The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

The Númenórean morgue in Umbar was tiny, smaller than Mistress Nîluphar's tomb. It was purely a storage place for the herbs, unguents and coverings used in a traditional wake, with just enough space for the gravedigger to move around and take the necessary items out. You might have managed to put in a work table for a dead body, but any embalmer attempting to work on it would've had to climb along the shelves. It was, in short, not at all what I needed. Lord Roitaheru accepted that and recommended for me to take a look at the Umbarian morgue instead; if it suited my purposes, it could be mine by the end of the week, he said. Accordingly, I went to look at it determined to find it unsuitable. The Umbarian embalmers watched in wary silence as one of their own showed me around using as few words as he could, and I was fairly certain that their taciturn manner wasn't due to the language barrier. They made no move against me and said nothing impolite - in fact, they bowed very low and stood aside with the utmost show of respect - but their mistrust was tangible. Still, I heard and saw enough to find out that the Umbarian style of embalming was very different from what my colleagues and I did - they removed anything from inside the body that might spoil, and then dried it thoroughly before wrapping it and laying it to rest in the rambling catacombs hewn into the bedrock. It was doubtlessly quite reliable and highly efficient, since not much could go wrong, but there was no hope of bringing these eviscerated bodies back to life. (Not that the Raisers had succeeded even with our superior bodies, so far, but that was still the goal after all.)

I reported back to Lord Roitaheru that due to these differences, the Umbarian morgue wouldn't do. In truth, it would have done well enough, and the missing vats and tables could easily have been added. But I remembered well enough how devastating it had been to be turned out of the royal morgue, and we'd had more time than just a week to adjust. In spite of their coldness, I did not wish that fate on my Umbarian colleagues.
Lord Roitaheru was unworried. "You can just look at other buildings until you find one that's useful. And if you don't find one, we'll just build you a new one."
"I expect I should wait with my application to the council, then," I said, not entirely disappointed, but he shook his head at that.
"I'd get that out of the way now, to be honest. Next month's meeting will be all about distributing the harvest. That's going to be a lengthy discussion, anyway, and people will be very impatient if you add another topic to the list. No, much better to get permission now. You don't have to use it at once, but you'll have it."
I must have looked very anxious at the prospect, because he hastened to reassure me at once. "Don't worry, I don't expect you'll have to work hard to get that permission. Just explain why you need the people and the council will agree." He grinned at me. "Courage, Azruhâr!"
I tried to take courage.

On the appointed day, I nonetheless felt rather nervous as I sat on one of the stone seats in the half-empty council chamber. Lord Laurilyo was nowhere to be seen, so at least I could avoid that confrontation for now, but that didn't help much to assuage the heavy feeling of fear in my stomach. I tried to tell myself that with most of the councillors absent, I probably wouldn't have to say a lot. On the other hand, those who were present probably were the most ambitious - or, at any rate, politically interested - of the lot, so it might not actually make that much of a difference. I didn't look at anyone, instead trying to recall the words I was intending to use in making my application.

When it became clear that no further councillors would arrive, Lord Roitaheru started the session. The first item on the list was a surprisingly familiar topic: a motion to authorise a punitive expedition against the hostile Tash-naga, who had appropriated some of our mithril through dishonest means and ought to be neutralised before they could become a more dangerous threat. After Lord Roitaheru's introduction, Lord Herucalmo stood up and gave a summary of what he knew about the desert tribe, which, aside from their nomadic lifestyle, their presumed numbers and the region in which they were expected to be found, wasn't much more than what I had heard a few days earlier. Accordingly, when some of the councillors (especially young Arandur) asked more in-depth questions, Lord Herucalmo merely shrugged his shoulders. "That's all I know about them, unfortunately," he said, "so that makes it difficult to estimate the exact extent of the threat. Unless perhaps our Umbarian spokesman has further information?"

All eyes turned to Darîm, who had stiffened a little, his lips quirked in displeasure as he rose from his seat at the side of the theatre. "They are not of my people," he said, "so I do not know any more about them than you already do, my lords. All I can say is, the desert tribes are not known to have great strength of arms. That is why they live in the desert."
"Well, maybe they want to change that," one of the older councillors observed.
Darîm replied evenly, "Maybe." He sat back down, signalling that he didn't intend to say more on the matter, and nobody asked him to.
"Either way, I feel that it is better to counter this threat before it grows," Lord Herucalmo declared. "Therefore I ask permission to lead a military campaign into the desert to nip it in the bud."
"And recover the missing mithril, if possible?" That question came from a portly merchant.
"If possible," Lord Herucalmo agreed peaceably.

They argued a little more - in a friendly manner - whether the priority should be on the retrieval of the lost mithril or the elimination of the hostile tribe, and how many regiments would be required for the purpose. Lord Herucalmo appeared to be of the opinion that it would be a fairly easy battle, a good opportunity for experienced troops to shake off some rust and for young recruits to test themselves in action. The crushing of the threat had the top priority, but if a chance to regain the mithril offered itself, they would certainly use it. In the end, the council voted in favour, both of the campaign as such and of Lord Herucalmo as its leader (accompanied and advised by an experienced general, and taking along both seasoned and young warriors).
And then it was my turn. Lord Roitaheru briefly introduced the item - the purpose of establishing the craft of embalming - and then held out his hand, indicating that I was expected to explain the rest.

I stood up slowly, discomfited by the expectant silence and the attention on my person. Keeping silent would have been even more embarrassing than opening my mouth and talking to them, so I did speak, but I'm sure my face was flushed red all the way through it. "Honoured councillors," I said, as I had practiced, "I am preparing to begin teaching my craft in earnest. But it is not to be expected that I will find apprentices who volunteer to work with the dead. Most people find it off-putting-"
"And who can blame them," one of the tradesmen quipped.
I gave a defensive smile. "Indeed. So I will need your permission to take my apprentices from among men who will be less picky - such as prisoners, who would be willing to do any work if it gets them free more quickly. Three or four of them. Not any dangerous prisoners, of course. Petty thieves or something like that."
"Dangerous prisoners go to the mines, anyway," remarked the councillor who had introduced himself as Zainabên on our first meeting. Other than that, there was a moment of silence after I had spoken my clumsy piece.

Then, another councillor - a carpenter, from his colours - spoke up. "Let me see if I understood this right," he said. "You wish to train petty criminals in embalming, is that correct?"
"I wish to recruit my apprentice embalmers from among petty criminals, yes," I said.
He stroked his chin. "And you intend to teach them in prison? In that case, I don't see how it concerns us."
"No, sir, I intend to take them out of prison and keep them at the morgue." Which did not exist yet, but I figured that truly wasn't their concern. "It is a chance for them to earn their freedom."
There was some muttering. Then, young Arandur stood up. "In general, I am not opposed," he announced, "but you have used the word 'apprentices'. An apprenticeship in one of our crafts comes with considerable privileges; I don't feel these privileges should be easily conferred onto criminals, even petty ones."

I bit my lips. I didn't quite know what privileges he meant. Obviously, it was good to be an apprentice - far better than being a day-taler or a servant - but I didn't feel that the relative security and the prospect of being a master craftsman some day were privileges, rather than just good fortune. "I am not certain I can follow you," I said.
Arandur gave me a look somewhere between pity and condescension, letting me feel that I should have prepared better. "These criminals are bound to be Umbarians," he said flatly. "An Umbarian apprenticed to a Númenórean master is treated under the law as our own youngsters are, and can hope to achieve full citizenship if he completes his apprenticeship and is accepted as master of his craft."
"If," the tradesman who had interrupted me earlier observed, smirking. I concluded that not many Umbarian apprentices had become masters.
Arandur ignored him, keeping his attention fixed on me. "You would reward these prisoners for their crime," he stated. "That seems unwise to me."

I cast a helpless look at Lord Roitaheru, who (I felt) really could have told me about this. "His lordship did not seem to see a problem with it," I said weakly, hoping that he would support me.
"They would have to be accepted as masters first," Lord Roitaheru said with a shrug. "That's years away, if they manage it at all."
"Nonetheless," Arandur was not deterred so easily, "it is a possibility. And in the meantime, the law will treat them more kindly - and that after they've already needed to be imprisoned. Isn't that paradoxical?"
I couldn't deny that. I hadn't immediately seen it - at the time, it had simply felt like a different horror - but of course my own apprenticeship had been an enormous reward. A fixed occupation, money to spare, food on the table, a horse and nice clothing, everything had come with it. Even my ability to help my neighbours, not to mention the friendship of Lord Eärendur, had been consequences of the King's Mercy. Mind you, it had also bought me the former Crown Prince's, now King's hatred - and the questionable attention of Lord Atanacalmo. Perhaps that evened it out.
But of course, most of these things were unlikely to occur to my own apprentices.
"It is, to some extent," I confessed. "But they will be confronted with death everyday; they shall have to treat our dead better than most of them may have been treated all their lives. I feel that they will earn their reward in this manner."

Arandur was frowning, but before he could say something, the carpenter had risen again. "I see no need to dilute our precious apprenticeships in this manner," he said. "If these men are taken out of prison, that should be reward enough."Another craftsman - a stonemason, perhaps, or a sculptor - nodded his agreement.
I felt my face grow hot once more. "I do not intend to dilute anything," I said. "I merely wish to offer a strong incentive for them to overcome the fear of death."
Lord Herucalmo rose, a (very thin) smile on his lips. "Is any incentive needed? Since they are prisoners, they shall have to do as you tell them, anyway. Indentured folk don't get to choose their work."
Arandur was on his feet once more. "Indeed. As I said, I am not opposed to your project, merely to excessive generosity."
Your majesty has already been most generous, I remembered saying, and the answer: I like to be that, when I can. Suddenly, it struck me that Lord Herucalmo had been wrong when he'd said that I hadn't become a decent person until after my punishment. Punishment had turned me, in the words of Lord Atanacalmo, into someone who was weak of character, unfixed, unreliable, and not the brightest, either. It had been generosity - Amraphel's, and the King's, and Master Târik's, and Lord Eärendur's - that had made me something akin to a decent person. And although Lord Atanacalmo had claimed that courage grew in adversity, I was fairly certain that mine - what little I had of it, anyway - had grown under the generosity of those rare and precious people who had treated me better than I deserved.

"I like generosity," I heard myself say, in a voice thick with emotion. "You would be surprised how much it can change a man. Every good thing in my life has been brought about by generosity."
For a moment, they said nothing. I could read doubt in their faces, though. Arandur in particular was looking deprecative, and so were the craftsmen I could see. This wasn't going too well. I tried again, still feeling rather emotional about the whole business. "Honoured councillors, I regret to inform you that I am wholly mortal. I will not be able to work forever. And there aren't many embalmers to take my place --"
I was interrupted once more. "How many are there?"
"Four, all in all," I said. "And two of them are older than me. So I shall have to train apprentices, not just assistants - people who can continue my work when the time comes. If you know any young men of impeccable record who wish to become embalmers, by all means send them my way." There was some laughter at that. I very much doubted that any such young men existed, and so, clearly, did the councillors.

Then Zainabên raised his hand, and, when Lord Roitaheru gestured at him, stood up. "Let me suggest a compromise," he said. "Let your criminals serve as indentured assistants or whatever you want to call it for a certain period of time - five years, say - and if they acquit themselves perfectly during that time, then we shall consider them worthy of becoming apprentices."
I thought about it. "Three years, perhaps," I conceded. I could treat them as apprentices right from the beginning, whatever their legal status. But I did not want it to take too long. Aside from the injustice of it - we were still talking about petty crimes, after all - I had selfish reasons. If I was permitted to go back home, as Lord Herucalmo had suggested, then surely that wouldn't be before I had at least one apprentice ready to continue the work. With a ten-year apprenticeship and, now, three additional years, that would be thirteen years at the very least - assuming that a journeyman would be permitted to become my successor in the first place. Otherwise, it would be seven more years on top of that, and while two decades were no eternity, it certainly looked like a long time from this end. No need to lengthen it further.

"I feel that five years are more appropriate," Arandur said (I began to rather dislike his smug face). "We are talking about a significant honour, which should not be earned easily."
"Three years," I insisted. "Five are too long."
The carpenter got up again. "That is true. We mustn't forget that the Umbarians have shorter lifespans. I am in favour of three years, but I suggest that we limit the rights of apprenticeship for them even beyond that. Basically, if they break the law, even in a minor way, they go back into prison, or straight to the mines, whether it's in two years or in nine."
There was some nodding, and even Arandur seemed to accept this argument, because he didn't protest again. Lord Roitaheru said, "Right. Any further questions or remarks?"
Darîm raised his hand, and was given the floor. I was honestly surprised that he hadn't spoken up earlier - one should think that he would have had something to contribute to the legal treatment of his people, even if they were prisoners, but he had chosen to remain silent so far. Even now, he was sounding slightly bored. "May I ask that I will be consulted about these people?" he asked without much enthusiasm. "I expect that I would be able to help in their selection, and in explaining the situation to them."

I saw some raised eyebrows, which surprised me, because his request sounded quite reasonable to me. "Yes, certainly," I said. "You will know them much better than I do; I would be glad to have your advice."
Darîm's eyebrows briefly went up, as if that answer was unexpected. Maybe it was. Maybe I should have insisted that I didn't need his help. I hoped that I hadn't called the strength of Yôzayân into question by acknowledging that he might know more than I did. On the other hand, what shame was there in admitting something so obvious? Of course he knew his people better than I, just recently arrived from far away, did.
Either way, I had said what I'd said; and he bowed (very gracefully, it must be said) and sat back down.
"Anything else?" Lord Roitaheru said, frowning a little. Perhaps I really had brought Yôzayân into discredit. I tried not to worry too much. When nobody else had anything to say, he looked at me again. "Vey well. In that case, I suggest we put it to the vote. Azruhâr, can you bring forward your amended motion?"

I took a deep breath. "I request permission to take up to five prisoners as apprentices - no." I sorted my thoughts and tried again. "I request permission to release up to five prisoners under condition, to take them under my tutelage, first as assistants and, after three years of good conduct, as apprentices. Um, with limited rights. For the purpose of establishing the craft of embalming in the colony of Umbar."
"Those in favour, rise now," Lord Roitaheru proclaimed matter-of-factly, looking around the theatre. "Thank you. Sit down. Those against, rise now." Nobody rose, and I heaved a sigh of relief. "Those abstaining, rise now." Arandur stood up, and so did two of the craftsmen, but I didn't care; my motion was through. Lord Roitaheru nodded in my direction, announced the result, and moved on to the next issue.

On the way back, Lord Roitaheru said, "It was clever, I suppose, to let Darîm feel that you appreciate his input. But don't let him control your decisions. Yes, he can be useful, but don't forget that ultimately he's one of them. He's bound to prioritise their interests over ours. So don't rely on him too much."
Truth be told, I was just relieved that he wasn't angry with me. I nodded. "I shall keep that in mind."
"Good. And remember, their good conduct is vital. If they misbehave, they've blown their chance. No excessive generosity and no second chances. Just put them back into prison and find someone better."
"Don't worry, Lord," I said, surprised at the firmness in my voice. "I shall not let them misbehave."
He grinned and clapped my shoulder; it no longer hurt as much as it would have a few weeks ago. "That's the right attitude!"
I suspected that he had rather different ideas than I had, but I figured that as long as it worked, it didn't matter how it worked. I changed the topic. "So there is going to be war, my lord?" I said, recalling the first discussion of the meeting.

"War? No." Lord Roitaheru laughed. "Nothing so dramatic. Calmo will just put down these upstart desert people before they can grow into a threat, isn't that right?"
Lord Herucalmo smiled as if he didn't have a worry in the world. "That is the plan."
"So it's just a little campaign," Lord Roitaheru explained. "A punitive expedition, as we military folk call it. It's important, of course - we can't let them thieve our mithril and gather strength on our doorstep! So naturally, they need to be punished. That'll also discourage any other tribes, in case they're having similar ideas. But it isn't war."
"But there is going to be fighting," I insisted, because that was what I had meant.
"I should hope so," Lord Herucalmo said. "There's not much honour to be won if they surrender right away, is there?"
Lord Roitaheru added, "There should be just enough fighting to make for a nice challenge, but not so much that there's going to be any real danger. Of course, it's going to feel like real danger to our naughty little recruits! We're going to go about it with all the rigour of a real battle, of course. That should remind them of their true purpose and take their minds off bullying harmless embalmers, isn't that right? And of course, the experience will do them good either way."

I began to understand. So that what all this 'testing themselves in action' talk had really been about. The expedition wasn't just meant to punish the Tash-naga; it was also a punishment for my fellow recruits. Some real battle - or at least, the pretense of a real battle - to make them fear for their lives just enough to regret their petty cruelty towards me. It might even work, I suppose, but I cannot say I liked the idea much.
"I would hate for any of them to get killed," I heard myself say. "That's going too far."
With a chuckle, Lord Roitaheru said, "They're guards, Azruhâr! Unlike you, they signed up for the fighting life. They absolutely have to be ready to lay down their lives, either in battle or in the protection of whoever they end up serving. If they're unwilling to risk that, they're unsuited to the job. Mind you, we're going to invite them to end their service without dishonour if they cannot face the thought. They're young fools, after all. Until they ride out, they can still quit and return home - it's only going to count as desertion after the campaign has begun. So you really don't need to lose any sleep about it."

I suspected that I would lose sleep about it, anyway. "They haven't even finished their training, Lord!" I couldn't help pointing out.
"Exactly! That should show you how little danger there is to them," he said. "Do you think I'd send my own son into battle, accompanied mostly by veterans and raw recruits, if there was any serious risk? Of course not! No, as we've told the council, it's mostly an opportunity for the soldiers to unsheathe their swords and see some action, and for the young fellows to get some battlefield experience." He grinned more broadly. "And for Calmo to establish himself as a leader. Those desert folk are brave enough, but they stand no chance against our weaponry. Our men will all return as heroes, and we'll act as if they fought great battles against fearsome desert warriors, of course! But in truth, it won't be more than a little skirmish or two. - You'll keep that to yourself, of course."
"Of course," I said, a strange warm glow in my belly. That, I thought - with a gratification that felt entirely inappropriate - was new. Normally, I wasn't told things. Or I was told things that turned out not to be true. And then I would be told that they hadn't let me in on the truth because I wouldn't have kept my mouth shut. Lord Roitaheru's simple words suggested a different view. Apparently, I could be told things. Apparently, I could be trusted to understand if something needed to be kept secret. I hated to admit to myself how good it felt.

Lord Herucalmo was watching me with a curious smirk, and I was certain that he knew exactly what I was thinking. I realised that I was smiling, and hastily rearranged my features into a more serious expression. "They could have bought better weapons," I said, "with the stolen mithril. I expect it'd buy a lot of weapons. Then they'll be armed better than you expect."
"You're not wrong. But even if they bought swords and armour aplenty, they'd still have to learn how to use them! Which is why Calmo is going to smash them now. They'll hardly have time to prepare. Once they'll find out that their supply of mithril has run dry, they may figure out that something is going to happen. But right now, with any luck, they won't even expect their just punishment."
Lord Herucalmo nodded at that. He was no longer smirking, but he was still watching my face intently. "You worry too much," he observed, "about people who don't even deserve it."
I felt my mouth briefly grow thin at that. "I always worry about people, my lord," I admitted. There was no denying it. I was even worried about him, a little, although I knew better than to tell him. The mere suggestion that he might not come out of the skirmish ahead would probably have been a deadly insult. I left it at that.
"Well, don't," he said dismissively, thankfully unaware of my thoughts.

"Calmo is right," Lord Roitaheru said, "you have enough to take care of without worrying about these foolish fellows. They'll be fine." Which, I suppose, was a kindly way of saying that it was none of my business. "Speaking of your own cares, how would you like to look at another house tomorrow? It's just an ordinary city-house, not a morgue, but perhaps you can turn it into one."
I understood perfectly well that he was trying to distract me. On some level, I felt that I ought to insist on discussing the campaign. On the other hand, it was unlikely that I could change anything about it, especially now that the council had authorised it. At the most, I'd get them annoyed. I let it go. "Yes, of course," I said. "Perhaps I can make it work."