The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

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Chapter 44

Time to explore the darker sides of Umbar (and of Lord Herucalmo). Violence/torture warning applies, I guess.

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Chapter 44

A couple of days after my night-time visit of the city, Lord Herucalmo told me to accompany him on an inspection of the mines. Why he thought that I should come along to inspect the mines was a mystery to me, but after the displeasure he had shown at my venturing out with Lord Laurilyo, I feared that I could not question his decision without annoying him further. There were three mines within a day's distance, I was informed, and it was planned that we would visit all three today, sleep at the furthest, and then make our way back to the city of Umbar tomorrow. So I asked (and received) leave to miss my training and borrowed a horse from Lord Roitaheru's stables again, and at the appointed time, I met with the guards assigned to go with us (I did not ask whether they were purely for rank or actually for protection this time) and an accountant who doubled as a guide, and Lord Herucalmo, the noble head of the operation. Lord Roitaheru himself would not come along; he had announced that he was perfectly confident in his son's ability to negotiate whatever needed negotiating. He didn't even see us off, as one might have expected. I suppose he preferred to sleep longer. We left early, both to make it to the shadow of the mountains before it got too hot, and because we apparently had to cover a long distance.

For the first hours, however, we rode through the fields that I had seen from above during the hunt: first the accountant, then two guards, then Lord Herucalmo, me behind him, and several guards on either side of us, and more behind. After an hour or so of silence, I attempted conversation.
"May I ask what the purpose of this journey is, my lord?"
I saw his shrug from behind. "Inspection, obviously. How much do they mine, how can they mine more, how long do they think they can keep the mine running. That sort of thing. The king's business," he added, which sounded sufficiently important.
"I wish I knew how I will be expected to help," I confessed.
Either he snorted at that, or his horse did. "You are not expected to help."
I felt my mouth opening in confusion, and hastily shut it again; my teeth clicked on each other. "Then why --"
"I'm taking you along for company," he said curtly. "And perhaps so you can learn a thing or two."

Privately, I felt that he could hardly care for my company that much, but I only said, "I will do my best. To learn, and to be good company."
Another snort. This time, it definitely wasn't the horse. I fell silent, confused and disheartened.
"It's more about keeping you out of certain company than about keeping me company," Lord Herucalmo eventually said - rather grudgingly, as I thought.
"Is this about Lord Laurilyo?"
"Stay away from him."
I took that as confirmation. "I tried, my lord," I said in my defense. "He doesn't stay away from me."
"You shouldn't encourage him. Don't forget who you are and why you are here." After a moment's pause, "He's a distraction."
I did not see how that made sense - I wasn't here due to dallying away my time with irresponsible lordlings, after all, nor were there any pressing demands on my time just now - but did not deem it wise to argue that point. "I shall take care not to be distracted," I said instead.
"I would certainly advise that," Lord Herucalmo said curtly, and again I wondered what his problem was. He did not like me. Very well; he didn't have to. But begrudging me the comfort and entertainment of someone who had taken pity on my loneliness, and - so far, anyway - had not distracted me from anything important? That seemed petty. I bit my lips to keep that thought to myself, but I couldn't help saying, "A few weeks ago, my lord, you did not seem to worry about it."
"A few weeks ago, he did not seem to be your type," he retorted, and this time my mouth fell open for good.
"It's not like that!" I managed to protest, once I was no longer dumbstruck. "I mean, he still isn't. We're not -" I tried to figure out what was going on. Was he interested in Lord Laurilyo? It wasn't impossible, I suppose. They were probably of a similar age, as far as one could tell with these nobles, and perhaps they were well suited to each other, except I couldn't help thinking that Lord Herucalmo already - or very nearly - had a betrothed back at home. Even if his parents had found some kind of arrangement that permitted them to love whoever and wherever they wished, I very much doubted that the King would accept such an arrangement for his son-in-law. Still, it seemed unwise to question the wisdom of whatever Lord Herucalmo was looking for. So I didn't, and instead defended myself. "We're not seeing each other in that way. He's just pitying me."
No reply. I waited a while, then concluded that he wasn't interested in hearing more from me. I kept silent and let my mind wander. Once we had left the fields behind and the road grew broader, we spurred the horses into a brisk trot, which made conversation impossible anyway.

The mine that we reached around mid-day was near a small village; or rather, a village of ramshackle huts and small fenced gardens had sprung up by the side of the road, which led up to a high guarded wall. There had been many such walls along the way, a reminder that Umbar and the surrounding countryside still expected attacks from southern tribes or remnants of Orcs, but we had been let through without impediment. As we made our way towards the wall, children stopped in mid-play to stare at our company. They were dirty and thin, and some of them held out their hands for alms before elder children slapped their arms out of the way and gestured for them to bow. Attracted by the hoofbeats and the protesting cries of the small children, their mothers came out of their hovels, pulling their children back from the roadside while bowing low. I felt a lump in my stomach and a stinging sensation in my eyes.

The gate in the wall opened for us, and we passed into the forecourt, if that is the right word, of the mine. It was even more grim than the village of the miners had been. The tower-like structure of the furnace, and a barracks-like building, could have been handsome, if their walls hadn't been caked with soot and ash and stone dust. Wood was piled up high next to the furnace (I wondered where it came from, since I had seen no trees for miles) and huge piles of discarded rock littered the side of the mountain, where the entrance to the mine proper gaped like a hungry mouth. Like the wall, it was heavily guarded. Every now and then, it spat out underfed men dressed in simple kilts, most of them going barefoot. They were carrying buckets full of stones (and, presumably, ore), which they brought to the furnace under the watchful eyes of overseers with a sword by their side and a whip in their hands. Lord Herucalmo unhorsed and marched towards one of them, the accountant in his tow. Since he hadn't given me any instructions, and the others remained on their horses, I did not go with him.

Lord Herucalmo and the accountant were pointed towards some official - or so I assume; at any rate, a very obsequious overseer took them into the barracks, and after a short while they reappeared in the company of a well-dressed Umbarian. His erstwhile guide came towards us and told us that his lordship would be a while, and he would send for refreshments from the village. The refreshments arrived quickly, brought by what were probably the wives and children of the miners. They gave us an unsweetened infusion of peppermint, thin wafers of what might have been oatmeal, some berries that the children had probably foraged in a hurry, and buckets of water for the horses. None of them spoke. I heard no conversation or song from the miners, either; the only people talking were the guards, both our own and the ones who had been at the mine, exchanging gossip and opinions.
At last - the shadows had by this time dwindled almost to nothing - Lord Herucalmo reappeared, as grim and silent as everybody else. He downed a cup of the tea, then declared that it was time to move on. We mounted our horses, rode back out of the gate through the sad little village and back onto the main road.

"Miserable business, mining," he said once we had put a safe distance between ourselves and the villagers.
I agreed, but couldn't help observing that perhaps it didn't have to be quite that miserable.
Lord Herucalmo gave a grunt-like laugh. "Unfortunately, mithril won't be sung out of the mountain."
"I know that," I said, absurdly annoyed by the snide way in which he dismissed whatever I said. "But I expect it doesn't object to being mined with singing - or at least conversation."
His shoulders rose in a shrug. "They're not permitted to speak or sing so they don't conspire with the slaves."

In this manner I learned that in addition to the free workers we had seen (who had already looked pretty miserable to me), the mines were also worked by slaves, criminals condemned to hard labour until the end of their lives. Although they were chained, the foremen and overseers apparently lived in fear of rebellion, and thus none of the workers were allowed to communicate with each other, so they couldn't secretly collude with the slaves and help them to free themselves. "It's an Umbarian custom," Lord Herucalmo concluded his summary, "but it's quite useful."
"It seems fairly ineffective to me," I couldn't help saying, "since people can work together better when they. You know. Agree on who does what and give each other advice and tell someone to get out of the way."
"And yet, strangely enough, it works."
"But surely it could work better," I protested.
"You are not here to lecture, but to learn," Lord Herucalmo cut me off. I had to bite my lips to keep from saying something angry and stupid.

We were now following a riverbed without a river deeper into the mountains. Once upon a time, a lot of water must have rushed down the middle of a narrow valley, wearing out a deep track between the rocks. Now it was all gasping and dry. Some sad-looking trees and dead rushes grew from the rocky ground, and the occasional lizard or beetle scuttled away from the track by the riverbed. Our hoofbeats rang harshly between the mountain walls. Other than that, there was no sign of life. Unlike the surroundings of the first mine, which had looked unlovely but inhabitable, the place we were now heading to promised to be entirely desolate.

And it was. The hovels of the workers were even smaller and even less inviting. Like those at the mine we had seen earlier, they were surrounded by small patches of what might have been meant to be gardens, but they looked barren and fruitless. A few scrawny chickens were scratching and picking their way around a pen made from thorny branches. Whatever trees had grown nearby had long since been cut down; even the few dry bushes had been severely cut back to provide fuel or building materials. Shockingly enough, people were still living here, or attempting to live, anyway: another gaggle of begging children, their skin as dusty as the ground; another hasty group of women holding them back. I couldn't help but wonder what they feared we might do to the little ones.

Again, Lord Herucalmo and the accountant went on their inspection alone, while one of the foremen pointed us to the well so we could water the horses and refill our canteens. I noticed that I had seen no well between the houses outside, and wondered if their only source of water was here, inside the enclosure; and if so, whether they could access it freely. In the time we were there, at any rate, nobody else came through the gate in the wall.
Lord Herucalmo seemed to be taking a long time, and when at last he returned, he looked very grim indeed. The accountant - with a very serious look on his face, too - spoke to one of the overseers, who listened with a severe frown first, and then a look of open concern. He waved his hands defensively, and the accountant spoke more intensely. Other overseers were summoned and spoken to, looking alarmed and (from their gestures and the expressions on their faces) protesting ignorance or innocence.

Meanwhile, Lord Herucalmo came over to us and spoke to the guards. "The manager here has been - hm - messing with the yield," he said. "We'll have to figure out how much the others knew about that, and where the missing mithril went."
"Embezzlement?" one of the guards asked.
"Something like that. Or something more sinister." Lord Herucalmo looked towards the group of foremen, his lip quirked in disgust. "That, and mismanagement. Of course they all claim that they know nothing about anything untoward. Damned cowards." His eyes met mine. No doubt he was including me among the damned cowards, although I had nothing to do with anything untoward or toward at this mine. I felt a pang of guilt anyway, and looked down at my hands.
"It'll take weeks to get to the bottom of this," Lord Herucalmo complained. "That really isn't what I expected."
"Are you planning to close the mine, Lord?" the leader of the guards asked, business-like, and Lord Herucalmo's eyes widened in horror.
"No! We can't afford that. The Crown has made it very clear that the mining is to be increased, not lessened under any circumstances. There's mithril missing already; no need to make it more."
"In that case, we can just arrest the main suspect, confiscate the accounts and appoint a new manager," the leader of the guards said appeasingly. "Then send a commission to investigate the whole thing once we're back in the city."

After a moment's thought, Lord Herucalmo nodded. "Yes. Yes, that's good. Arrest him; we'll take him with us - for the rest of today's journey, anyway." He smiled in a rather nasty manner. "I expect they will have some spare manacles around here. You and you, see to it."
The two guards saw to it. The others went into the main building to collect the accounts. The free miners (if free was the right word) stopped and looked on, curiously, but they were quickly driven back to their work. Meanwhile, the manager was dragged off somewhere by the guards; we could hear his protests, both in Adûnaic and in the tongue of Umbar, all the way from where they took him. None of the other men in authority spoke up in his defense; in fact, they already seemed to have washed their hands of him, and once Lord Herucalmo had appointed a successor, they returned to their posts in a hurry. Only the new manager stayed, helping the guards to stow the records into empty burlap sacks. None of the Umbarians seemed to feel particularly interested in the fate of their former master, let alone sorry for him. Perhaps he had not been very popular. Then again, perhaps the others were simply afraid to end in the same way and thus wanted to avoid our attention.

After a short while, the noisy protests stopped, and when the guards returned with their prisoner, he had been gagged with a filthy rag that had probably been used to wipe the soot off some part of the furnace earlier. He had also been divested of his nice robes, which one of the guards tossed to the new manager; he caught them, and though he did not put them on right away, I expected he would wear them with pride very soon. Again, I found myself wondering how he felt about the downfall of the old manager. I could not see through his behaviour, which might have been indifferent or rather accepting the inevitable, satisfied or just relieved to have escaped arrest himself, eager to see the man gone or eager to escape further trouble. I suppose he was a coward, too, but I could think of a dozen good reasons for his cowardice.

We left him behind once the sacks of evidence had been stowed on the back of one of the horses, which meant that one of the guards would have to go on foot. The prisoner would also have to walk, since we hadn't expected to need any spare horses and there were no horses, not even ponies, we could have borrowed at the mine or in the village. Accordingly, our progress for the rest of the day was slow, and as the shadows lengthened and the light on the mountain walls turned golden, I began to worry that we would have to sleep in the open. So far, we hadn't encountered any dangers, but I still had Lord Roitaheru's warnings about warlords in mind, and all the protective walls that we had passed on our journey were bound to have a purpose. Besides, as far as I knew, we hadn't packed tents or any provisions except for water and some oats for the horses. I didn't dare to ask, but I was trying to reconcile myself to a nigh's rough camping. Then, when the sun had already disappeared below a mountain chain that now blocked off our view to the coast, another wall came into sight.

Compared to the last mine, this one was downright welcoming; there was a trickle of water still in the riverbed, and perhaps as a result, the gardens of the miners' huts still sported some growth. We could hear conversation and laughter through the thin walls, and occasionally, we caught sight of a miner wiping himself with a wet cloth (I assume bathing would have used too much water) or playing with the children he hadn't seen all day.
I also got to see the slaves here, since it was evening and they were brought out of the depths of the mountain. I suppose one had to be grateful that they weren't made to sleep inside the mine, but that was about the only good thing I could think of. They looked frightening and pitiful at the same time: pale, meagre, silent parodies of men, with their heads shaved and their hands shackled and their bodies covered in bruises and sores. I reminded myself that they must have - according to Lord Herucalmo - committed a variety of horrible crimes in order to end up here, but even so, my soft heart was aching. This wasn't one-time punishment; it was perpetual, until the end of their lives, and that felt dreadfully cruel to me. I turned in the saddle to look at our prisoner (who, wearied by the road, had given up struggling a while ago) and could see that his eyes had welled up, his chest was heaving, and when Lord Herucalmo dismounted and took the chain that was fixed to his manacles from the guard who had dragged him along so far, he cast himself at Lord Herucalmo's feet. He could not plead, of course, due to the gag in his mouth, but it was clear that he was trying to plead for mercy.

I had to turn away, my cheeks hot with embarrassment; then I forced myself to speak. "Are you absolutely certain that he is behind the missing mithril, my lord?" I suppose I should have asked that question hours ago.
"Quite. At any rate, he was in charge. Not that it's any of your business." He didn't even bother to look at me.
"I'm just trying to learn," I said, trying (not quite succesfully) to keep my voice even. "It seems like very harsh punishment to me, so I would assume that it should be investigated properly. And that there would be some kind of trial. I don't know." I remembered my own - thankfully short - imprisonment, and the execution of my friends. Paupers like us didn't get their own trial, of course, but at least the council must have spoken about our cases and voted in favour of execution before we had gone to the scaffold (or, in my case, before the King had released me under condition). But this man had only just been arrested, and whatever evidence there might be in the sacks we had taken with us, so far the only reason he was here was that Lord Herucalmo and the accountant had declared him guilty. On such short notice, it seemed particularly horrid to condemn him to a life of slavery.

At the same time, he had previously profited from the work of slaves (and not looked particularly well after his free labourers, either), so I wasn't even certain why I was defending him. Softness, as usual. That, and a sort of shock at how quickly, and with how little protection, his downfall had happened.
Lord Herucalmo gave me a disparaging look. "He's Umbarian," he said flatly, "it's different here. Besides, I am here as the representative of my father, and he is the representative of the King, and thus, my word is currently law. You should not question it, either."
"Understood, Lord," I said, because there was nothing else to say.
"And you, stop blubbering," Lord Herucalmo snapped at the man at his feet, dragged him up - or forward, really, but the man managed to scramble to his feet in time - towards the manager of this mine, who had naturally been alerted about our arrival and clearly rushed from his dinner table to greet us. There was a smear of gruel or somesuch in his beard, which was somewhat detrimental to his authority.

Lord Herucalmo explained the purpose of our journey in general, demanded beds and board for our company, explained the presence of the prisoner, and arranged his future in the mine. The manager clearly knew better than to argue (I suppose even if he had otherwise been inclined to protest, the example of his disgraced colleague served as a stark warning). He said that he and his foremen would naturally vacate their rooms for us, that he would tell the kitchen staff to provide fit meals as quickly as possible, and that we were welcome to drop the new worker with the rest of them (he gestured in the general direction of the barracks). He spoke fluent, if slightly accented, Adûnaic. If he was distressed or even just surprised, he hid it well.

We brought the prisoner to the barracks. He was struggling again, straining against the chain, shaking his head emphatically, falling on his knees - anything to delay his final enslavement. I thought it was quite understandable - he would know better than any of us just how bad it would really be - but it clearly annoyed Lord Herucalmo, who was in a bad mood already. Accordingly, when the warden at the gate (entirely unsurprised, as if new criminals were brought here by an escort of guards and a representative of Lord Roitaheru every day) said, "It is custom to beat them, when they are new, so they know how it is," Lord Herucalmo agreed almost too readily. Perhaps he needed some kind of revenge because the man had turned what should have been a simple inspection into something more complicated. I suppose he also needed some kind of revenge on me, for questioning his judgement. At any rate, when the warden handed him the whip, he held it out to me and told me to administer the punishment.
"No," I said.
He simply countered, "Yes."
I tried to talk my way out of it. "I'm no good at - that sort of thing, Lord."
"Then you will have to learn. You're eager to learn, right?" There was something smug about his voice now. "It's a skill you'll need at some point when you're training your Umbarian embalmers."

I did not like that thought very much. "I'm very soft-hearted, my lord," I pointed out. "I'm sure I won't do it right."
"No need to go soft on that one; I bet he's done it to others a thousand times. Haven't you?" Our prisoner shook his head, but he must have realised that nobody would believe him, because he stopped after a moment's thought and then gave a very small nod.
"There you go," Lord Herucalmo said, now almost encouraging. "You can practice until you get it right." A smirk. "If you're feeling soft-hearted, I suppose you should get it right quickly."
"He has already been condemned to slavery, Lord," I said, "to hard work and to chains and to silence - surely there is no need to hurt him more? I - I expect he knows already how it is." I said that last bit in the direction of the warden, because he had suggested the whole thing in the first place.
Lord Herucalmo leaned in close. "You are making a scene," he hissed, "and you are putting my authority in question, again. This will have consequences."
"Just give him the damned lash so we can go and have supper," the head guard told me, probably thinking that he was being helpful.
I gritted my teeth, but I was at the end of my courage. There was no good way out of this situation, or at any rate, I couldn't see one. Briefly, I considered pretending to faint - oh, the heat, oh, the long journey - but it was doubtful that Lord Herucalmo would fall for it, and even if he did, he'd probably wait until I came to, and then I'd still have to go through with it.

So I gave in. I took the whip and stepped up behind the formerly proud manager of the second mine. I told myself that he had stolen mithril from the mine, and thus from the King, which was very nearly treason. Maybe it was treason. I told myself that he had let his workers and their families live in miserable hovels, without even enough water to tend their gardens and grow their own food. I reminded myself how hungry and dirty the children had looked. I tried to picture the slaves at his mine, no happier than the ones I had seen here, no doubt. I imagined that he had shown them no kindness, either. But I still hated to be in this place. Being on the giving end was obviously preferable to being on the receiving end, but I nonetheless found it hateful. I suppose I wanted to live in a world where people simply didn't have to get beaten, or beat others.
I was taking too long to begin. "Get going," Lord Herucalmo said, still with that threatening note to his voice. "No need to keep count. I'll tell you when it's enough."

Predictably, it wasn't enough for quite a while. I had been right when I had expected that I didn't know how to do it properly. You'd think that it's mostly intuitive, like punching someone in anger, but it really wasn't. First I judged the distance wrong, then the angle, then the strength. The first attempts landed ineffectively: some barely connected; then the middle rather than at the end of the lash touched his skin. Then I overcompensated and struck so hard that a thin trail of blood blossomed on his shoulders immediately and the poor man (I was pitying him still, or rather, again) shrieked behind his gag. I was tempted to apologise. As I tried to figure out the proper technique, I meditated on the origin of the phrase 'a bloody beginner'. I certainly made a bloody mess of it. Eager to be done, I had begun too fast; I could not keep up the speed and slowed down, only to be told to hit faster, and I expect the lack of a rhythm allowing him to prepare and pace his breathing also made it worse than it would have been anyway. At last - it was now fully dark, and the wardens had brought lanterns - Lord Herucalmo said, "That'll do."

I let the whip fall as if it was a poisonous snake. Preoccupied with the logistics, I hadn't paid much attention to the damage I had done, but now I was forced to acknowledge it. I expect I must have looked somewhat like that when Master Amrazôr's groom had been done with me, although my victim hadn't lost consciousness; he was very much awake, and I could hear his muffled sobs and gasps. I was gasping for air myself, and although it was beginning to grow cool, I was drenched in sweat. I wasn't entirely certain whether it was from the exertion (because, althought it felt twisted to think of it like that, it had been hard work), or whether it was from repulsion. When the wardens, with the help of two guards, dragged the former manager into the barracks, I could just barely turn aside before I was sick.
"Your friend is not a soldier," I could hear one of the wardens observe.
"He really isn't," Lord Herucalmo said, sounding smug once more. I thought to myself, and he really isn't your friend, either, although Lord Herucalmo left that thought unvoiced.
To me, he said, "You'll get used to it." And then, in an almost reconciliatory way, "Sometimes, punishment is unavoidable. You should know! You didn't become a decent person yourself until after you were imprisoned and punished!"
I did not particularly appreciate the reminder, although I suppose it was good to hear that I was being considered a decent person at all. I felt far from decent just now. "He won't have a chance to become a decent person, though," I said, "if he's enslaved for life."
Lord Herucalmo just shrugged. "Not my concern. Nor should it be yours." After a moment's thought, he conceded, "If it turns out that someone else is responsible for the disappearance of mithril at that mine, he can still be released." And with that, I had to be content.

The dinner that had been prepared for us was a sort of stew made from chickpeas, onions and salted meat. It smelled appetisingly, but my stomach had closed up and refused to entertain the mere thought of eating. I sat back and brooded while the others ate, which, for some reason, provoked Lord Herucalmo into anger once more.
"Eat," he told me, and when I tried to explain that I wasn't feeling hungry, he slammed the bowl on the table before me and snapped, "Eat!" in a way that made most of the people around us flinch.
"You really should eat," the guard next to me said, perhaps as a joke and perhaps in earnest, "who knows what you'll get tomorrow."
"Shut your mouth," Lord Herucalmo told him, and I concluded that he must be very annoyed indeed if he was lashing out indiscriminately. I forced myself to eat. It was probably reasonably nice - better than what the slaves got, no doubt - but all I remember of it was the meat, which was tough and chewy and should have been boiled a lot longer.

To add to my misery, the space in the foremen's lodgings above the slaves' dormitory was limited, and although they vacated four of the six rooms to our company, that still meant that there were more people than beds. I assumed that I would be assigned to share with some guards, but for some unfathomable reason Lord Herucalmo decided that I was to join him, the accountant and the leader of the guards. With the exception of the accountant (who might yet be neutral), my roommates would thus be men who despised me, and that did nothing to lift my spirits. The two beds in the (fairly small) room looked reasonably comfortable, and I felt tired to my bones. Still, I suggested, "I can sleep in the corridor outside; it's no trouble."
"You can sleep downstairs with the slaves," the head guard suggested in his charming manner.
"Don't be absurd," Lord Herucalmo snapped. "We'll put two to a bed. For one night, it will be fine. You can share with me; you two can take the other bed." With 'you two', he meant the accountant and the guard.
"You don't have to do that," I said.
"Oh, really? Go on, tell me what I have to do," he retorted. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood.

They had given us a bucket of lukewarm water to wash with, and after the others had cleaned themselves and made ready to sleep, I followed suit. I could feel Lord Herucalmo's glare, and it was hard to pretend that I didn't notice, let alone care. He had not undressed yet, and when I put my shirt back on and awkwardly slipped into the bed after my ablutions, he clenched his hands once, then declared, "I have forgotten, there's something I still have to do. I'll join you later. No need to wait up." He marched out, leaving us confused (and me a little relieved that perhaps I would be able to fall asleep before he came back).
"Something I still have to do!" The guard scoffed. "That's a lot of words for taking a dump."
Neither the accountant nor I answered.
"Well, I have no intention of waiting up. Night," he said, maybe disappointed by our silence.
"Good night," I said, turned towards the wall, and tried to sleep.

Of course, sleep was hard to come by. I kept thinking of the mine manager - in a respectable position of authority one day, and now condemned to the lowest of the low within hours. Again, I wondered whether he truly was guilty (and if he was, whether his crime justified such punishment), but I had to believe it just to make the thought bearable at all. I still felt ashamed for the part I'd had in his punishment. Aside from that, I had plenty of selfish worries, too. For starters, I kept wondering about the consequences Lord Herucalmo had threatened me with. I kept thinking about the whole uncomfortable journey and the unsatisfying attempts at finding out why I was here. Suddenly, I remembered that I, too, was still officially a criminal, and that it had been a long time since I had satisfied the conditions under which I had been released. I kept thinking of the guard's oblique remarks. Who knows what you'll get tomorrow. And, You can sleep downstairs with the slaves.

The more I thought about it, the more likely it felt that he knew more than I did about my fate. Perhaps Lord Herucalmo had no intention of teaching me anything (except perhaps my place and my manners), and he himself had said that we were here on the King's business. I suppose my punishment was more important business to the King even than the mining of silver, or mithril, or whatever it was that they scratched from the mountains here. I suppose that was why Lord Roitaheru had had me assigned to the guards, too - so I would recover enough strength to be of use in the mine. It all added up. The only thing that I didn't understand was why I hadn't already been chained alongside the former mine manager. That would have seemed like a good moment to do it. But perhaps Lord Herucalmo wanted to savour it. Perhaps he wanted to lull me into a false sense of security, to make the revelation more torturous. Or perhaps there were things that needed to be prepared first, arrangement to be made, which was why Lord Herucalmo had gone outside again? (Maybe the King himself was on his way here, so he could witness my reduction? That, at least, seemed a little too far-fetched.) I suppose I should have tried to run away; but surely he was prepared for that, and it could only make things worse. I tried to tell myself that Lord Roitaheru would not permit my being treated in this manner, since it would damage the myth of the powerful and invicible men of Yôzayân. Then I realised that it wouldn't. If they cut off my long hair and took away my good clothing and forbade me to speak, there was nothing that would set me apart from the men of Umbar. I didn't have the Elven beauty of the noble houses, and I certainly wasn't much taller than the people here. Nobody would know. The reputation of Yôzayân was perfectly safe.

Despite these dreadful thoughts, I must have slept a little. I awoke in the small hours of the night, no longer alone, shivering because Lord Herucalmo had pulled the blanket over to his side of the bed. Since I didn't dare to get up to get my cloak (what if I woke him up?) and dared even less to take at least some small part of the blanket back, I curled up to warm myself and tried to fall asleep again. I did not achieve more than an uneasy slumber. Lord Herucalmo was a restless sleeper; at some point, he nearly fell out of the bed and grumbled, half awake, as he pushed back towards the middle. At another point, he wrapped an arm around my chest, pulling me close as a child cradles their doll. Goodness knows what he was dreaming. It could even have been comforting, that - it had now been two months since someone had last embraced me - if he hadn't been who he was. I found myself wondering if he always slept like that, or if his conscience was particularly heavy today. I just hoped that he would move away again before he woke up. If he woke up with me in his arms, he'd doubtlessly blame it on me, although I wasn't the one rolling through bed as if pursued by demons and clinging to whatever happened to lie in the way.

In the morning, I felt worn out and apprehensive, as if I hadn't rested at all. The morning gruel wasn't cooked through, and the handful of raisins that had been tossed in as an afterthought gave no more than the tiniest hint of flavour. After that joyless breakfast, I was not surprised when Lord Herucalmo told me to accompany him and the accountant on their tour of the mine this time - so I could learn something, he said. So he could leave me there, I felt. I nodded dully and walked after them. The old despair had descended upon me again; there was no point in trying to refuse, and certainly no hope in trying to escape. (Where should I have gone, anyway? Even if I managed to make it beyond the wall, there was nothing there for miles, except for the miners' village, and I certainly could not expect them to risk their freedom or livelihood to help me.)

The mine was an oppressive place, even without the horrors that lay ahead. The tunnels were mostly just large enough to walk through (Lord Herucalmo, taller than the rest of us, had to tuck his head between his shoulders) side by side, occasionally broader when a vein of ore had run deeper. The air was cold, but stuffy. We were first shown an older part of the mine, still near the surface, which had long since been exhausted; the manager who guided us explained how you could see that there was no more mithril available here; how they had continued to mine for iron, which often accompanied it and was more plentiful, but had then delved deeper into the mountain to find more of the precious mithril. We passed through a cavernous space that contained a little shrine to the natives' mountain god. It was disused now, but you could still see the traces of wax candles that had been lit for the deity once upon a time, and smears of chicken blood (at least, our guide said that it was chicken blood) on the walls and floor.

Then he took us deeper into the mine, warning us to stay together because nobody knew just how long the tunnels were, or how they linked together; if you knew where you were going, you were fine, but if you didn't, you might as well get lost and not be found until you had starved. I thought he was exaggerating, but after the distances we walked down increasingly winding tunnels that occasionally crossed other tunnels, I believed him. We had to squeeze into the walls occasionally, as miners carrying buckets full of stone outside came towards us or returned with their empty buckets from outside. Sometimes, there was a suspiciously hollow sound to our footsteps, as if there were further tunnels underneath, and suddenly I realised that if nobody knew where exactly the tunnels were, you wouldn't know just how close you were to breaking through somewhere, either.
"Are the tunnels safe?" I couldn't help asking, and the manager shrugged. "For the most part," he said. "The rock is solid. Of course, sometimes mistakes are made. Sometimes tunnels collapse. But not very often."
"Do people get killed?"
"Sometimes. But not very many."
"I would appreciate if that doesn't happen while we are here," Lord Herucalmo said sternly.
"Oh no, do not worry, Lord. It does not happen very often. And we are very careful while you are here, Lord."
I worried nonetheless. The rock itself might be solid, but the mountain clearly wasn't solid any longer; and, as he had said, sometimes mistakes were made.

After what felt like an hour's walk into the bowels of the mountain, we reached the place where they were currently mining. This was where the slaves were working, taking pickaxes or chisels to the solid rock. I learned that the precious mithril rarely occured in proper veins, and that it was rather hidden in small amounts inside the ordinary rock. The furnaces outside served to melt it out of the rock and purify it, and it took a lot of these lumps of rock to get a single ingot of pure mithril. In this part of the mine, it was stuffy and hot. You would expect it to be cold, so deep inside the mountain, but I suppose the lanterns and the many bodies heated the confined space up quite quickly. I could barely breathe. It wasn't just the heat and the used feeling of the air; it was the clanging of the tools and the chains, the clatter as the rocks hit the ground and were collected into buckets, the cracking of the whip when the overseers felt that someone needed a reprimand, the laboured breathing of the poor fellows. I felt myself breaking into a cold sweat.
"I marvel that they can work in these conditions," I managed to say, in the smallest of voices.
Lord Herucalmo heard me anyway. "Well, they have to," he said matter-of-factly. "I hear they aren't fed unless they fill a certain minimum of buckets, and the three laziest men are punished in the evening. That keeps them all well-motivated." The light was too bad to recognise his face properly, but I was certain that I could hear a smirk in his voice. "Remember that, Azruhâr. Motivation is everything."
I did not trust myself to answer.

The manager shouted something in the language of Umbar, and the clanging stopped as the slaves paused in their work and half-turned towards us, lowering their heads. I tried to discern yesterday's prisoner among them - even if they had shorn off his hair and taken his tunic by now, he would still look better-fed than the rest of them - but I could not see him. Our guide spoke to Lord Herucalmo, "Would you like to try your hand, Lord? It is harder than it looks."
"Then I can only make a fool of myself, can't I?" I thought there was a bit of an edge in his voice.
"It does them well to see that outsiders cannot do it," the manager explained. "Makes them feel good for a moment."
Motivation is everything, I thought to myself, but I don't think I said it.
"Well, in that case," Lord Herucalmo said. From the way he moved, I could see that his entire body revolted against the idea. He did not want to take the sweaty chisel and mallet from the slave who offered them to him like some sort of sacrificial gift. He did not want to get on his knees in front of the rock wall, lit unsteadily by the flickering lanterns. He made himself take the tools to the rock, but he did not want to do it. He didn't know how to do it, either. Even in the bad light and shifting shadows, I could see that he had no idea how to hold or hit the chisel. The mallet bounced off its end fruitlessly while the chisel itself slipped from Lord Herucalmo's grip. I suspected that he had hurt his hand quite badly, as most of the energy of the blow must have gone into his fingers instead of the rock. The slaves watched in silence. They did not laugh; indeed, they made no sound, except for their breathing, but I hoped that they were taking at least a little amusement from it.

I don't know if I made a sound, or whether Lord Herucalmo would've passed the tools to me anyway. At any rate, he pushed back from the wall, and between grit teeth said, "I've done my part; now it's your turn." He thrust the chisel and mallet at me, and I caught them awkwardly because I was unprepared. I tried to call myself to order. If this was where he wanted me to be, buried inside a foul mine in this distant barren land, then I wouldn't do him the satisfaction of snivelling or looking as though I would easily be broken (although goodness knows I would be). I wouldn't show how betrayed I felt, how much it stung. I wouldn't act shocked or surprised. I would pretend that it didn't matter, and at the earliest opportunity, I would get lost in the mines or have an accident that would end my miserable existence.

I made myself walk to the rough patch in the wall, and knelt there. I was painfully aware of the good riding boots on my feet, the soft fabric of my tunic, the weight of the purse on my belt. I would miss these things, I thought, although I suppose they were irrelevant compared to liberty itself. I tried to breathe evenly even as my eyes welled up. I felt rather than saw a tiny groove in the rock, where I could set the chisel. I lifted the much-used mallet.
Many years ago, long before I met Amraphel, I had managed to secure work in a mason's stoneyard for a week. Because I didn't have the bulk to move the big blocks of marble or granite that came from the quarry, he had put me to work removing the rough edges once the stones had been split, which required technique rather than strength. The key was holding the chisel just firmly enough that it couldn't swing uselessly, but not so tight that your hand absorbed most of the energy. I told myself that this must be easier than cropping quarrystone. After all, I just had to remove any rock from the wall; it didn't have to be a perpendicular edge, nor did the rock have to be smooth afterwards. I tried to recall the right way to hold the chisel, and took a deep breath, and struck.

The angle was too steep. The chisel went into the stone with surprising ease (I suppose I had gained a little strength after all), and there it stuck and refused to budge. That could happen, of course. I struck the chisel's side from above and below until it was lose enough to remove and start over. This time, I took care to hold the top of the chisel closer to the wall, and this time, I managed to losen some of the rock. More confident, I struck again, and a few lumps of rock fell free and rolled to the ground with a satisfying clatter. Mechanically, I picked them up and put them into the bucket. Over the resentful silence, I heard the manager's surprised voice, "Well! Your friend has talent! Maybe we should keep him!"

Now, I thought. Now Lord Herucalmo would say something like "Yes, what a splendid idea", as if he hadn't planned it all along. Now he would give a signal to the wardens. Now they would grasp me and shear off my hair and put me in chains and probably whip me, too, so I knew how it was (as if I didn't know). Now I would be condemned to stay here, in this hateful place, not to see the light of day except at the end of a gruelling day's work. Now the King, through his future son-in-law, would have his final revenge on me. I said nothing. I was holding my breath. I had clenched my eyes shut. I tried to keep my fingers from trembling as I searched for the next little groove that would allow me to chip off enough rock so at least I would not be among the three laziest men tonight. (It was unfair; the others had a headstart of several hours. Impossible to catch up with them.)

"Yes," I heard Lord Herucalmo say, "it would appear he's stronger than he looks." A meaningful pause. Another little shower of rocks came free from the surface. One of them hit my knee; from the bruise I saw there later on, it must have hit it quite hard, but in that moment, I barely registered it. My head was spinning; I had to draw breath, and tried to do it silently. I put the lose rocks in the bucket. I wondered how many of these buckets I needed to fill so that I would be given food. Or maybe it was better to starve? But surely they would not allow that, either. It would cost them workers. At some point, they were bound to make you eat. There was no way out.
Over the hammering of my pulse in my ears, Lord Herucalmo said, "But I'm afraid I'll have to take him back with me. He has duties in the capital." And the mine manager laughed, and Lord Herucalmo laughed, and the accountant laughed. The slaves were standing there in angry silence, and I was staring at the mountain wall, and the three of them were laughing. It was all just a joke to them. I couldn't move. I was petrified, as if the rocks did not want to let me go, or as if I was still expecting a reversal. Then Lord Herucalmo called in his usual brisk tone, "Come on, Azruhâr, time to be on our way." Somehow, I managed to get up. I laid the tools on the ground, very deliberately. I wiped my trembling hands on my tunic. I couldn't speak. I couldn't look anyone in the eye.

The air outside felt mild, although the sun was nearly at its zenith, and although it was smoky from the furnaces, it tasted sweet to me. I breathed deep, but I still could not shake off the sense of helpless misery. My hands were shaking when I saddled my borrowed horse. I longed to lean against the strong, warm, reassuring body of the animal and have a good cry. Instead, I pretended that nothing had happened and nothing was wrong. Nothing had happened, and if it had, it didn't matter. Around me, the miners were going about their business and the guards were joking, eager to be gone, and Lord Herucalmo made some last-minute arrangements and the horses snorted impatiently. And then we were on our way. This time, the children from the village were outside, and like the others, they interrupted their play and ran by the roadside, at a respectful distance, with some of them raising their open hands before them. Following a sudden impulse, I fingered for my purse and fished out all the small coins and tossed them over my shoulder. I could hear the eager squeals of the children and the surprised shouts of their mothers behind us as we returned to the open road.

"You shouldn't have done that," Lord Herucalmo said in disapproval, "You'll ruin the mine. Their fathers must keep working."
I laughed, and felt tears shoot into my eyes at the same time. "Their fathers will keep working whether I give them a few small coins or not."
"Those weren't small coins - a Star is a lot of money in this place. A week's pay, easily!"
"And yet they still need work when the week is over, and they know it," I said. "At the most, they can buy a chicken, or some food, or some fabric for clothing. It will not ruin the mine. If anything, they can work more if their stomach is less empty. If the mine paid the workers better, I expect they would all be working better. And more people would want to work there, too."
"What do you know?" he said, scornfully, and because nothing mattered anymore, I retorted, "About poverty? A lot."
He was quiet, which suited me well. I did not want to talk. I didn't know whether I was angry or whether I was sad. It was probably both.
After a while, Lord Herucalmo said, "Do you understand why I have taken you on this journey?"

I could not answer at once, but I couldn't worry my lips forever, either. (They still hurt from yesterday, anyway.) "Since you did not leave me there after all," I said cautiously, "I assume it was meant as a warning. What could happen to me. If I fail to do what is expected of me." I looked down on my hands, clutching the reins unnecessarily. The road was leading steadily downhill, and we were not going fast. I just needed to hold on to something, I suppose.
The strange tone in his voice made me look up at him. "Leave you there? What are you talking about. How dare you suggest something like that." His eyes had widened in shock or confusion, his brow had creased, and his jaw was working as though yesterday's tough meat was stuck between his teeth. Either he was nearly as good an actor as his bride-to-be, or he truly hadn't entertained the thought even for a second. "Leave you there," he repeated. "Did you really think that?"
Not trusting my voice, I nodded.

"How can you think something so horrible of me," he said. His entire demeanour had changed - the angry set of his jaw had softened along with his voice, and there was a genuine look of hurt in his eyes - if I hadn't been so scared and so unhappy, it could have been funny. If he had spoken to me like that before, I probably wouldn't have thought something so horrible.
"You despise me, Lord," I pointed out. "No need to deny it, you've made it clear enough often enough. And you were angry with me. You probably think me no better than the men who labour there. And you are the King's son-in-law, or will be soon, anyway. I thought maybe you were going to do him a favour, now that the council won't hear about it. You said we were here on the King's business."
"Inspecting the mines," he said, still in that strange new tone, "not dropping you there." Again, he frowned. "I took you along so you could learn how to run your business - for when you begin to teach your Umbarian embalmers. How to maintain discipline and keep them in check." Slowly, the hurt was turning into anger; his jaw was jutting forwards again. "Leave you there. How dare you." He spurred his horse on, apparently unable to bear the sight of me any longer.
"I would've left you there," the guard next to me quipped.
"I know," I said darkly.
"It's not too late to go back."
"I know."
"Shut up," Lord Herucalmo snapped, probably at both of us, and then he didn't talk to me - or anybody else - for the rest of the ride back to the city.