The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

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Chapter 52

Azruhâr finally meets the apprentices. Intercultural communications are harder than expected.

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The prison was an old place, hewn for the most part into the cliffs right by the sea. Going inside was a challenge, not because anyone stopped us - on the contrary, we were expected and welcomed by perfectly polite guards - but because just as during my last audience with the King, my legs locked and my lungs went empty and it took me an embarassingly long minute to regain the will to move. I tried to mask it by looking at the view and remarking on the spray, but I suspect Darîm noticed, since he was watching me closely anyway. There wasn't even a good reason to be so terrified of the prison; I only had to enter the most superficial, and least grim, part of it. That had been built by my people, Darîm reported, atop the ancient tunnel structure made by his forefathers, to give the guards and other staff more comfortable quarters. We were led to a chamber which even had a large window, albeit barred, and held a table and seats enough for the prison's overseer, Darîm, and myself. The overseer - a somewhat intimidating one-eyed veteran called Thilior - welcomed us and came straight to the point. If I had no objection, his guards would bring the prisoners I had inquired about up here, one by one, so I could interview them. I agreed. I was struggling hard enough not to let my unpleasant memories overwhelm the non-threatening reality; I had no mind to make objections or different plans.

I sat down in the provided chair (which even had a cushion on it) and gratefully accepted the offer of khoosh and tea. I was a guest here, I told myself. An honoured guest, even. It was nothing like my imprisonment, either one; it wasn't even like the one time I had tricked the city guard into releasing my neighbours. This time, I was here with full approval of the lord of the city and the actual authority to take people with me. On the surface, I knew all that. But beneath the surface I was still the person who had been arrested and beaten and, only last year, taken to an even worse place, and it felt as though that person were hammering his fists against my ribs from within and yelling at me to run while I could. It was distracting, to say the least, and keeping my breath even and my hands from shaking took an inappropriate amount of self-control. Darîm looked at me sideways with a smile that, in my current state, I perceived as rather smug. "Are you worried, Master Embalmer?" he asked, his own voice perfectly calm. "No need to be. Captain Thilior will ensure our security, I have no doubt."
I forced my lips into a tense smile. "I am not worried about that. I simply do not like prisons very much."
"Well, that's something you have in common with your future workers," Captain Thilior observed. "You can build on that."
I managed to nod and force a smile.

Captain Thilior told his guards to bring the first prisoner - Bâgri - and Darîm asked, "How shall we go about it? Shall I explain your offer to them directly, or should I only translate after you have spoken?"
"Ideally, they shouldn't need translation," I said. "Unless there is something that needs clarification. But you must translate truly."
"Naturally," Darîm said, his brow creasing a little. "I assure you that I understand your language well enough."
"No doubt. But you might also be tempted to say what you think I want to hear, or perhaps leave out little distasteful things they say. I can't have that; if they say something I don't understand, then I need you to pass that on to me directly."
Chuckling, Captain Thilior said, "Very wise, Master Embalmer. But don't worry; I know their language a bit, and I'll let you know if they keep anything from you."
Darîm's lips went very thin at that, but all he said was, "I have no intention of keeping things from you."

Bâgri came in manacled and with four guards (two more stood on either side of the table, hands on their swords, ostensibly to protect us), and I couldn't help but remember the day I had been granted the King's mercy. They had thoroughly outmanned me, too, as if'd I had the strength to overwhelm or outrun even one of them. Bâgri had his eyes narrowed, not in the way that you narrow your eyes before attacking someone, but rather like someone who was suddenly brought into a bright room after a long time spent in the dark. He was swaying slightly, too, and when the guards let go of his elbows, dropped to the ground rather unceremoniously (but I recalled that I hadn't exactly cut an elegant figure back then, either).
"Stand up, please," I heard myself say. Bâgri stood up slowly, helped by two of the guards. I looked at Captain Thilior. "Are you certain that so many guards are needed?"
"Goodness, no," he said. "But protocol demands it."
That made sense, I suppose. I turned back to Bâgri, who was blinking, still adjusting to the light. His head sported a dark stubble that could be no more than a few days old. It appeared that the prisoners had their hair shorn off - somebody here evidently knew how to handle a razor - like the slaves at the mines, but Bâgri looked to be in better health than them. He was pale, but not gaunt, so at least he seemed to be fed sufficiently. He had caught his balance now, and the swaying had stopped. His loose shift was rumpled and somewhat stained, but his hands, legs and face were clean. Unlike me back then, he had evidently been allowed to wash before the interview.

Darîm cleared his throat, and I realised that I would have to start talking.
"You are Bâgri, is that correct?" I asked, remembering how Lord Atanacalmo had begun back in the day.
Bâgri nodded, his head lowered.
"So," I said. "For what crime are you here?" I had read both the prison records and the trial accounts, of course, but I figured it would be useful to hear how the prisoners themselves spoke about their misdeeds.
Bâgri bowed his head lower and took a while to answer. "I stole, Lord," he said after a moment.
"I'm no lord. I'm Azruhâr," I said instinctively, prompting him to mumble an apology. I bit my lip before I remembered that I wasn't supposed to show uncertainty. "Why did you steal, Bâgri?"
"I needed money, Master."
I waited, but since he didn't explain further, I feld the need to ask. "What for?"
Another long pause. "For eating."
I felt my eyebrows grow up. "Then why didn't you steal food?" I probably shouldn't have asked that. I should have said that theft was wrong, period.
Peering up, Bâgri explained, "I did not want to hurt baker."
"But you hurt someone else, even if you didn't hurt the baker."
"Yes, Master. I am ashamed of it. But I was hungry. Very hungry."

"From what I understand, you could have applied to Darîm for a loan," I said with a sideways glance at the spokesman. "Why did you not do that, instead of stealing?"
"I did," Bâgri said, with an imploring look at Darîm, who cleared his throat. "In all fairness, Master Embalmer, that was during the great drought. In that time, I could not support everybody."
"I see," I said, and decided that there was nothing more to be found out on this topic. "What was your craft before you came here?" The trial account had listed him as domestic help, but that could mean anything.
"Craft?"
"Well, what work did you?"
"Oh. I cleaned stables, looked after horses."
"I see," I said again. "Do you have family, Bâgri?"
Again, he gave me a confused look, as if the question was in any way complicated. I sighed and asked Darîm to help. He translated, and Bâgri's eyes cleared in understanding.
"I am married, Master. And father of a son."
I felt that it was safe to give a friendly smile in response. "How nice. How old is he?"
"Five years now, Master." Bâgri lowered his head once more, and I suspected that he was trying to hide his emotions at the thought of his little son. No wonder. I had to fight down my own emotions, thinking of Palatârik and my daughters, far away and fatherless.
"You speak my language well, Bâgri," I said, to distract the both of us.

"I try," he said, looking up with another little frown.
"Yet when I asked whether you had family, you needed Darîm's help. Why was that? It's not a difficult question."
Bâgri's eyes flitted from me to Darîm and back to me. "I thought, everybody has a family, because everybody is born from a mother, and she has a mother, and ever so on. What is this question? The Darîm explained me that it meant, Am I married? Am I a father?"
"Ah." He had a point, I suppose. If you looked at it like that, then the question was pretty nonsensical, and it was no wonder that he hadn't known what to say about that. I decided to word it differently with the other candidates. Now, it was time to come to the point. Bâgri seemed, as far as I could discern it, a decent type of fellow who didn't deserve to be locked up for years to come.
"Well, Bâgri, do you know why I'm talking to you?"
He was biting his lower lip for a moment. "They said perhaps you would take me to work for you, Master."
"Basically, yes. I am establishing a morgue for the people of Yôzayân here. I'm looking for apprentices - well, ultimately apprentices, although you'd start out as unskilled assistants - to teach the craft of embalming. And I-" I could see that his eyes had once again taken on that confused look, and his brow had creased, so I turned to Darîm. "Maybe you can explain it better. If he has any questions that you don't know the answer to, you can translate it for me."

I listened (if you can call it listening when you don't actually understand a word) and used the chance to drink some of the tea. And to watch Bâgri's expressions. In spite of Darîm's explanations, he was still looking thoroughly puzzled, occasionally glancing over at me as if trying to read my face (I suppose he was). He asked questions, which Darîm was apparently able to answer, but as their private conversation lengthened, I couldn't help turning to Captain Thilior for help.
The old man shrugged. "He seems to think that there's a catch. He keeps asking things like, 'Is it dangerous? Is it painful? What will I really do?''"
Of course, Darîm and Bâgri had stopped talking. Somewhat stiffly, Darîm said, "That is indeed what he has asked. Maybe you can explain it to him better than I can, Master Embalmer."

I nodded, slowly. Those were natural questions to ask, so I wasn't irritated, not yet. "It's a little dangerous. We need to use poisonous substances for some things. But I will teach you how to handle them safely. It isn't painful, normally. Unless you fall down the stairs or bump your head, I suppose, but that can happen anywhere, right?" I paused, because I realised that I might be talking too quickly (and too much), but Bâgri merely nodded, his eyes searching my face. He didn't believe me, I thought. "We're working with dead people," I said, because that was the catch, after all. "What you will have to do is learn how to preserve their bodies from decay. That's grim and unsavoury work, I can't deny that."
The intense searching look - with a good side helping of worry - still hadn't left Bâgri's face. "Is that all?" he asked after a while.
I couldn't help frown. "Well, obviously you'll have to do other work surrounding that. Prepare and clean the workplace, and the like." I wondered what it was that Bâgri was trying to hear. "We write accounts of our work, so I suppose if you don't know how to read and write my language, you'll have to learn that, too."
"I have to learn it," Bâgri said. "Is that all?"

"Look," Captain Thilior interrupted, impatiently, "you can either leave today with Master Azruhâr, or you can wait another-" he glanced down at his lists- "three and a half years to leave freely. That's all there is to it."
Darîm said something I didn't understand, probably to the same effect, since Captain Thilior didn't bother to translate.
"You don't have to come with me if you don't want to," I said, in what I hoped was an encouraging manner. For my part, I could understand well why Bâgri was hesitating - hadn't I hesitated, too? And for me, it had been embalming or death, not embalming or three and a half years' imprisonment. "I'm not forcing you. Merely making an offer."
"No, I want, I want," Bâgri said, wringing his hands a little. "Merely I do not understand."
I smiled for his sake. "But you can learn, right?"
"Probably," he cautioned. "I will try."
"And I will let you think about it a little longer," I said. He did not seem convinced, and I didn't want to make him feel pushed to make a decision. I wanted my apprentices to come freely, so they would be motivated to work well, after all.

The next candidates - Dârujan (imprisoned for brazen insolence, in which he still felt wronged) and Êlal (brawling) - certainly were more motivated. They agreed at once, genuflections and assurances of loyalty and good service included; I ultimately had to stop them because it was getting embarrassing. Jômar, whom the court scribe had described so charmingly and whom Darîm hadn't considered worth knowing, said yes before I had even finished asking the question. I wondered whether I had done something wrong when interviewing Bâgri, though aside from changing the wording of a few questions, I wasn't doing anything different now. Maybe these men simply suffered more under their imprisonment, particularly Jômar, a lanky youth who didn't show even the slightest shadow of a beard and probably had a hard time holding his own against the older, stronger men.

In contrast, Sidi was old. Although Darîm had tried to warn me, I was honestly unprepared for how old fifty was in Umbari terms. By the looks of him, he could easily have been my father - perhaps even my grandfather - even though technically I was older than him. It was disconcerting to say the least. I suppose I hadn't realised that even commoners such as me had an uncommonly long lifespan compared to the people of Middle-earth (or, at any rate, of Umbar). Now I saw what Darîm had meant. There was no point in apprenticing Sidi. I questioned him nonetheless, since I didn't have the heart to dismiss him right away. He was well-spoken - sophisticated, as Darîm had said, but not in an arrogant manner - and had lively expressions; you could immediately imagine how entertaining he must have been before his imprisonment, in pleasant company. Even when I finally found it in me to explain that I had expected him to be younger, and that he wasn't suitable for the purpose I'd had in mind, he nodded understandingly. "It is right that younger men should have the opportunity; they have a life ahead of them," he said, making me feel horribly guilty about sending him back.

There was just one more name on my list now: Yorzim, the physician, whom Darîm had recommended and about whom I was in two minds. On the one hand, I felt sorry about the injustice he was suffering. On the other hand, he sounded like a forceful and belligerent man who might easily become a problem, and I wasn't certain that I could risk taking someone like that into my house.
But the man who was brought in by the guards wasn't forceful at all; in fact, he made a very meek impression and gave me no good reason to reject him. When I asked him about the aggressive behaviour in court, he lowered his head and said, "I was a fool, Master. I've learned my lesson." And when I asked whether he, a former physician, had no qualms about becoming an embalmer, he looked me in the eye and said, "I wish to come out of prison, Master." Which I could understand only too well.

I thus had to think about my decision for a good while. Darîm still thought that Jômar had no particular virtues; I was conflicted about Yorzim. Darîm said that in that case, I should worry more about Êlal, who had a short temper and a powerful physique - probably a fair point. Bâgri, I felt, might still change his mind, but Darîm thought that he would not ultimately refuse the offer. I turned to Captain Thilior for help. The old warrior had so far occupied himself with his own reading and kept out of our discussion, but now he looked up and said, "You'll do a good turn taking Jômar with you. Poor lad is wilting here. Personally, I doubt Yorzim and Êlal will be troublesome. They're both reasonable fellows, really. Strong, but not stupid." He shrugged his shoulders. "Can I make you change your mind about Sidi? He's a fine man. Deserves better."
I sighed. "I only wanted to take on three or four apprentices," I said.
"Well, Sidi doesn't have to be an apprentice, does he? Give him some other job. As for the rest of them, let them draw lots or something - or take all of them."
"I don't have the council's permission to take so many men, actually."

"That can be amended, I'm sure. The council is sick of hearing my complaints about the number of prisoners I'm supposed to stack on top of each other. Frankly, the more you take along, the happier we'll all be." He gave a sage old smile. "I can write some more letters to the council, both of recommendation and of complaint, to soften them up."
Shaking my head, I said, "I don't have room for that many, actually."
Captain Thilior spread his hands in acceptance. "Oh, well. Worth a shot. Lots it is, then. But do think about Sidi again." His good eye narrowed, giving his smile a wry look. "You can use a translator, right? The Darîm has his own business, he can't always sit by your side." Darîm's jaw worked as though he felt the need to reply, but Captain Thilior was already talking again. "Your work is bound to be unfamiliar to the Umbari. Sidi has travelled far and wide, he has words for everything. He can teach them to write, too, so you can focus on your craft. And they'll learn it more easily from one of their own, who understands what they're struggling with, I'm sure."
"You seem concerned for them," I observed, and Captain Thilior laughed.
"You seem surprised! I'm their jailor, not their enemy."

That was true, I suppose, but I couldn't help saying, "And yet they seem eager to leave your care."
Another laugh. "Of course they are! All men love their freedom, Master Embalmer - in Umbar as much as on the Yôzayân. And if they cannot have freedom, well, then servitude is still preferable to imprisonment."
"And imprisonment is still preferable to death," I said without thinking.
He gave me another wry look, and I felt my face grow hot, realising that I might have given away too much. But all Captain Thilior said was, "Just so."
"There is security in servitude, too," Darîm said, sounding a little strained, and Captain Thilior turned his eye on him. "I'm glad you think so, Spokesman Darîm," he said dryly. Then he looked back to me, smiling. "What do you say, Master Embalmer? May I send for Sidi again?"

Sidi came, blinking against the light and tilting his head. "Dare I hope that you have reconsidered, sir?" he asked.
"Is that what you hope? You didn't seem too disappointed when I decided against you," I said.
"You had your reasons. Understandable reasons. And there is no sense in raging against things we cannot change. But I cannot deny that I would prefer to spend my last years in the open air."
I considered this, and also considered what to say next. I went for, "I need you to take some dictation," and pushed the inkwell that had been set before me in his direction.
His eyes widened in surprise or maybe fear, but he nodded. "Very well. May I approach?"
"Please." One of the guards brought a stool and a sheet of paper. Sidi sat down a little awkwardly, as though his joints pained him, and laid his arms on the table very deliberately before picking up the quill. Then he gave me an expectant look.

I, in the meantime, had tried to remember one of Master Târik's complicated sentences from the collection of notes I had copied in the summer, and settled on one of the first. "In the preservation of the deceased, the embalmer has to counteract various disadvantageous processes: first the decomposition of the flesh, which sets in swiftly after death of its own accord; second, external damage of the subject, either through natural agents such as mould and insects, or through mechanical injuries caused through inappropriate handling or storage, or finally through the chemical substances and physical techniques of embalming itself. For this reason--"
So far, Sidi had kept up without apparent difficulty, but as he reached out to dip the quill in the inkwell once more, the chain between his manacles dragged over the paper and through the still-wet ink, rendering his previously neat writing into an unintelligible smear.

Sidi pulled back his hand and let out a heavy sigh. There was a moment's silence, then he said, "Shall I start over?"
"Thank you, that won't be necessary; I've seen enough," I said, and he set down the quill carefully.
"Did you understand what you have just written?"
Sidi tilted his head to the side while studying my face for a moment, and then said, "I believe so - for the most part."
"Would you be able to explain it to somebody in your language?"
"Would I be allowed to ask you for clarification, if I am uncertain?"
The question took me by surprise. "Certainly."
He nodded slowly. "Then yes, I could do it."
I nodded in return. "And would you be able to teach other people to write in my language?"
"I expect so," Sidi said. "Presuming they have the intellectual and physical capacity, and the necessary materials."
"Are you making fun of me?"
He froze, looking at me intensely, and then waved his hands as if to shoo the mere thought away. "No, sir, merely stating the limits of my ability."
"I'd like you to assume," I said, still suspecting that he was mocking me, "that I don't expect you to do the impossible."
"I am glad to hear it," Sidi said in a tone of utmost sincerity, "since I cannot be expected to do the impossible."

I felt a little irritated by all the exceptions and mitigations, frankly - as though I couldn't be trusted to have reasonable expectations. "You're not expected to do anything at all - it's an offer, not an obligation."
Sidi bowed his head. "It is an offer I would happily accept, but I wish to make certain that I will not disappoint."
Pursing my lips to contain my displeasure, I said, "And would you be able to teach me your language? Assuming that I have the intellectual capacity?"
For some reason, the question made him smile. "I am optimistic about that," he said smoothly. "But I feel that you are offended. Please, I am not saying these things to offend you. On the contrary. It is a sign of respect to show that I am thinking about what you are saying - following your thoughts with mine, so to say."
"Is that so?" I turned to Darîm, who gave a pained smile. "It is customary among our people, yes."
"You could have told me."
"I did not think it would help, Master Embalmer. I apologise if I erred in that."
I rubbed my forehead in frustration. "Was that why Bâgri kept asking, too?"
"In part. But mostly, Bâgri is afraid."
"Of me?!"

Sidi spoke up unbidden. "Of a repetition of his previous misery, I expect. He was mistreated very badly, you see."
So was I, I thought to myself, but I managed to say only, "I see." And, after some more thought, "You know much about your fellow prisoners?"
"As much as they chose to share," Sidi said modestly.
"And you know my language well - in word and writ." I had to admit that. "Are you willing, then, to translate between me and my apprentices, and to teach them to write, and to teach me to speak in your tongue? And to avoid misunderstandings? If possible, obviously."
"If possible," Sidi agreed, smiling in what looked like genuine cheer, "I am very willing."
I sighed. "So be it, then."

Taking Sidi with me meant that I would have to leave one of the others behind. As Captain Thilior had suggested, I took on Jômar and let the remaining four draw lots. I had hoped that this would rid me of Yorzim without offending Darîm, but it was Dârujan who drew the shortest straw. He wept openly about it, making me feel even more conflicted, but all I could do now was promise that I would remember him if one of the others forfeited their chance - or that, if possible, I might apply for the council's permission of taking a sixth prisoner into my service. He nodded, but it was in a dejected manner, as though he didn't believe that either thing would come to pass. Still, he kissed my hands before he was taken back down to the cells, although I had done him no favour. It ought to be said that the Umbari were very quick in their displays of subservience, anyway, even by the standards of paupers and day-talers. I had noticed that in my free servants already, so I suppose it was no wonder that these prisoners were even quicker to bend knees and kiss hands. Lord Eärendur would have disapproved heartily, no doubt, and I found it embarassing, too. Having been told to represent the Yôzayân, however, I tried to accept it gracefully and as if it were my due, rather than a source of discomfort. Darîm seemed to have no such trouble; he acknowledged their abject gratitude for the part he had played in a condescendingly careless manner that rather reminded me of Lord Atanacalmo. For that alone, I almost made up my mind not to thank him for his help (not even in a dismissive manner).

But I was too much myself, and as we left the austere hallway and stepped out into the afternoon haze, the words came out before I properly knew that I was going to utter them.
Darîm half-turned and bowed obsequiously. "Always happy to offer advice," he said. "I pray that you will be well-pleased with your choices." Glancing over to the men, who were being directed to climb onto my cart by their guards, he said, "If I may offer some further advice?"
"Certainly," I said. I wasn't sure that I wanted to hear it, but at the same time, I couldn't rule out that it might be useful advice.
"Since you say that your household is different from other houses of Yôzayân, and certainly of Umbar, then it would be good to tell the rules of your house to all your people together. I know that it is not my place to tell you, but I only wish to help. Otherwise, they will follow their expectations as to who is authorised to command whom, and who may expect what services from whom, and who may discipline whom, and so on, and you may not agree and will be displeased. That is better to avoid, is it not?"

"Better indeed," I agreed. "I'll keep it in mind." In truth, I was glad that he'd told me. I hadn't considered that some servants might feel authorised to command others, or (good grief) discipline them, although I suppose the difference in status between free folk and bondservants, or just better and lower types of servants, invited such distinctions. Ironically, most of my 'better' servants had not actually been trained to be servants, and Urdad - doubtlessly the most high-ranking servant in my house - didn't strike me as the type who wanted to lord it over others. But the stablehands or the guards - themselves low in the order of things - might be tempted to take out their frustration on those even lower than them. I mean, I was trying to give them no reason to be frustrated, but in all fairness, I couldn't really hope to succeed.

For now, however, my first concern had to be the frustration of my new apprentices. They had managed to sit down by now - Sidi at the head, leaning against the box, and the other four along the length of the cart, two on each side, their legs folded up against their chests so they didn't get in each other's way. With the exception of Sidi, who had his eyes closed and his head slightly tilted back as if using the respite for a short nap, they did not look comfortable. Their hands, still manacled, lay in their laps or between their knees, but not in a relaxed manner; I could see fingers clenched into fists or, in the case of Bâgri, kneading the fraying fabric of his shift.
"I think you can remove those shackles now," I told one of the guards.
"We can do that once we've reached your grounds, certainly," he agreed peaceably.
"Why not now?" I forced a smile. "I doubt they're going to rebel."
"Probably not, sir. But it's the regulations. Prisoners must be chained during transport."
There was no point in arguing against regulations, so I nodded. Then I realised something else. "I take it you're going to accompany us, then?"
He nodded in return. "Since you didn't bring any guards, sir, we'll have to provide security until the prisoners are at their destination."
I sighed. Again, there was no use in arguing (and I'm sure these regulations were in theory very sensible). "Very well," I said. "Then let us be on our way."
All along the road back to my house, I heard the jangling of the chains behind me over the clattering of the horses' hooves and the rattling of the cart. It set my teeth on edge.

At last, the high hedge and behind it, the roof of the old winery came into sight, and I half-turned to my silent passengers, smiling in encouragement and announcing, "Almost there. That's your new home over there."
They looked up at me glumly. Only young Jômar leaned out a bit so he could see. Sidi showed no reaction at all; perhaps he really had fallen asleep.
He had to wake up once we had rolled to a halt in the yard and my new apprentices climbed off the cart. The guards made them line up by the side of the path, where they stood motionlessly, heads slightly lowered. You'd have expected some curiosity, perhaps even some enthusiasm (surely the house wasn't too shabby? I certainly found it more inviting than the ominous stairwell down into the royal morgue back at home), but they showed no emotion at all. I told myself that the situation must be daunting. They didn't know the work ahead, they only knew that it involved dead people, and I knew how worrying that thought had been back in the day. For me, the horror had been mitigated by the fact that the only alternative was execution; but for them? I had to hope that once we knew each other better, they might grow more enthusiastic and forthcoming. A little, anyway.

For now, there was nothing to be done about whatever thoughts they hid behind their silence. All I could do was turn to the guard I'd talked to early and say, "You can unchain them now, surely."
He shrugged, as if he didn't care either way, and said, "As you wish, sir." The men were still looking at the ground a few feet ahead of them, even after their wrists were released. The guard put the discarded shackles together and handed them to one of my own guards, Rophâr, who had come out to welcome us (or to make sure that the former prisoners didn't get up to anything, I suppose). "You can keep them, for the time being," he said matter-of-factly. "And I recommend you use them, for the nights. You can send someone to bring them back once you've had your own made."
I nodded dutifully, and I nodded again when Rophâr asked if he should bring them to the study. "Bring the rest of the household outside, please, so everybody is here," I told him, and then amended, "except Galîr, I suppose, unless he can manage it."

The prison guards were now eager to take their leave. "Rain's coming," one of them said, glancing up. "I'd like us to be back in town before it."
Indeed, the haze had risen and thickened into clouds; the rain wasn't yet imminent (otherwise, I expect the guards would've asked for shelter in my house), but it would come soon enough. I nodded my agreement. "Thank you for your help," I said, at which he saluted.

Meanwhile, my household staff came pouring out, looking concerned or curious according to their temperament. Galîr was with them, using crutches Nerâd had been working on yesterday. Seeing the five men lined up on one side of the path, they lined up on the other side. They were talking in low voices and glanced from one to the other and shifted, so they brought a little liveliness to the scene. Nurdâr, of course, was dancing more than she walked, and I couldn't help smiling, even if all the others were looking ever so serious. (Most of the others. Urdad gave his quiet, gentle smile when our eyes met, which was a little relief.)
I beckoned to the guards to join us, too - if I had to lay down my uncommon house rules, then they probably needed to hear them as much as the others. As they lined up with the others, a hush fell, and I did not like that I had to be the one to break it. I didn't even know what to say. I'd probably do it all wrong.

I took a deep breath. "Well. Now that we are complete, let me welcome you all to my household." I spread my hands in the welcoming gesture I had observed in the houses of the great and the good at home. "I hope that-" I broke off. Hope was too weak. I tried again. "I trust that we shall work well together and come to like each other." Wrong. We didn't have to like each other. We just had to work with each other, and for that, respect would be enough. I did want to be liked, though. But I probably shouldn't have said it. This was going exactly as badly as I'd feared. "I expect that we'll all treat each other with common courtesy, at any rate," I said, and added, as firmly as I could, "that goes for everyone. We all have our different pasts and different places, but we mustn't make each others' lives difficult." Especially not mine, I thought privately. But not theirs, either. "That means that you will be kind to each other. You are all part of the same household now, and that's almost like a family. So. Be kind to each other. Absolutely do not harm each other. Not in punishment, and certainly not for any other reason." I glared at the guards in particular, since I suspected them of being the most likely to hurt others in what they perceived to be their duty. "If anyone is caught doing something they shouldn't, or being somewhere they shouldn't be, bring them to me, and I decide what is to be done. Not any of you."

Zâdosh's hand went up hesitantly, and when I asked her to say her piece, she said, "What of small things? For example, what if somebody steals from the kitchen? Should we disturb you for that, too?"
"Nobody will steal from the kitchen." The words came out rather forcefully than Zâdosh's cautious question deserved, so I forced myself to take another deep breath and go on more calmly. "Look. I trust that everybody will get enough food during meals, so there's no need to steal any. And if for some reason anyone needs more, they can ask. In general, if there's anything you think you need, please ask. Maybe something can be arranged." One should have thought that this was good news, but I could see several frowns, as if I'd said something I shouldn't. At any rate, I realised I hadn't properly answered the question. "Anyway, if you think that it warrants punishment, then yes, you should disturb me for it."

No protest, but no agreement, either. Sighing inwardly, I went on. "Right. So you all know who everybody is and who you can ask about what, I'll introduce you to each other." Originally, I'd planned for everybody to introduce themselves, but with all of them looking uncomfortable and the new men still resolutely silent, that probably wouldn't have gone well. It seemed simpler to do that part myself, so I stood next to Urdad - he was closest to me already - and put a hand on his shoulder and said, "This is Urdad. He's --" and here I had to pause, because we hadn't actually talked about what position he took. In Lord Roitaheru's palace, he had been a minor accountant, but here, he was also a sort of secretary, and perhaps what you would call a steward, if I had felt entitled to a steward. Accountant, at any rate, was too weak. Since joining my house, Urdad had worked virtually day and night to catch up with the money and the planning and the shopping. Just yesterday, he had made several useful arrangements - for instance, he had organised for a shoemaker to come by to take measurements for shoes from everybody, and he had come to agreements with a grocer who would stop by my house with his goods before delivering to the market, and he had also negotiated with the city watch so they would send a runner in case they had a dead body that wasn't claimed by family. In short, Urdad had already become more than a mere accountant, minor or otherwise. I ended up saying, "my right-hand man," which made Urdad turn his head sharply and stare, eyes wide in disbelief. At the same time, his back straightened - I could feel it under my hand - and the corners of his mouth twitched as if they wanted to break into a broader smile, so at least it seemed to be pleased disbelief. I gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze, the way Lord Eärendur did. (How frustrating it was that I could not be my own person, only a poor attempt at copying better people!)

I moved on to Nerâd's family. Galîr had been standing for a long time already, and Nurdâr was getting restless, so they needed to stop being forced to stand around and wait. So I hurried to say their names and their function, and tried to explain Nurdâr's condition so the new members of my household wouldn't be confused or alarmed. "Think of her as your little sister, maybe," I suggested, "or the small daughter of a neighbour." I introduced Talmar, the young maid who was to assist Zadôsh, and the two stablehands, and the guards, and then went over to the five new men. "This is Sidi," I said, "who will teach writing and translate, if necessary. So if you need to talk to me about something and you think I won't understand you properly, ask Sidi to help you. That goes for the rest of the household too, of course." Sidi raised his eyebrows a little, as if surprised, before bowing his head politely.

"On the whole," I said, "I'd appreciate if you could speak in my language when I'm around, so I know what is happening. I'll try to learn your language, but it'll take a while, and you already know mine fairly well, so that seems easiest. When you're amongst yourself, you can talk in whichever way you prefer, of course." Now, I had several pairs of surprised eyes on my face. "Did I say something wrong?" I couldn't help asking.
After a moment's awkward silence, Sidi said, "You want us to talk, Master?"
"Well, clearly I said something confusing, but I don't know what it is. So yes, please tell me what it is I said. I mean, that just applies in general. If you're confused about something, ask."
Sidi gave a lopsided, almost apologetic smile. "It is uncommon that people in our position are permitted to speak much. You seem to encourage it."

I had to swallow hard. "Why shouldn't you-" I began, and then I remembered the uncanny silence of the workers and slaves at the mines, and some sort of realisation dawned. If that was how they saw themselves, then it certainly was no wonder that they had been so quiet and sullen. It also made me wonder why they had agreed to the whole arrangement at all. Servitude was better than imprisonment, perhaps, but what they seemed to expect was just another sort of imprisonment, improved only (perhaps) by being in the open sun - or, as it were, under the gathering rain clouds - instead of locked up underground. That, of course, wasn't what I had in mind, and so I started anew, "You're not slaves." I turned around to the rest of the household, in case they had the same idea. "They're not slaves, is that understood?" I turned back to Sidi and the others. "You're my assistants, for the time being, and if all goes well you'll become my apprentices, and that's how you will be treated - by me, at least, if not by the law." I had to clench my jaw after that because Êlal had bent over and clasped my hands and now was kissing them, fervently. It was terribly embarrassing.

"Glad we could clear that up," I managed once Êlal had let go of my hands, and I had stepped back just in case one of the others got the same urge. "Yes, good grief, by all means, talk freely. Sing, if you want to. I don't mind. - I just need you to listen when I'm talking," I added as an afterthought, in case that wasn't clear.
There was a rumble of thunder overhead, so I hurried to present Êlal and Yorzim and Jômar and Bâgri to the rest of the household. I didn't know much about them - and I didn't feel that the rest of the household needed to know about their crimes, since this was supposed to be a fresh start - so that went fast.

"My apprentices -- assistants -- are the only ones permitted to go downstairs into the morgue," I announced, "the rest of you stay away from it. Unless I explicitly tell you to go, obviously. And only Urdad and Nerâd are permitted upstairs in my room, or in the study. Unless I explicitly give someone else permission, that is. The stables are out of bounds for all of you except for the stablehands and Galîr and Nurdâr. And Nerâd if I need a message delivered, I suppose. Nobody goes into the kitchen except Zâdosh, Nurdâr and Talmar, unless told to. And of course you stay out of each other's quarters, unless invited. You may all use the hall and the common room and the yard. Oh, and the outhouse, of course; it's over there. If you aren't where I'd expect you to be, tell someone, though, so I can find you if I need to." I paused, realising that I was talking too much. The whole assembly was getting awkward, and there was another rumble of thunder, anyway, so it would be best to move inside. "I'm going to show you around the house," I told my new apprentices. "And the rest of you, go back to your work, please."

So I showed the men around - the well outside and the outhouse and the stables first, so we could stay inside afterwards, and then the morgue and the catacombs inside, to get the worst out of the way. I tried to give them an overview of what we would be doing in the coming week, while we didn't yet have any bodies to take care of - there were still some repairwork and some cleaning to be done down here, and besides, I figured the men could help in the making of their clothing. After that, I showed them where they were not allowed to go unless invited, such as the larder and the kitchens and the study and the doors to the other servants' quarters. By this time, the rain was drumming heavily on the roof, and I had to raise my voice to explain things even though my audience was perfectly quiet. Finally, we came to the communal hall, with its large table and benches and, at the back of the room, behind a row of curtains, the beds for the apprentices.

Again, I was somewhat disheartened by their subdued reaction. I was fairly proud of that sleeping area, to be honest. Like the regular servants in my household, my apprentices were to have decent beds, with good mattresses and well-stuffed pillows, not just the boxes with horse-blankets that were common for servants and apprentices in ordinary households, if they got actual beds at all and not just a straw mattress on the floor. Each bed had a chest beside it for personal belongings, too - not that they had anything to put in there, just now, but they might acquire some by and by. In short, I had spent rather more money than would be expected (Urdad had expressed his surprise) because I had wanted my apprentices to be comfortable. Instead, they stood tense and uneasy. Bâgri brushed over a blanket with his hand, as if testing its quality, but his face didn't show his verdict. Yorzim looked around, frowning, and I tried to figure out where the problem was.

"Is anything wrong?" I finally asked, and Yorzim looked at me. His eyes had narrowed in distrust, although he lowered them quickly when they met mine.
"It is good," he said, although there seemed to be an unspoken 'but' behind is words. "Who will sleep here also?"
"The five of you, obviously," I said, frowning myself. Later, I learned that it was common in Umbar to put several servants to one bed, even in 'better' houses, while in prison the cells had been so crowded that even with three men sharing a bunk at a time, they'd still had to sleep in shifts throughout the day, so what looked like discomfort to me was rather confusion at what made no sense to them. But just then, I was slightly annoyed that my generosity didn't seem to register properly. Not that I wanted overflowing thanks and demonstrations of gratitude, but the one or other appreciative smile, perhaps, wouldn't have been amiss.
"On our own?" Yorzim duly asked, and at the time, I thought he was being absurd.
"Feeling lonely?" I countered, wondering whether it would have been wiser to put the guards in here, too. True, they weren't supposed to sleep while watching the grounds and - I suppose - the former prisoners, but having them sleep in the same room might still have been useful. I had decided against it because it seemed to communicate more distrust than I liked, and it hadn't seemed necessary. Now I was having second thoughts.

Since Yorzim didn't reply, I turned to Sidi. "Can you explain the problem to me?"
Sidi looked around at the others. Whereas he had been perfectly amiable back at the prison, now he seemed strained and uncertain. "There is no problem, Master. Only - many things to learn and understand."
That was fair, of course, but I couldn't help feeling dissatisfied. Still, I doubted that I would get anywhere by asking further if even Sidi didn't want to elaborate further, so I said, "Alright." And, "Well, I'll leave you to acclimatise until dinner, then. You can ask questions later, too." I smiled without feeling it. "See you."
They bowed, and I nodded, and I left with just enough decorum to (hopefully) not appear like I was fleeing.

Urdad was waiting just outside, making me jump and apologising immediately.
"May I have a word?" he asked, making me fear that we had already run out of funds.
I passed a hand in front of my eyes, exhausted for no good reason. "Yes. Of course."
Urdad looked up at me, his dark eyes wide and expressive. (Fortunately, they were brown, not blue.) "Your right-hand man, sir?"
"Well, it seemed appropriate," I said, and then realised that perhaps the words made no sense to him. "Do you know what's meant by right-hand man?" Suddenly, I worried that it meant something different in Umbari. Knowing my luck, it was probably something offensive.
"I know," Urdad said, and from the amazed way in which he said it, it didn't sound like it had negative connotations. I heaved an inner sigh of relief. "It's an honour, but -" he hesitated for a moment, "an unexpected honour."
"You deserve it," I said. I was fairly certain that he did, too.

He smiled cautiously. "Thank you, sir, I - I hope I will not disappoint you. I have-" again he broke off, working up courage, apparently- "not so much experience. I don't know that I will do it right."
That makes two of us, I thought; and then I actually said so. Lord Roitaheru wouldn't have approved, I'm sure, but if I couldn't trust my newly-appointed right-hand man, then what was the title worth? "Tell you a secret, Urdad, I'm not always sure how to do things right, either. We'll just do our best, the both of us, won't we?"
In truth, I was fairly certain that Urdad would do a lot better than I could hope to, but I managed to keep that to myself. As it was, he nodded eagerly, reassured for the moment. I squeezed his hands before he could kiss mine, and watched him return to his work with a spring in his steps before I retired to my own room upstairs. Well, at least he appeared genuinely pleased now. I felt less conflicted now about having accepted Lord Roitaheru's 'gift' of him. I also felt a bit more at ease now, having unburdened myself at least a little. Once everything came crashing down, there was at least one person who had been forewarned and couldn't say that I'd deceived him.

Dinner was another awkward affair. I had asked Zâdosh and Talmar to prepare a little welcome feast, and they had obliged in the manner of Umbar. Here, a feast apparently meant dozens of different dishes, rather than a large roast or something of the sort, and I was reminded of the various treats Lord Laurilyo had ordered back when he had shown me the city at night. There were even more different things to choose from today, however, and more of everything, too. The table was laden with platters and bowls - Zâdosh and Talmar must have been worked all day on this, and I felt quite guilty about the interruption in the afternoon, although fortunately, they had managed to finish everything regardless. As far as I was concerned, it looked very inviting, and I was fairly certain that everybody should find something they liked, whether that was the salad of tuna and pomegranade, or the marinated cheese, or the salad of olives and onions, or the skewered chicken, or the quail eggs, or the nut cakes, or the chickpea fritters, or the various types of fried vegetables, or the spiced gruel, or the little white flat breads (made from the precious wheat that ordinary Umbarians apparently weren't allowed to buy, no doubt).

But what should have been an occasion for pleasure and relaxation turned out to be another cause for glum confusion. Even Sidi did not quite manage to explain what was wrong, except that it was "so much". Still, we sat down as one household and had something akin to conversation on my end of the table, and if my new apprentices ate sparingly and in silence, I had to hope that they would be more at ease tomorrow. Usually, I'd have kept sitting and talking with the others, but I didn't have the impression that there was anything to be gained by attempting to talk tonight, so I just asked the former prisoners to help Zâdosh and Talmar to put away the leftovers and clean the dishes afterwards. Jômar asked - through Sidi - for permission to relieve himself, which of course he was free to do, but apparently he hadn't dared earlier. I reminded them (and the guards) that they were free to go outside as long as they didn't stray outside the grounds or into the stable. The others used the occasion to follow Jômar and wait their turn, using the time to look up at the stars, but they didn't talk, neither to me nor to each other - not while I was there, anyway. I hoped they'd talk among themselves once they felt unobserved.

"Should I fetch the chains, sir?" Urdad asked dutifully, reminding me of what the guard had said before leaving. I groaned out loud. The last thing I wanted to do, honestly, was put manacles on anyone, least of all after telling them that they were not slaves. Already they had shown unmistakeably how uncomfortable they felt. They didn't trust me, I got that, and I suppose I had no reason to trust them, either, but I wanted them to trust me. Chaining them to their beds seemed rather counterproductive.
"I've been told to shackle you for the night," I told Sidi, at which he sighed but offered his wrists without protest. The others did the same, looking - for once - entirely unsurprised. I felt my stomach twist unpleasantly. "Actually, I do not think that will be necessary, will it?"
Sidi tilted his head, trying to read in my face once more. "That is for you to decide, Master."
I shook my head. "No, actually it's up to you. If I can trust you to harm no one and destroy nothing and certainly not run away, then there's no reason why you need to be chained. Can I trust you?" I gave them all a pointed look.
Sidi looked back at the others. "I cannot tell you to trust me, or us, Master. As for myself, I do not intend to cause harm or destroy anything or run away, if that helps."
I had to clench my fists for a moment. "What about the rest of you?"

Asked separately, they all agreed that they would cause no trouble, and I wondered why they hadn't simply nodded agreement or something from the start. Was it another case of 'following my thoughts with theirs'? If it was, I didn't see it. In that case, surely they would have been more forthcoming with questions, or, just now, reassurances. Instead, there was awkward silence. I massaged the bridge of my nose, tired.
"Well, then let's try it without shackles," I said. "I do hope you won't abuse your liberty. Don't disappoint me, please." As an afterthought, I added, "If one of you misbehaves, I'll have to put you all in chains, so keep an eye on each other, perhaps." There were nods and bowed heads and words of thanks, so at least, they appeared to have understood. Clearly, there was nothing more to be gained on that day, so I said, "Good night, men." I for my part felt infinitely weary. Sleep would no doubt do us all good; and perhaps tomorrow would be easier.