The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 47

Chapter 47

The house Lord Roitaheru had spoken of would have been a perfectly nice place to live and run a shop, but I felt that it would make a very poor morgue. For one, it did not have its own well. There was a communal well further down the street, but with the amount of water we used in embalming (and bathing afterwards), going there over and over would have been tedious indeed. I suppose I had been spoiled by the ready water supply at the royal morgue at home, and also at our new morgue, where we had dug into the groundwater that accumulated at the foot of the Holy Mountain. I guess water was harder to come by in this place, generally, but since the palace up the hill managed to water its gardens just fine, I felt that a reliable - and nearby! - water supply wasn't too much to ask. Moreover, the house did not have a proper cellar, either, which seemed rather necessary for storage. Finally, it was located in a fairly busy street (in the mornings and at night, anyway). With regard to people's sensitivity, it did not seem like a wise choice to locate a morgue right in the middle of a living quarter. The angry shopkeepers of Arminalêth had been quite enough. Even if the Umbarians were less haughty, it would have felt like courting trouble. Unfortunately, it appeared that I would have to search further.

Before I made any further efforts on finding a place to work and live, I went to see Darîm once I had gone through the account-books and made a list of prisoners who might be suitable. I had sent Kâlil to make an appointment with the spokesman, making Lord Roitaheru laugh. "Darîm should be free whenever you are - he's the one who wanted to get involved! Besides, he'd fail in his duties if he didn't see you, and pass up business opportunities, too." Nonetheless, I was fairly certain that the spokesman wouldn't sit in his house waiting for me to come by every hour of every day, and I didn't want to embarrass or inconvenience him.
Kâlil came back and related that Darîm, "naturally", would be delighted to welcome me whenever it pleased me, though he would be especially delighted if I had time on Aldëa or Menelya in the late afternoon. I suspected that this meant that any other time would be inconvenient. On Aldëa, once the worst of the heat was over, I borrowed a horse from Lord Roitaheru's stables and made my way to Darîm's house near the harbour. Lord Roitaheru insisted on sending two guards along. I didn't bother asking whether they were for protection or for rank.

Darîm lived in a large house, unassuming on the outside but lavishly and expensively decorated on the inside. That was a surprise. I suppose I had expected Darîm to be someone like me, but judging by the house, he must be quite rich. Exquisite wall and floor tiles in bright, untarnished colours; elaborate carpets; furniture made from a hard, dark wood, which must surely be rare and costly. Darîm himself appeared relaxed and at ease here, not at all like the tense and tired man I had seen at the council sessions. He came to greet me while his servant was still washing my feet, and led me through the spacious rooms himself. I expected a study, but instead, he guided me into a sort of sitting room, reasonably cool and fairly dark. Like the tea court I had visited with Lord Laurilyo and his friends, it was furnished with large round cushions instead of chairs, but they had been laid out on such a fine silk carpet and were made from such precious fabrics - dyed in dark reds and bright gold, and with a clever pattern woven in - that it was clear that the lack of chairs wasn't for a lack of funds. The heavy curtains were woven in the exact same pattern, so Darîm must have bought a lot of the expensive material, too.

Bowing slightly in my direction, Darîm gestured at one of the cushions and invited me to sit. My bottom had barely touched the cushion when servants came in with tea and tiny bowls of khoosh and larger bowls of spiced nuts. From the looks of them, all the bowls had been driven from silver, with delicate patterns engraved into the polished surface. The servants put their hands together when I thanked them and, at a gesture from Darîm, pulled back the splendid curtains to reveal the view into the house's courtyard, which was more of a walled garden, with a fountain and some lush, evidently well-watered greenery (so really, I told myself, wanting to have my own well at the morgue wasn't unreasonable even in hot Umbar). At another gesture from Darîm, the servants withdrew. He sat down opposite me, smiling in a perfectly charming way. I was uncertain what to do. Should I open the conversation? Should he?

I figured that some small talk never went amiss. "You have a beautiful house, Spokesman Darîm," I said.
"Yes, it is comfortable enough," he agreed pleasantly. I thought he might talk a little about how much it was worth, or how much the beautiful fabrics had cost, as someone like Master Amrazôr would have done, but instead, he said nothing more.
I tried a different angle. "You must be a very important man."
For a moment, his smile wavered. "Not very." I thought he would again leave it at that, but after a moment, he said, "My ancestors used to be rulers of this place, you see. Compared to them, I am nothing."
"Rulers?" I asked. "You mean, like - kings?"
"Much like that, yes," he said in the most modest tone, "although it worked a little differently. And then," he spread his arms, "they became spokesmen."
I did not know how to respond to that. I had spoken to kings, and to lords descended from kings, before (which, really, was strange enough); but somehow this felt different. Awkward. I wondered whether I should use some kind of title for him - other than Spokesman, that is.
"So you still speak for your people," I said for the sake of saying something at all.

"A vestige of former glory," he said, still smiling. "But enough of me, Master Embalmer; we are here to discuss your business, after all."
"Oh, actually, I'm not -" I stopped myself. "My name is Azruhâr."
His smile intensified. "Yes, I know. Darîmakkhârin, at your service."
"Darîmakkh--" I stumbled over the many syllables. "I thought your name was Darîm."
"It is part of it." The corners of his mouth went further back, briefly turning his smile into a grimace. "Do not trouble yourself. I am Darîm to most people."
I found myself frowning. It was doubly awkward - him using a honorific for me that I hadn't earned, and me not knowing how to properly address him, and the whole situation: him, descended from something like kings, treating me, descended from paupers, as his superior. "Don't you mind?"
He tilted his head. "Does it matter?"
Frowning more deeply, I said, "Well, I do not wish to give offense."
"It matters not." His smile was back to normal. He handed me one of the small khoosh bowls and raised his own. "You need not fear that I shall give you bad advice. May your business be profitable."
"Thank you," I said, and since I did not know what the proper answer was, I simply said, "To your health."
He bowed once more, and we drank.

"So, Master Embalmer," he said when we had emptied the little cups, and he had poured tea into the somewhat larger tea-bowls. "Can you explain to me what the work for you will entail? In short, naturally. I know that I will not understand your craft in one afternoon."
"Yes," I said, "but you really don't have to call me Master Embalmer." I hadn't wanted to get into the niceties of my situation, but apparently it was unavoidable. "Technically, I'm not even a master craftsman."
"Yet you have the ability to teach."
My face grew hot. "Apparently. But I haven't been examined or given the title or anything of the sort." I forced myself to smile in the manner that he smiled - politely, encouragingly - and said, "Do call me Azruhâr."
He tilted his head once more, an expression of professional regret on his face. "I'm afraid not. You might permit it now, but you might change your mind later, and then where will I be? Or I shall grow into the habit and address you so in public, and those who overhear will not know that you have permitted it. Then I shall be in trouble. It is safer for me to - how do you say? - to err on the side of too polite."
I bit my lips. This was absurd. "Surely you could explain that you have permission, should someone overhear and take offense in my place," I argued.
There was a pause during which he seemed to think about what to say. Eventually, he decided to go for, "You overestimate the patience and open ears of your guards, Master Embalmer."
My guards! I nearly laughed at the thought. Still, I suppose he had a point. Guards usually weren't interested in explanations. Besides, I remembered my difficulty in addressing Lord Eärendur by name, even though we were friends. Yet it was strange to be treated in that way - as if I were somewhere above him and approachable only with wary respect - particularly considering who we both really were. The whole thing was absurd. But there was probably no way of untangling it - not here and now, anyway. However, I determined to learn his complicated full name as soon as I could.

For now, we returned to the topic of my craft. I summarised the work as well as I could. I tried to be honest about the distastefulness of it. As I heard myself talk, I wondered what Darîm was making of me. He was too polite to ask, and was smiling amiably all the while, but surely he had guessed by now that I myself had been a criminal, and that I, too, had been forced to take up this craft to save my life. At home, people knew that anyway, but it had not been an issue here so far. But now Darîm must have realised. How he must resent me!
Moreover, I had grown so accustomed to it that I no longer shuddered at touching dead people (or their parts), nor felt resentment that they were considered more worthy of care and expensive materials than most of the living. But describing these things to a stranger brought back the horror and revulsion I had felt when I had begun my apprenticeship. "I realise how it sounds, but it is possible to get used to the work," I said awkwardly. "And I shall make sure that there will be good sides to it, to balance out the terror of death."

Darîm was now studying my face intently, as if trying to read between my words. His smile, when it returned, looked somewhat strained. "You will find many willing workers in prison. But you realise that they have all transgressed against your people and your laws, not ours?"
As it happened, I had not realised.
"Imprisonment is not a punishment my people use," Darîm explained matter-of-factly. "We put people in prison before they are tried and punished. It is not the punishment in itself and doesn't last so long."
There seemed to be something like a reproach in his voice, and I felt defensive. "Your punishment is enslaving people!" I pointed out.
"Very bad people, yes. And your people profit off it. But smaller crimes are punished in the marketplace, a day or two. You lock small crimes up for years and years." His voice was still polite, soft, but it seemed to cover a great deal of resentment. I felt my brow crease once more. At home, petty crimes were punished right on the spot, or in some sort of public display, which sounded much like what Darîm described, but apparently things were done differently here. Indeed, I had been surprised what the people on my list had been locked up for - things like debt or hand-to-mouth theft or just plain insolence, things that would have been resolved, for the most part, with a few days of pain and shame - but I had assumed that it was the law of Umbar, not of my people, that accounted for the difference.

Either way, I certainly hadn't come up with it. "I am not locking anyone up," I said stubbornly. "In fact, I intend to take people out of prison, which is why I'm here in the first place."
Darîm bowed. "That is true. If I understood correctly, you will take them out of prison to make them work for you - rather like slaves."
I stared at him wide-eyed. Perhaps, I thought dimly, this was why Lord Herucalmo had gotten so angry when I had suspected him of planning to leave me at the mine. It was a rather horrid accusation - particularly as it wasn't at all what I'd had in mind. Nonetheless, I could see where he got the idea. (Hadn't I gotten the same idea, back when the King had pardoned me under condition?)
"Technically, I suppose they will be bondservants," I said. "But I do not intend to treat them as such. Certainly not like I saw the slaves treated at the mines."
Darîm smile was unperturbed. "I am glad. They have only done small crimes, after all."

For a moment, I felt guilty. They had only done small crimes. I, condemned for burglary and theft and murder, although I hadn't committed the latter, was probably a worse criminal than any of them.
But I was supposedly a decent person now, I reminded myself. Lord Herucalmo had said so, and who was I to question that? Besides, I would treat my workers gently. I had been treated gently, after all, when I had become an embalmer. Treated gently and taught patiently and received generous pay on top of all that. "I will pay them, too," I said. "Not much, since they won't be proper apprentices yet and it's probably not allowed. But they will be paid a modest sum, so it won't feel - won't feel like slavery."
At that, Darîm's eyebrows rose in obvious skepticism, but all he said was, "Your generosity knows no bounds. I am sure they will appreciate it very much."
They better, I thought to myself, because if they didn't, then what would I do? But I didn't say that. Instead, I said, "No need for flattery."

Once more, Darîm was smiling his winsome smile. "As you wish. So you are still resolved that your workers will become apprentices in three years' time?"
"Since the Council insisted," I said, slightly annoyed. The delay hadn't been my idea after all. "It's a formality, though. I will treat them as apprentices from the start, as long as they behave themselves."
"I shall stress the importance of behaving themselves," Darîm said, and I wasn't certain whether he was making fun of me or not.
"Good," I said, deciding to take him at face value. "You know the conditions, after all. If they cause trouble, I am to send them back to prison at once. No second chances."
"I understand, and so, I am sure, shall they," Darîm said, bowing his head again. "Now, aside from not causing trouble, what else will you be needing from them?"
Now I couldn't pretend not to notice the irony anymore. Narrowing my eyes, I asked, "Do you think this is funny?"

His reaction was quite disproportional. He bowed low, nearly to the ground, spreading his open palms appeasingly. "I apologise if I have given offense, Master Embalmer," he said in a mild voice. "I assure you that I am taking it as seriously as you are."
"You exaggerate," I said, feeling annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. "Please, sit up. No need to act like I'm some kind of lord. Anyway, I'm entirely serious about it."
Straightening his back but still keeping his head bowed - I could not see his eyes - he said, "So am I. Let us not misunderstand each other, Master Embalmer. I am probably more interested in the success of your enterprise than you are yourself."
"Are you," I said, still suspecting that he was secretly laughing at me. Son (or grandson?) or kings, begging forgiveness from me. It could only be a joke.
But he said earnestly enough, "Absolutely. If it fails, my people will again be accused of being undeserving of trust or generosity. If it goes well, then perhaps - although I may expect too much - perhaps you will think more kindly of my people."
"I never thought unkindly --" I began, but Darîm held up his hands. "Let us not argue," he said. "What we think is our own business. I merely told you so you would believe me that I do wish to help."
"Hm," I said, not entirely mollified.

Darîm poured new tea, perhaps to tide over the awkward moment, and I reached for a handful of nuts for the same purpose. When he met my eyes again, the winsome smile was back on his face. "Truly, I apologise. So, Master Embalmer, what are you looking for in your future apprentices?"
I swallowed the nuts (sweet and salty at the same time, quite delicious). "Well, they need to be willing to overcome their natural disgust of the dead. It is hard, I know, but if they cannot do that, then they cannot work as embalmers."
"That stands to reason," Darîm said. "And I assume that they must know your language."
I nodded. "Yes, that is true. Well enough to understand my instructions, at least for the time being."
"For the time being?"
"Well, until I understand your tongue well enough, I suppose."

The fixed smile was still on Darîm's face, but his eyes had widened, giving him a very intense and somewhat unnerving look. "You are learning our language?"
"If I find someone to teach me."
Darîm raised his eyebrows, but did not comment. "We shall assume, for the time being, that they need to understand your language. Of course, most of us already do. Anything else?"
"I will need people who can write, too. I suppose it's alright if not all of them know how to do it, but some of them do need to write protocols and accounts, and take dictation from those who can't write."
"Ah. I expect you shall want them to write in your language also."
"Yes." And because I didn't like the reproach that seemed to underlie his question, I said, "That is the language of the craft."

For a moment, the corners of his mouth stretched further back, turning his smile into a grimace. "That is a less common skill. I expect I could find you a dozen men capable of writing in our language, but yours? That is more rare. Among prisoners, even more so."
"I am willing to settle for people capable of learning." Anything else, I thought, would have been unjust. I myself hadn't learned to write until I'd needed to, and I was still far from being a professional scribe. "If they can write in one language, then I expect they'll be able to pick up a second one."
Darîm shrugged. "It is possible. I can write in both languages, certainly, but I must warn you that they are very different."
"But they already know the words, don't they?"
"Well, yes. But they have to learn the signs, don't they."
"The letters are different, too?" I hated revealing my ignorance to Darîm, but I couldn't help it.
"Oh, yes. We have our own signs." Again, I thought I suspected a note of reproach in his voice - whether at me for not knowing this, or for my people in general for using different letters, I wasn't sure. Or was it pride, because they had come up with their own letters - unlike us, who had adopted ours from the Eldar?
"They will learn," I reiterated, both because I had nothing better to say and because I truly believed it. Even I had managed to learn, hadn't I? If I could do it, then surely everybody else could do it, too.

Nodding, Darîm said, "They will learn. Given time."
I had to smile at that. "We have three additional years, don't we."
"And then, how many years of apprenticeship?"
"Ten are customary," I said. Even as I said it, I was forced to acknowledge (to myself, anyway) that nothing was customary when it came to embalming. Mîkul had been apprenticed for almost twelve years, and still not promoted to journeyman. I didn't even know how long it had taken for Karathôn and Master Târik to leave the stage of apprenticeship behind them. Still, ten years were the traditional length of an apprenticeship in normal crafts, and supposedly, embalming was becoming one of those.
"So you will need young men of some intelligence, capable of understanding your craft in a language not their own, and moreover of writing their learning down. Yes?"
"And not afraid of the dead."
Darîm briefly stared at me. I wondered if he had forgotten about that. Then he said, "Yes. Naturally. Well. It limits your choice of prisoners."

He said it as though it was a bad thing, but I was glad to hear it. Having gone through the accounts, I had found it hard to pick out the right people. There had been a lot of petty criminals. Since I did not know any of these people and the specifics of their character, I had pitied them all.
"I hope so. I only intend to take on three apprentices. Maybe four. At the most." I wondered whether I would be undermining the authority of the Yôzayân again by outright asking for advice, but I decided to do it, anyway. He might know more about these people, and I certainly didn't. "I have begun to make a list of prisoners whom I'd like to ask, but it is too long. I expect not all of them are likely to be suitable. I should like you to look at the list and help me narrow it down."
Again, Darîm's head tilted in a show of attentiveness. "I would be happy to."
I took the list out of the document case Lord Roitaheru had lent to me. I had made a nice copy, as Amraphel had taught me, from my initial, much-crossed out notes. I offered it to Darîm, then realised that I hadn't brought a second copy for taking notes. Awkwardly, I said, "I only have the one, so it would be best if we both looked at it."
"Yes. If I may sit beside you...?"An eyebrow had risen, almost in challenge.
It was a strange thing to challenge me about, I felt, and also a strange thing to ask permission for, all things considered. Not knowing what to say, I just gestured at the pillow beside me in what I hoped would come across as encouragement. "Oh, and perhaps some ink and a quill would be good, in case I need to take notes," I said.

Dârim rose and clapped his hands sharply, making me flinch. A servant appeared as if from thin air. He bowed at Darîm's Umbarian words - I assume the spokesman asked for writing materials, though he only used two or three words as far as I could discern it - and flitted out of the room, returning moments later with a silver inkwell and silver-tipped pen, not unlike the one Lord Atanacalmo was using. Having put down the materials in front of us, the servant put his hands together while bowing again. Darîm waved his hand in a shooing motion, and the servant disappeared once more.
The whole thing hadn't taken more than a few minutes - no longer than it had taken to chew another helping of nuts, and wash them down with some tea - but Darîm still said, "I apologise for the delay. Now. Let us look at your list, if you please."
I pleased. He read it (I'm sure he read it much faster than I could, and probably had some thoughts on my poor handwriting, too), appeared to give the matter some thought, and then said, "Bâgri is a good choice. You will be satisfied with his work, I am sure. I am not sure about Yarûz. He is very unsteady."

I had been called unsteady, too, so I couldn't help asking, "What do you mean by that?"
He gave me a sideways glance, as if trying to judge my reaction. "Not always doing his best. Often lazy, in fact. Or maybe not lazy?" He seemed to think about the man for a moment, then said, "Maybe not on purpose. But he is not reliable. Not in control of himself, maybe."
I nodded, slowly. "Alright. Thank you for telling me." I drew a line through Yarûz' name (poor fellow) and moved on to the next. "What about -" I stumbled over the unfamiliar sounds - "Shômar?"
"Jômar. Hmm. He certainly cannot read or write. Maybe he can learn; I am not sure. I do not know him well." This was said dismissively; perhaps Darîm felt that if he didn't know the man well, he couldn't be particularly important. "Sidi. That is an interesting choice. You saw that he is over sixty years old?"
"Yes, I noticed." I wasn't sure what he was getting at.
"Is that not too old?"

I shrugged. "That depends on the man, doesn't it? Not everybody is fixed in their ways and unable to learn new things at that age."
Yet again, he gave me a rather sceptical look. "I suppose," he said in a cautious tone that suggested plenty of doubt.
"You know the man better than I do, I expect," I said. "If you think he's unsuitable, do tell me."
Darîm seemed to give the matter some thought; then he said, "Well, in most ways, he is what you are looking for. An intelligent man. He speaks your language very well. Probably writes it sufficiently well, too. Very sophisticated. But he is not the youngest."
"I think I'd still like to speak with him," I said. After all, I had been nearly sixty when I'd begun my apprenticeship.
"As you wish," Darîm said with a little bow of his head. "Now, there is a name missing from your list that I would like to call your attention to." He paused, apparently waiting for permission.
I nodded. "By all means."
"Yorzim. A very decent man. He will not disappoint you."
I tried to remember the record I had seen. "Wasn't he imprisoned for fraud and defamation?"

Briefly, Darîm's smile faltered, and his brow creased. "The judgement was not - how can I say this politely - entirely just."
Frowning, I said, "Can you make that clearer?"
After a moment's hesitation, and with a pained expression, Darîm explained, "His daughter was made promises of marriage, but she foolishly lay with the man before any vows were made. After a while, it turned out she was with child, and the man abandoned her. The daughter swears that the child is the prospective husband's, but he wanted nothing to do with the matter anymore. Yorzim tried to take him to court, but was imprisoned instead. The future husband had more authority than him; Yorzim should not have bothered." Darîm spread his hands. "That aside, he is not usually foolish. And he is - or was - a physician, which surely is a little like your craft?"
"I suppose," I said, "as long as he doesn't expect to heal our clients." Although, I thought to myself, if he managed it, he could start a new career as a Raiser.
Darîm did not seem to understand the joke. "You can explain it to him, I am sure."
"I will talk to him," I promised. Although Darîm couldn't know it, the story of Yorzim's unjust imprisonment was moving my soft heart. If the man was willing, then I would certainly have him released.
"Much obliged," Darîm said evenly as I added the name of Yorzim to the list. "Now, Mârud is not a good choice," he continued. "I would not trust him..."
I struck another name out.

In this manner, we went through the list, paring it down, and then we went through it for a second time until there were six names left. Two or three of them would still have to go, but I figured that this could wait until I had spoken to the prisoners themselves. Surely a few of them wouldn't be willing to work for me, anyway.
I'm certain that was mere politeness that made Darîm offer me to stay for dinner, when our work was done, so I declined, saying that Lord Roitaheru was surely expecting me back for dinner, and that I had doubtlessly imposed on him for long enough. Once more, his smile briefly wavered before it was back. "Oh no, not at all. And his lordship doubtlessly expects you to dine with me. He knows that hospitality is sacred among my people, and that I take my sacred duties very seriously."
A sacred duty, I thought to myself, not something that he did because he liked having me as a guest.

But of course I stayed for dinner. The food, albeit unfamiliar, was excellent; the atmosphere, less so. At my request, Darîm had extended his sacred hospitality to the two guards, who had spent the afternoon waiting for me and were probably both tired and hungry (not to mention bored). I could tell that he was displeased with that, although his polite smile remained in place. His own staff did not share the family's table; maybe it annoyed him to have my (that is, Lord Roitaheru's) guards in that place of honour, but at the same time, he said that he could not send them to the servants' hall. In spite of his tangible displeasure, he talked charmingly during dinner, of the city and the countryside and the approaching harvest. In contrast, his wife and their adolescent children - a son, who was already growing a fluffy beard, and a daughter who blushed deeply whenever I accidentally caught her eyes - barely spoke, aside from a few polite phrases. I don't know whether they were silent because the guards and I were present and they did not want to offend us, or whether they would have been quiet even without us there, but either way, I found it disconcerting, and I was relieved when the sacred duty of hospitality apparently didn't require further entertainments and we could make our way back to the palace.

Lord Roitaheru had indeed expected me to dine at Darîm's house. "That's a custom he's allowed to cling to," he declared grandly. "I hear he's got the second-best cook in Umbar - I assume he needs to show him off sometimes."
I rose to the bait. "The second-best?"
"Well, I've got the very best, haven't I!" Lord Roitaheru said, as expected.
I gave a dutiful smile. "Did you know that Darîm's ancestors used to be kings?" I asked then.
With a snort, Lord Roitaheru replied, "Obviously - we've replaced them, after all! Though 'kings' is an exaggeration. Governors, more like. Less, in fact. They controlled only the city of Umbar - if city is even the right word for what it was back then. And they weren't particularly effective, either. Did Darîm brag about them?"
"No, he was very modest about it," I said. "It just struck me as strange. I'm -" I had to pause to sort my thoughts. "I'm not even a master craftsman, but he addressed me as Master Embalmer all the time. Whereas he's nobility, of a sort, but I just address him by name?"
"Oh, as I understand it, Darîm is technically his title. They were all called Darîm something-or-other, anyway. We let them keep it because it means nothing to us, and a lot to them." He chuckled. "You see, there's no need to feel bad about it. You really feel guilty about everything, don't you?"

I was used to being treated as though I were guilty of everything, of course, but since I didn't want him to decide that perhaps there was good reason for that, I didn't say so. All I did was shrug, and fortunately, that seemed to be enough.
"Don't let Darîm guilt you," Lord Roitaheru advised me. "If anything, he should feel guilty - he's perfectly comfortable, he has a voice on our council so he's still involved with the government, and he makes a fine profit off it, from what I hear. He didn't tell you about that, did he?"
I shook my head, and he smiled triumphantly. "There you go. Don't let him play you for a fool just because you have a generous spirit! There's no reason to pity him. Pity his clients, if you must. Speaking of which, did he do anything useful at all?"
"I believe so," I said, frowning as I tried to make sense of all this new information. Once again, I felt acutely how much I was out of my depth. "He helped me with my list."
Lord Roitaheru nodded. "Well, that's something. Don't hesitate to look left and right of that list, though. Remember that Darîm has his own interests in mind."
I nodded in turn, promising to remember. Darîm clearly hadn't been entirely forthright about his name, letting me believe that I was denying him his proper title when the title was right there in the name. And hadn't I felt that he was secretly having a laugh at my expense? Clearly, Lord Roitaheru's warning wasn't unjustified. At the same time, I couldn't help thinking that Darîm surely knew his people better than anyone in Lord Roitaheru's household. If I couldn't trust his advice, then where else could I turn to?