The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 45

The trip to the mines has unpleasant consequences. Help comes from an unexpected quarter.

Chapter 45

The next day, these two guards - both the head guard and the one who would have left me at the mine - were punished for insubordination in a gruesome military ritual that they called the gantlet (so soldiers were beaten after all, just not for everyday mistakes). Although there was no official announcement concerning whom they had insubordinated against, soon enough word got around among the guards and recruits that I'd had something to do with it. I wasn't certain what, because I knew that I hadn't told Lord Herucalmo about the head guard's comment after his dramatic disappearance in the evening. But the rumour persisted. As a result, my standing among the recruits turned from ridiculous but tolerable stranger to hateful enemy, and they closed ranks against me. Henceforth, they treated me with exceeding politeness to my face - a politeness so brutally exaggerated that the mockery was obvious. And as soon as my back was turned (and while they knew I could still hear them) they said the ugliest things. They never named my name, but they made it perfectly clear that they were talking about me - just subtly enough to be deniable, should anyone in authority overhear and object, but not so subtle that I could miss it. It was childish stuff for the most part - on what sort of animal my father had whelped me, or why my mother had not succeeded in strangling me in my sleep, or how often and in what ways I might have pleasured certain nobles - but it stung nonetheless.

There was a strange rise in accidents, too. Although I had by know learned the order of the different blocks and attacks in the weapons drills, now suddenly it was my opponents who got them wrong and thus ended up whacking me with their practice weapons - entirely by accident, of course. But even with a wooden practice sword, it hurt. Then the cinch on my horse's saddle tore during training, and not at one of the seams where you might expect such a thing to happen, but in the middle of what should have been solid leather. Nobody hurried to catch the horse, either, and I'd had to run after it still winded from the fall. During archery practice, I found that the odd fletching had been cut off all my arrows, as if I had nocked and shot each of them the wrong way round, which naturally earned me a reprimand and two afternoons of repairwork. Another day, we had only just embarked on our morning run when I felt the first agonising sting, and there were more of them with every step. By the time we had finished the run and I could finally sit down, I found several large thorns that had evidently been shoved into my boots just before the run and were now embedded in my bloodied shins and calves and (that had been the worst) the soles of my feet. I pried them out with grit teeth and said nothing.

I said nothing when someone - ostensibly by accident - swept my bowl of mid-day gruel off the table every other day, or upset the bench I happened to be sitting on. I said nothing when the recruit I'd had to carry on my back during training turned out to have several heavy stones in his pockets. I managed not to say anything when my change of clothing was mysteriously found down a latrine one day (though I admit that I cried in the baths that day, to Kalîl's alarm. I felt that I could not well burden him with my troubles, so I only told him that there had been an accident during training and that I was hurt from it, which was not untrue). I said nothing because I knew that it would not help. Our superior officers already knew what was going on and turned a blind eye. Of course, they had known the two guards far longer than me; even if they were not their friends, they had been comrades for years, while I was an outsider. If I had complained - and been able to actually prove that there was malice, not clumsiness, behind the unpleasant events, or that the nasty remarks indeed concerned me and not the hypothetical civilian my fellow recruits pretended to be talking about - then they would probably have taken action. But that would only have caused more punishment, and after that, the others would have felt more justified in their hatred of me. I hoped that, if I endured their scorn and their little cruelties and showed that I was not actually the snitch they claimed I was, they would eventually allow things to return to normal. Surely they would tire of thinking up these petty little torments at some point. Besides, at some point they must feel that their revenge had been achieved. After all, the two guards had also been allowed to return to their normal service after they had healed from their ordeal.

But for me, that time had not yet come, and it was hard not to break down under the daily hostilities. In all honesty, I would rather have run the gantlet myself; painful though it might be, it was over after a gruesome hour, and then I would have been permitted to recover. As it was, there was no recovery. Kalîl and Sîmar were gentle and helpful as ever, but they were not friends - in truth, they had succesfully resisted every attempt at befriending them. I told myself that it was propriety, not hatred of my person, that made them close up whenever I asked them to sit with me or tried to make conversation that went beyond "Please do this" or "Thank you". But perhaps they did resent me. At any rate, I felt lonely and beset by enemies. Lord Herucalmo was still wroth with me, too; he had not forgiven me for what he had perceived as an attack on his character and treated me very coldly. The atmosphere at the dinner table - I still dined with him and Lord Roitaheru, an honour that I would gladly have foregone - was fraught, and it was only the presence of Lord Roitaheru that kept it civil. He was still on my side, I suppose, but I did not dare to turn to him for help. Against his son's enmity, I could hardly expect him to support me; and against the guards, his solution would probably been to punish the perpetrators, which again would have achieved nothing except more hostility. I doubted that he would have permitted me to quit the training. Besides, I felt that I should be able to handle these problems on my own. It would be shameful to ask for help like a child unable to resolve a conflict with its playmates or to endure the disapproval it had earned. Again, I said nothing. I said very little in those days, anyway.

I expect I could normally have endured it better, but the trip to the mines had worn down the thin layer of confidence I had been able to gain since my arrival. Now I felt raw and fragile once more. I could not even commit the feeling to a letter because I did not want to alarm Amraphel (the mere thought of her made my eyes flow over). Besides, any letter would take weeks until it reached her, so where was the point? I still had not heard back from anyone at home. Not that letters were what I wanted. I needed to cry on someone's shoulder, but that was impossible. Perhaps Lord Laurilyo would have permitted it, but in the light of Lord Herucalmo's annoyance, I had asked Lord Laurilyo to leave me alone. It had annoyed him, of course, and when I had tried to explain that it didn't have anything to do with him personally, and everything with the disapproval of his more powerful relatives, he had scoffed at me for letting them control me like that. I had pointed that he had no idea what it was was like to be at the mercy of people like him and the other Nobles, and maybe shouldn't talk until he understood. We had not parted on good terms. Now I lay on my bed, looked at the ceiling and pitied myself. I felt like the loneliest person in the world. Unbidden, Lord Atanacalmo's smug face rose before my mind's eye to tell me that I was being melodramatic, and remind me that he despised melodrama. You're acting as if I were dragging you there in chains, I recalled, and indeed, shouldn't I count myself fortunate? I could have ended in that mine, so I should have been grateful and happy to be free and clothed and well-fed and comfortable. But I couldn't summon happiness. More than once, I wondered what would happen if I simply did not get up in the morning. But that would probably have caused difficulties for Kalîl and Sîmar, who were after all tasked with getting me up and keeping me entertained. For the same reason, drowning in the baths or jumping from the window was not an option. I resigned myself to hoping that perhaps I would break my neck the next time I fell off the horse, or that one of the other recruits would "accidentally" crack my skull open. (And then, I thought in vengeful pettiness, perhaps they would be sorry.)

They did not do me the favour. Instead, something else happened. On Valanya, since I had no other demands on my time, I had withdrawn to the library. I hoped that reading about Grandfather's exploits in the army would raise my spirits, but instead, the contrast to my own situation - without even the danger of war and injury! - just made me feel more miserable. Soon, I had to put the ledger aside for fear of my tears smearing the ink. I tried to be as quiet as possible so the servant who acted as librarian wouldn't hear me, but then I heard something that made me freeze in terror.
"I need to read up on the desert tribe that calls itself the Tash-naga," a familiar voice commanded. Lord Herucalmo, of all people.
"We have not much about the desert tribes, your lordship," the librarian replied.
"Well, fetch me what little you have," Lord Herucalmo told him. He didn't appear to have noticed my presence, and I would have liked to keep it that way. For a second, I considered diving under the table and hiding until he had left again. But that would have been childish, and if he discovered me hiding somewhere, the consequences would doubtlessly be worse than if I left at once, regularly, as if I had a right to be here (which, technically, I did - Lord Roitaheru had given me the freedom of his house - but who knew how much that was worth to his son.)
"Yes, your lordship," the librarian said. "Does your lordship wish to wait, or do you wish to return later?"
I prayed that he would chose to leave and come back later, but he said, dismissively, "How long can it take? I'll wait."
I wiped my eyes and summoned the dregs of my courage. Then I picked up the ledger and brought it back to the librarian, saying, "I am done for today, thank you very much," as evenly as I could.
"Very good, sir," the librarian said, while Lord Herucalmo asked, "Have you been crying?"
The librarian was very quick to withdraw and put the ledger back in its proper place.

I didn't trust myself to reply, but then I didn't need to; Lord Herucalmo simply tilted my face up and studied it. I suppose my red eyes confirmed what my raw voice had already betrayed. "Why have you been crying?" he asked in his usual tone of disapproval.
"It's nothing, my lord," I said, because he was the last person in the world I wanted to share my grief with.
Of course, he didn't believe me. "You wouldn't have been crying for nothing," he said sternly, and, "We should talk." To the librarian, he called, "I've changed my mind. Prepare the accounts; I'll come back later. You -" he was turning back to me - "outside."
I obeyed. I would much rather have run away, but of course there was nowhere to run. So I went outside and waited until he had closed the door to the library, and then I let him steer me to a part of the palace I didn't know. Feeling down on my luck and thoroughly out of sorts, I thought at first that he would take me to some sort of prison, but our surroundings were too pompous for that, and instead, we ended up in a lavish suite of rooms that I assumed were his own quarters. He told me to sit and the servants to bring some wine and then go outside and prevent anyone from entering.
I sat in one of the dainty chairs he had indicated with as much composure as I could manage and waited for whatever lay in store.

"Make yourself comfortable," Lord Herucalmo commanded when we had been provided with wine and the servants had withdrawn and closed the door behind them. "This is not an exam." He did not sit; instead, after raising his glass - I dutifully raised mine back - and drinking from it, he began to pace, as if he himself wasn't quite certain what to do.
When he had paced, and I had sat, in silence for a while, I decided to distract him from the embarrassing subject of my tears. "What's the Tash-naga, my lord?"
He stopped pacing and stared at me, eyes narrowed, and I regretted my words at once. "I couldn't help overhearing -" I mumbled, and to my relief, he seemed to relax.
"One of the desert tribes," he answered.
I had gathered as much, but I didn't say so, instead asking, "Allies or enemies?"
"Enemies, I think. Not very powerful ones, though - or at least, they didn't use to be." He came over and sat down in the other chair. "They're who the misplaced mithril went to, apparently. So who knows? They might be arming themselves, or buying soldiers, or some other devilry for all we know." Now he was looking at me with a curious expression on his face. "It'll be a relief to you, I expect."
I felt my eyes widen in alarm. Was he suggesting that I was siding with a hostile desert tribe? "Why would I be relieved to hear about our enemies arming themselves, Lord?" I asked, my heart racing.

He snorted at that. "Nonsense. To hear that the manager we punished was sending the mithril to our enemies. Since you were so worried about punishing him too harshly. I expect that'll allow you to sleep more peacefully now." There was a pause. I thought to myself that I wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping peacefully, if the night at the mine had been any indication. Then he spat, "And perhaps you'll stop thinking of me as some sort of monster."
Again, my eyes widened. "I never said you were --"
He interrupted me, and now his voice and eyes were cold and hard. "You thought I'd leave you at that mine," he said. "As a slave. You thought I was prepared to do something so horrible."
By now, I was so confused that I didn't even know how to appease him. "You did it to the mine manager! I knew you were prepared to do such a thing!" I pointed out.
"He was a thief!" Lord Herucalmo cried. "And a traitor!"
I heard myself burst into laughter in spite of myself. "I was a thief once," I couldn't help saying, "and I have been accused of treason, and a good friend of mine, too." The thought of Lord Eärendur made my eyes well up, and the memory of my torment made them flow over, and still Lord Herucalmo was looking at me perplexed and angry as though I were out of my mind. "But that's different!" he protested.
"Is it?" I cried, at the end of my strength and the end of my wits. "Is it?"
"Of course!" He had jumped up and begun to pace again. I tried to regain something akin to composure, but there was none to be found. Instead, I pulled my knees up against my chest and tried to sob a little more quietly, at the very least.

"You have to put that behind you," he said at last, and in my fragile emotional state, that was the funniest thing I had ever heard.
"You say that as if I hadn't had it carved into my very skin," I said, now in a strange place between tears and laughter, and again he was staring at me. He stared for a long time, so long that I managed to wipe my eyes and pull myself a little more upright, in spite of shuddering a little whenever I had to suppress another sob.
"But that's not why you're here," Lord Herucalmo eventually said - in a tone of helpless frustration that, I thought, should have been my prerogative. "Look, Azruhâr." He sat back down. "You'll have noticed that I didn't punish you after our journey, in spite of our disagreements. Right? You're not stupid. You noticed that. I punished the guards who disrespected you," his fists clenched by his side, "even though that was at least in part your own fault! But I didn't have you punished."
"Yes, Lord," I said wearily, "but you will be glad to hear that the other guards are punishing me for it every day."

He did not look glad. In fact, his brow creased, and his already square jaw set into an even more severe scowl. "But you're not here to be punished!" he exclaimed. "That's the exact opposite of why you're here!"
Now I was so confused and so tired that I did not understand anything anymore. "Why am I here, Lord?" I asked.
I had not expected an answer - at least not a useful one - but it appeared that Lord Herucalmo had not yet regained his self-control, either. "To keep you safe, obviously," he said, in a detached, almost distracted manner, "to protect you from further damage." Suddenly, his eyes met mine. They had softened strangely, although his mouth and jaw were still set in a scowl. "So you can put yourself back together before -" abruptly, he stopped himself.
"Before what?" I asked weakly. I was probably asleep and dreaming this conversation, I told myself. Nothing made sense at all, unless it was a dream, which didn't have to make sense.
He shook his head irritably. "Before you can return, of course."
"Return," I said, thoroughly drained. "But I'm not allowed to return."

I could see his frown deepen: now it was his turn to be confused. "Maybe I misremember," he said eventually. But in that moment of confusion, that lapse of attention, I had glimpsed something that had previously been beyond my grasp: hope. There was a chance that I would be allowed to return. Somebody must have told Lord Herucalmo that I would be allowed to return eventually, and he hadn't been supposed to tell me, but now he had let it slip, and though he was pretending to be uncertain now, he had been certain of it when he'd said it. It was as if the sun had broken through the clouds after a month of heavy rain: suddenly there was a light in the sky, and a whole wide world that had previously been shrouded in mist, shimmering with the promise of a journey home.
"You think I am going to return," I said, incredulous. I could have fallen at his feet at the mere thought. "You think I can go home - one day."

By now, Lord Herucalmo had recovered his mask. His chin had risen, and there was no more softness in his gaze. He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I wouldn't know," he said in a tone of indifference. "It's not my concern." He refilled his wine glass. Mine was still untouched, except for the obligatory first sip taken at the beginning of this strange conversation.
"I will speak to Father concerning the guards," he announced after taking a generous sip.
"Please don't, Lord. I don't want anyone else to get punished."
His face contorted in disgust. "Oh, don't be ridiculous."
"They'll just take revenge on me again," I insisted.
"Well, we can't let it go on." He took his glass and again drank deeply, frowning to himself.
I felt that I should probably drink something as well and took another sip from my glass, although with my nose still stuffy from crying, I could barely taste the wine.
"Maybe it is time that I began to teach embalming?" I said when I had swallowed my mouthful. "Supposedly, that's also why I'm here." Supposedly, it was why I was alive at all.

Again, he studied me for an uncomfortably long time. "I'm not sure you're ready for that," he said.
"If I wait until I am ready, I shall need an embalmer's services myself." The words had slipped out before I had been able to stop myself, and I was surprised - and relieved - to see his lips twitch into a half-smile.
"A good point. Very well. I shall speak to Father. And then you can speak for yourself."
"Thank you, my lord," I said, although I wasn't even sure what he was going to tell his father. It seemed like a good thing to say, though. At any rate, this conversation had gone far better than I could have expected. I felt better, certainly, or would have if I hadn't been so exhausted.

He nodded but didn't respond, which I took as a signal that our conversation was over. "May I go?" I asked.
Another nod, along with a dismissive little shake of his hands. "You may go."
I rose, bowed, and made my way to the door.
"Azruhâr," Lord Herucalmo said when I had already crossed half the room. It sounded like a command, so I turned around, standing to something akin to attention.
"Yes, my lord?"
His face was entirely inscrutable. "I shall say this only once, so you better remember it."
I tilted my head, listening.
"I do not despise you. Do you understand that? I honestly don't. But it is safer this way."
I wasn't certain that I did understand, but of course I said, "Understood, Lord," and because it seemed to be the right thing to say, I added, "Thank you."
He gave a curt nod, and when I didn't leave at once, he said - by now, his voice was back to its usual haughty tone - "You may go."
I bowed again and left his presence.

He must have spoken to his father that very day, because Lord Roitaheru addressed me about it over dessert. "So, Azruhâr. Calmo says that you want to begin teaching your craft?"
I could hear that he didn't think it was a good idea, so I hesitated for a moment. I remembered what Herucalmo had said, concerning my readiness, and his father doubtlessly shared these concerns and would think me unfit to represent Yôzayân on my own. But I knew in my heart that no matter how long I trained with the guards, even if they turned more friendly towards me, I would never be as strong and proud as they were; and I did not want to continue that training. Embalming, at the very least, would be a familiar activity in this strange land, and perhaps I would grow into the teaching part, too.
"Yes, Lord," I said.

"Well, I'm not generally opposed to the idea. After all, that's why I brought you here in the first place. But I need to make something clear to you. I expect you to come to me at once when there is trouble. Doesn't matter what kind of trouble. Ran out of money, poisoned a stream, punched someone in the face, put a baby in another man's wife, whatever, come here and tell me. I promise I won't get angry. Well, I might get a little angry, if it's particularly stupid trouble. But I'll get it sorted out, too. Understood? It's a lot easier to sort these things out early. Much harder when you've already made debts or killed the neighbours' cows or have an angry cuckold come after you with an axe. We don't want trouble like that."
I felt my face flush. "I wouldn't--"
He interrupted me, "Just examples, Azruhâr, these are just examples. Not saying these things are going to happen to you, but they've happened to others, and I assure you that the longer you try to hide it, the messier it gets. So don't hide things. No matter what, if there's trouble, tell me about it, let me sort it out. Understood?"
"Yes, Lord."
"Are you sure?"
I frowned. "Yes, Lord. If there's trouble, come to you, tell you about it, let you sort it out."

"Good." I thought he would be satisfied, but instead, he gave me a pointed stare. "Now, is there any trouble you should be telling me about?"
The heat in my cheeks intensified. I glanced at Lord Herucalmo, who was taking his time savouring the fruit cake we had been served and doing his best to look thoroughly disinterested. I wondered how much exactly he had told his father. It was probably better to assume that Lord Roitaheru was already fully informed, and using his knowledge to test me, so honesty was the only way out.
"As a matter of fact, my lord, these past weeks I've been having trouble with my training." I had to look down at the tablecloth. "The other recruits are blaming me for the punishment of two guards, and they've let me feel their displeasure."
"Well, you are to blame, to some extent! You shouldn't have allowed those two to disrespect you in the first place. It gets out of hand much too easily."
Guiltily, I began to chew on my lips.

"Truth be told, it's my fault," Lord Herucalmo said in a sudden show of self-awareness. "I expect they took their cues from me, and I didn't exactly treat him as if he required respect."
"Good grief, Calmo, you really need to get rid of that Armînaleth snobbery as long as you're here," Lord Roitaheru said, sounding exasperated.
"Yes, Father."
"They all know me as a raw recruit," I said in a strange urge to defend Lord Herucalmo, since he had gone to the trouble of defending me. "So of course it's hard for them to treat me with respect all of a sudden."
"Be that as it may, it's not up to the common soldiery to decide who they do or don't respect! In private, they can think whatever they please, but they've got to show respect to their superiors, or they aren't suitable as guards. And that includes their superior's companions, whoever they may be." He shook his head. "You should have come to me at once."

I bowed my head lower. "I thought they would stop after a while, once they felt that I had atoned for it."
"These things never stop by themselves," Lord Roitaheru said sternly. "Once they've grown used to picking on you, they'll forget the reason, and eventually they'll just continue out of habit and because they like having a common enemy."
"All the same, I ask you not to mete out further punishment," I said, "because that'll just set them more strongly against me."
"That is true," Lord Roitaheru conceded, to my great relief. "But there need to be consequences. Well, I'll think about that later. Now, of course you'll have to give up your training anyway if you start teaching. But I suppose you won't miss it too much, eh?"
I looked up cautiously. "No, Lord."
"I thought not. Pity. It did you well, I'm sure. But I suppose you're more the intellectual type."
I had to bite my lip again, and I couldn't help sneaking another look at Lord Herucalmo, who was pretending to have something stuck in his teeth to cover up for the grimaces he was cutting at the thought of me, an intellectual type.

Lord Roitaheru appeared to be oblivious. "So. You won't have to put up with the guard any longer. But of course that doesn't bode too well for your work, right? You realise that you'll have to stand your own among the natives," he said.
"How many of them will I be teaching?" I couldn't help asking, because he made it sound as if I would be surrounded by a dozen strangers.
"That's a good question, actually! How many were you planning to take on?"
"Well - two or three. That should be manageable." I bit my lip, and added, "Even for me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? I was thinking five at the least - after all, there are no embalmers to begin with!"
That was a scary thought. "I've never taught apprentices before, my lord; surely five at once are too many."
"Hmm." To my relief, he gave a thoughtful nod. "In that case, three are probably enough for the start. And then you'll need a housekeeper and a valet or something of the sort, I expect. But those will be easy to find. How do you plan to go about recruiting your embalmers? I expect the Umbarians are more squeamish about death than our people are, since it hits them more frequently."

Briefly, his question threw me off-balance. I had thought that this was already settled; I had not considered that it might be even more difficult to convince the people of Umbar to work with the dead. "In Arminalêth, the embalmers were recipients of the King's Mercy," I thought out loud, "so I expected that I would also recruit them among prisoners here. Or maybe among the slaves from the mines. People who are willing to do the work, even frightening work like preserving the dead, to regain their freedom."
"The mines are important to the King," Lord Herucalmo interrupted. "If anything, they need more workers, not less."
I had to bite my tongue, because once more I was tempted to point out that more people might work there (willingly, even) if the work wasn't made so deliberately miserable. "Prisoners, then," I said.

"You trust yourself to control people who've had to be imprisoned?" Lord Roitaheru asked, tilting his head. "You do realise that these people may be dangerous."
"Well, I wouldn't chose violent murderers or other people like that," I said, somewhat embarrassed. "I expect there are prisoners who made foolish mistakes, and would be grateful to make up for them." As I had been, I thought. I didn't say it; if Lord Roitaheru wasn't aware of my past - unlikely, since Lord Atanacalmo had surely told him all the ugly things about me - I wasn't going to spell it out.
"That might work, I suppose," he said. "You'll have to get the council's permission, of course."
"Oh. I thought your permission would be enough."
"No - I can condemn them, but not pardon them on my own, funnily enough. And there's no King's Mercy anymore, of course. So we'll have to let the council vote on it. Don't worry, I'm sure you can convince them. It's just a formality."

I was tempted to reconsider my request and wait longer, but of course I'd still have to put it to the vote then, so it was probably better to get it over with. "Can I have it put on the schedule for the next council session?"
"I expect so. Shouldn't be a terribly long discussion, as long as you can explain your plans clearly."
"I'll do my best," I said. "I should like a look at the prison records, if that's alright. So I can make a list of candidates."
"Oh, no need to name specific names. You just need the authority to take a certain number of prisoners out of prison. As I said, it's a mere formality."
Smiling, I said, "But I'll still need a list of candidates - for myself." And sobering, I added, "Is there a morgue or something like that, where we can work?"
"Yes. You can take a look at it tomorrow. See if it suits your purposes. Otherwise, we'll have to find something else. Or build a new one." He clapped his hands, and the servants began to remove the remains of our dinner. "Well! That's enough work for one evening, I'd say. I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired. Let's talk further when we've slept on it."
I had no objection to that; and I slept well that night. In the next morning, I woke easily and ate with good appetite. My only regret was that I couldn't write to Amraphel that I might not be exiled forever. If I wasn't allowed to know it, then of course I couldn't commit it to writing. It was very hard not to share the happy news, though, and I could only hope that I would find some way of getting the message across in some other way.