasional woman with the features and fashion of Yôzayân. I assumed that these must be the journeymen, or young wives, or the grown children of whoever had been fortunate enough to take their family along. Lord Laurilyo was clearly known to them, because several people waved or shouted a greeting over the warbling of the pipes.

In spite of the music, nobody was dancing, which I observed out loud. Lord Laurilyo laughed. "Well, dancing is somewhat questionable. Only folk of - hm - negotiable integrity do it among the Umbari. And certainly not in public." He gave me a keen stare. "Funny that you should miss dancing, since I have yet to see you dance."
"Not for myself," I said hastily. "It's just that in Arminalêth, so many people and music would naturally have led to dancing."
"Yes, but for the Umbari, it's rather more intimate. And we don't want to give them the wrong impression, right? We can go to a house of dancing later, though, if you want. I know a couple of nice ones. You don't have to dance, either. You can just watch."
I did not want to find out just what exactly I would be watching, and quickly said, "No, no, that's not necessary. I was just wondering."
"Hm-hm," Lord Laurilyo said, smiling, while waving to someone at my back, and a few moments later a server brought two tiny bowls, hardly larger than a thimble, full of a milky liquid. Lord Laurilyo gave him a coin I didn't recognise, and I dutifully dug for my purse, but he shook his head. "No, no, it's on me." He raised the bowl towards me. "To your health. And, I hope, to you easing up a bit."

I dutifully raised my own little bowl back at him and took a cautious sip because I expected that the drink would be alcoholic. It was. It was sweet and delicious and heated my throat as it went down. "What is this?" I asked.
"Khoosh," Lord Laurilyo said. "Nice, isn't it? They make it from goats' milk and date pulp, I think. Very good idea, if you ask me. Milk doesn't keep for long in this climate, so you can't store it, but you can turn it into khoosh. Or cheese, of course, which is also very nice."
I couldn't help thinking that perhaps he was a little interested in agriculture after all, if he thought about these things. Then again, perhaps he only cared about the end product. Which was fair enough. I hadn't known a lot about tilling and crop rotation, either, until I had been forced to find out things for Lord Herucalmo.

The khoosh, when it was gone, was quickly replaced with a local wine, less potent but still strong enough to make me regret that I hadn't had dinner yet, due to Lord Laurilyo's warning. I told him that I felt I needed to eat something or risk falling off the bench if I drank any more wine. "I'll pay for it myself," I assured him hastily.
"Nonsense, I said it's on me!" he declared grandly. "Let me think. They're not selling food here, of course-"
"They're not?"
He shook his head. "Different type of license. No, we'll have to get it at one of the stalls, but we've only just sat down. Oh, I know!" He waved to one of the enterprising youngsters at the entrance of the square, who weaved his way to our table with a hopeful look on his face. "Be a dear," Lord Laurilyo told him, "fetch us some..." he looked back at me. "Well, what would you like?"
"Whatever is available," I said, awkwardly, making him laugh.
"Everything is available!" he said. "Well, most things. But let's be reasonable. Some meat skewers, maybe. The good ones, not the kind that's half gristle. Oh, and those eggplant fritters. And some chickpea paste. And maybe some olives? The big, green ones? With cheese?"
"You choose," I said. "It all sounds lovely."

Lord Laurilyo said something in a mix of Adûnaic and the language of Umbar to the day-taler and handed him a couple of coins. The young fellow scampered off, and for a good while (time enough to empty our wine-cups and have them refilled), he didn't return; I assume he had to find the respective stall first. Or stalls, rather. When he came back at last, he was balancing a whole pile of cabbage leaves filled with foodstuffs, with some skewers on top. It seemed that Lord Laurilyo hadn't chosen just one thing, either, but had asked the young man to get all of it. He put the food down on our table, laid the small change before Lord Laurilyo, and stepped back with his hands behind his back and an expectant look. Lord Laurilyo looked over the change, pushed it back in the lad's direction, and laid another coin on top of it. The young fellow smiled a broad smile and performed the familiar displays of gratitude. He returned to his post at the corner with a spring in his step, so I assumed that he had been paid well, which made me glad. In another time, in another place, that could have been me.

We feasted on huge, juicy olives, the cubed white cheese and crispy eggplants and spicy meat and chickpea paste. As the people next to us finished their drinks and left their places, some of Lord Laurilyo's acquaintances came over to our table. "Who's your new friend?" one of them asked, so Lord Laurilyo introduced me and told them that I had only recently come over from the motherland. Unlike the councillors, these young folk were starved for news from Yôzayân, even if these news were several months old by now. Before long, I found myself surrounded by eager listeners as I recounted once more the story of the king's coronation and the changes the capital had gone through in the past years and the plays staged by Princess Vanimeldë. There was more wine, so I no longer remember just what exactly I told them. I remember that there was a lot of cheer and laughter, though. At some point, someone sensibly suggested that we relocate to a tea house, which was not in fact a house but an open courtyard, where we sat (if I recall correctly) on pillows directly on the ground and ate honey-dripping almond cakes with our tea. I was glad for my cloak now; it was growing very late. Somebody was reciting poetry that I barely understood, but it was pleasant to listen to. All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening, although I regretted it in the next morning, when I was jogging under the glaring sun with my eyes burning from lack of sleep, and a splitting headache on top of that.

Chapter End Notes

*Sirilyanta appears on no map of Númenor because I made it up. There are, according to "A description of the island of Númenor", many unnamed settlements in the Hyarnustar and Hyarrostar, and Sirilyanta ("bridge over the river Siril") may as well have been one of them.