The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

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Chapter 54

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Chapter 54

The first week of having my own apprentices drew to an end, and we had not gotten any further. That is, I suppose we got a little further - but not nearly as much as I had expected. There we no bodies to work on yet. Instead, I was exhausted every evening just from thinking up ways to keep my apprentices occupied in a useful manner. They finished sewing their clothes - linen tunics for common use, woolen tunics and breeches for working in the cold cellar - and began to take writing lessons with Sidi. We had cleaned the cellar and tunnels once more, thoroughly, and begun to paint the walls with whitewash, both for its mould-killing qualities and because it was at least marginally related to an embalmer's work. I picked up the salts and poisons that we would use at an apothecary's workshop. For that purpose I had needed not only written permission from Lord Roitaheru, but also an additional strongbox to keep the dangerous contents inaccessible to my servants (and even to Urdad, who had a key to the other strongbox). For the first time, I marvelled that Master Târik had been allowed to just keep arsenic and the rest of it on a shelf, freely accessible to my colleagues and myself, despite our criminal history. It had never been an issue; I didn't even remember being told not to take anything from there. It had gone without saying, presumably because Master Târik (or the King, for that matter) expected that we would know better than to risk it. I didn't like the thought that I should have reason to trust my apprentices less than that. But there we were.

As the week ended, I found out that the Umbari had no concept of Valanya. I hadn't been surprised when the servants had treated it like any other day, last week, since servants only got one free day in a month, anyway; but when, on Eärenya evening, I expressed my unease concerning the apprentices to Urdad - how I did not yet trust them enough to let them leave the premises, unaccompanied, but did not want to ignore their right to a day off - he tilted his head at me, wide-eyed. "Their what?" he asked.
Assuming that it was another language problem, I explained what I had meant, but his puzzlement didn't cease. "I have never heard of that," he said.
"Surely you had Valanya off when you worked at the palace," I said.
Urdad gave a surprised giggle, then hastily covered his mouth with his hand. He shook his head. "No, sir. We get off on the big holidays."
"Well, obviously, those too, but - " I realised that there was no but. If Urdad said that he hadn't had Valanya off, then that was how it was.
"It's customary where I come from that craftsmen and apprentices have a free day every week," I explained instead. "And also the holidays, of course. So I feel that I'm bereaving my apprentices if we just work as normal tomorrow." Granted, we hadn't worked terribly hard during the week; but it had been work, anyway.
Again, Urdad gave me a wide-eyed stare. "They will not be bereft," he said, "because they do not expect it. I don't think they would know what to do with the day."

Lord Laurilyo agreed when he visited the next afternoon. He certainly knew that it was Valanya, and though he came unannounced, he brought a gift of wine and assorted sweets and cakes. "I expect you wouldn't dream of treating yourself," he said, "but you also won't let a gift go bad, so I'm making sure you're having something nice."
I was in equal parts touched and amused. "I might pass it on to my apprentices instead of treating myself," I pointed out.
"You might, I suppose," Lord Laurilyo conceded, giving a friendly not to Nerad, who had arrived with warm water and a towel (his father's leg was getting better, but he still wasn't up to the work of a doorkeeper). "But why would you do that?"
"To make up for the free day they're not having today," I said, scratching my neck. Lord Laurilyo stared at me for a second, and then laughed.
"I don't think they do Valanya around here. Never noticed it, anyway. If they ever had the custom, it's fallen out of use. Uncle wouldn't approve of it, I'm sure - he'd say that idle hands swiftly turn to orc-work." He wriggled his slender fingers. "Like mine."
"You're not doing orc-work," I said sternly (probably more sternly than I should have, considering who he was, but I didn't think it was something to joke about).

Fortunately, he didn't take it amiss; he merely shrugged. "Says you," he said drily, and then changed the topic. "Are you growing a beard?"
Embarrassed, I stroked my chin, which had grown rather more fluffy in the past days. "My valet doesn't know how to handle a razor," I admitted.
Lord Laurilyo grinned. "It suits you! But if you want to get rid of it, I know a good barber in town."
"Thank you. That would be helpful."
"Don't tell anyone," he said with a wink. "Will you show me around? Unless you're busy sharing your men's lack of a free day, of course."
"Very funny," I said, and "I can show you around, certainly." We were still busy whitewashing the catacombs; the apprentices could do that by themselves.

Nerad returned to take the used water away, and Lord Laurilyo got up and came into the hallway. "Say," he said, looking after Nerad, "isn't that the little fellow who carried your purchases back when we bought all your stuff?"
"Yes, that's Nerad," I confirmed.
"Well! He's cleaned up rather nicely, hasn't he? You have a good eye, I must say."
"A good eye?" I was tempted to laugh. "Anyone would clean up nicely if they no longer lived in a flooded cellar and got decent clothing to wear. It hardly takes a good eye to realise that."
Lord Laurilyo shrugged, good-naturedly. "Clearly," he said, "but he also has a very pretty face, now that he's wearing decent clothing and not living in a flooded cellar."
I found myself frowning. "That makes no sense."
He raised his eyebrows. "Does it not?"
"No, my lord. Either he had a pretty face all along, or he still doesn't have one. His face hasn't changed, after all."
Lord Laurilyo spread his hands. "And that's why I said you have a good eye! I didn't see it earlier, and I assure you, I'm an expert on pretty faces."
I made a non-committal noise. I hadn't employed Nerad for his pretty face, after all. In truth, I hadn't taken particular notice, although now that Lord Laurilyo had said it, it was true that he was a good-looking lad - but I doubted that anything I could say on the matter would be useful. Lord Laurilyo would think what he wanted to think. And perhaps a pretty face was a better reason than an overly soft heart.

I focused on the tour of the house instead. Lord Laurilyo was appreciative. He said "Oh, how cozy!" to the hall, and "Oh, spooky!" to the tunnels underneath the house, praised (a little tongue-in-cheek probably, since he had helped to chose the fabrics) the curtains, and was generous enough to say "What a delightful wilderness!" to the uncared-for garden. His final verdict was, "Well, it's awfully responsible, of course. I'd prefer wine to corpses. It's not as boring as I feared, though." He smiled in my face. "Flavoured with just enough unreasonable idealism to make it endurable, I suppose!" While I was still trying to figure out whether that was an insult, and if so, how so, he went on, "It certainly is a place of its own - a bit out of this world, sort of."
"I don't really know how to run a big house, or a business," I said defensively.
"It's not that big! Smaller than I expected, after all the stuff you bought, to be honest. But that's not what I meant. It's just..." he paused, seemingly search for the right word, then shrugged. "Different from what I expected. Not in a bad way. I like to be surprised." Again, he grinned. "Let's eat your cake. I have to make sure you eat some of it yourself, after all."

I did. But I also called the rest of the household together so they could partake in the treats Lord Laurilyo had brought. He found that amusing (though what he said was "charming"); the apprentices, as usual, found it confusing. Personally, I thought that I was being perfectly reasonable. Really, I could not have eaten everything on my own even if I had wanted to.
 

The next day, I received another unannounced visit. This time, it was Darîm. I felt immediately guilty. I cannot even say why exactly. I suppose it was because I associated him with his official function, and visits from people in official functions filled me with dread, although I shouldn't have had any reson to fear him. As far as I was aware, I had done nothing wrong. And even if I had, I probably wasn't under Darîm's jurisdiction. Nonetheless, I greeted him warily. Darîm was impeccably polite, of course. "I apologise for visiting without invitation. I had business with your neighbours and thought I would see if you had a moment for me - only if it's no inconvenience, of course."
Having called upon him without invitation or warning earlier, and having no reason to send him away aside from feeling irrationally uncomfortable about his visit, I forced a polite smile and said, "It's no inconvenience. I am here, and have no partiular plans. Please come in." I managed - I hope - an inviting gesture.

I don't know if he noticed my discomfort and wished to set me at ease, or if it was just his customary flattery. "The house has become much finer than I would have thought!" he declared immediately. "Will you show me around?"
So I did the second tour of the house in as many days. Whereas the apprentices and servant had been uniformly awestruck by Lord Laurilyo yesterday, their reactions to Darîm's presence were mixed. Nerad and his mother were guarded and tried to escape notice, withdrawing discreetly as soon as they had the chance. Bâgri was visibly distressed, clenching and unclenching his fists anxiously. That, I suppose, was not surprising. Urdad, the stablehands and Talmar the maid, as well as the guards, behaved in their normal manner, assiduous but not uncommonly so. Yorzim, Êlal and Jômar were almost more submissive towards Darîm than they were towards me, which I also found interesting. In contrast, Sidi was more at ease - the confident old man I had glimpsed at the prison seemed to have returned. Nurdâr was the only one who behaved just as always, because of course she didn't see any reason to act differently. Darîm gave her a wide berth, as though afraid of her. I nearly laughed at that - Nurdâr was such a friendly and cheerful girl, after all - which at least helped me to get over my discomfort.

At any rate, I showed Darîm around as I had done Lord Laurilyo, leaving out only my own rooms upstairs. Unlike Lord Laurilyo, Darîm didn't comment on the coziness or quaintness or even the wilderness, which made it hard to judge what he thought. Not that it mattered, I suppose, but it was unsatisfying not to know whether he was bored or would have liked to be told more, or whether I could have done better. Darîm nodded and smiled politely, but all he said was, once he had seen the house, "I congratulate you." Then he asked to speak with Sidi in private. I wondered if they had been friends. Or were still friends, for that matter. Either way, I had no reason to object. Instead, I left them to it and went to speak with Zâdosh. Since the time for our mid-day meal was approaching, I suspected that Darîm would expect to be invited, just as he had expected me to stay for dinner in his place. So I asked Zâdosh and Talmar to prepare a little more than our usual leftover lunch; enough to not embarrass ourselves, anyway.

Having finished his private conversation with Sidi, Darîm asked to see the rest of the grounds. Those, of course, were still very much in their old state, except for the chicken coop and the vegetable beds Zâdosh was preparing, so I did not expect him to be impressed. But then, it turned out that he did not actually want to see the grounds, anyway. Once we had turned around the corner, out of sight and (presumably) earshot, he said, "Sidi has told me that the men are a little concerned about their debts. It would be good, perhaps, if you could reassure them a little."
"Their debts?" I asked, stupidly. "What do I have to do with those?" Realisation dawned. "Do they owe you money? Is that it? Am I expected to pay for it?"
His hands described a complicated succession of semi-circles in the air. "Some have old debts to me, but that is not the issue at this time. No, they are concerned about their debts to you, which Sidi says are rising very quickly."
Now he had lost me. "Debts to me? What debts?"

Darîm's brow creased apologetically, as though he regretted to trouble me with such unsavoury concerns. "Well, new clothing, and shoes, and bedding and all that. And then he says they are using paper for their writing lessons, and then there is the food - Sidi says there were cakes yesterday - and I am aware, as he surely is, that naturally there are many expenses in the beginning and that it will not continue to be so forever. But paper and cakes do not last as long as clothing and shoes, so they are worrying about the cost of these things becoming too much."
"But that's not their concern," I said, frowning. "I pay for these things."
"Yes, naturally. They cannot pay for it at this time. But they are concerned that it is becoming too much to pay for at any time. That is why they are concerned about their debt to you." He was speaking in an appeasing tone, which was unnecessary, because I wasn't angry.
I was, however, confused. "But there's no debt to me. It's not like they have to pay me back. It's part of their apprenticeship, isn't it!"
"Is it?" Darîm stopped in his tracks, which made me realise that he was genuinely surprised. He stared at me intensely, as if expecting me to laugh and say that I'd been joking.

I was not. "Well, obviously! That would be rather unfair, otherwise. I mean, I ordered the clothing. And the shoes. They wouldn't have done that unless they had the money, which they don't. It wouldn't be right to make them get these things, and then tell them to pay for them too! They had no choice. As for the cakes, those were a gift anyway. They don't have to pay for them. What a thought!"
Darîm looked at me as though I had grown a second pair of hands or something of the sort. "That is very generous," he said in a strange voice. "It will set their mind at ease. But be wary so they do not get used to it."
I thought that them geting used to it was what I was hoping for. Once they realised that I wasn't as mean as they thought, they would hopefully stop being so cold and wary towards me, and ideally even start liking to be here. I felt that this would make all of our lives easier.
I did not say so. Instead, I said, "I shall keep it in mind," which after all didn't mean that I would take it to heart.
Darîm undoubtedly knew that, but he still said, "That would be good," bowing peaceably.

When I invited him to stay for lunch, he declined (politely, of course). "I have importuned you long enough," he said. "Really, I should be returning to the city."
I could see that Zâdosh, as well as Urdad, looked scandalised at that. I tilted my head, frowning. "What happened to the sacred law of hospitality?"
"Ah, Master Embalmer, you naturally are not bound by our laws," Darîm said with the sweetest of smiles.
I did not feel like smiling. "I suppose not," I said slowly, "but I can still respect them, can't I."
He sobered at once; in fact, he looked very serious indeed. "You can," he said stiffly, before apparently catching himself and bowing again. "Very well then: I accept your graceful offer. I thank you for your invitation."
I didn't particularly care for his company - it was far more pleasant to have gentle Urdad sit next to me than Darîm - but for Zâdosh's sake, I was glad that he had stayed. She had, with only little warning, turned our normally frugal lunch into a very nice meal. Considering how little the apprentices ate (now I wondered whether it was because they thought I would charge them for anything they consumed? I would have to speak to them as soon as Darîm was gone), it would only have turned into new leftovers, which would have been a pity. We made polite conversation as well as I could. When Darîm took his leave, not much later, he said, "Please do not take this amiss, Master Embalmer, but perhaps you will permit me to say a word to the wise?"

How I hated that phrase! But since his advice had proven useful in the past, I said, "By all means, Spokesman Darîm."
"You are too friendly to your apprentices, and your servants, too. They are not of your noble people. It is not good for them."
"The last time we spoke, you told me that perhaps they were too afraid of me. Now you say the opposite. I'd appreciate if you could make up your mind."
He weighed his head left and right. "Unfortunately, it makes them more afraid when you are too friendly. They are not your equals. It is confusing when you speak to them like they are. Worse, if they get used to it, they will forget their place."
I said nothing; there was nothing to be said. I doubted they'd forget their place that easily. And I felt that they pretty much were my equals. I couldn't explain that to Darîm. But neither was I able to disregard it.

 

To my shock, Urdad was just as surprised as Darîm when I related Sidi's concerns to him. "It is not something to deduct from their pay?" he asked, losing a little colour and beginning to rapidly leaf through his account-book.
"Is that so unusual?" I couldn't help asking.
I could see that the question unnerved him. "I cannot know for certain, of course, sir. But I have not heard of it. Servants' clothing is sometimes provided, but apprentices need to buy their own, I think," he said, and quickly added, "but that means nothing, of course; I have not much experience."
I sat down. I thought back and realised that I had bought my own warm clothing, and good shoes, when I had become an apprentice. And food, except for the lunchtime bread and cheese, come to think of it. I even had provided my own housing, as it were, although of course that was because I had not been apprenticed as a youth. Normal apprentices had bed and board given to them. But clothing, even if it was work clothing? They had to bring it with them or pay their master for it. Come to think of it, that was yet another reason for why daytalers' children rarely made apprentices - their parents couldn't afford the down payment.

"Well, either way, I think it wouldn't be right to make them pay for it," I said stubbornly. Inside, I was trying hard not to despair at my incompetence. It was just like me to confuse the expectations for what I had to provide for servants and apprentices, respectively. I felt a little resentful that nobody had sat me down and explained these things to me, too. I suppose it was something that you simply knew, except for me, because at the heart of it, I was still an uncultured fool who was unfit to teach apprentices. And yet, I was expected to do just that.

 

Moreover, I was expected to sit on the council, which was something else that I very much was unfit for. As the month came to an end, I received a formal summons for the next council session. I was torn. I clearly didn't belong there, but on the other hand, I was summoned specifically. Not to justify something I had done wrong, this time, nor to testify in a trial: this time, I was 'cordially invited on Valanya next to sit in counsel and judgement as representative of my craft'. I recalled that Lord Roitaheru had said that it wasn't necessary to attend the council meetings unless I wished to, but the summons didn't say anything about that, and I didn't want to misstep. Besides, I had promised Dârujan to ask the council for permission to take him under my tutelage, for what little it was worth, and I had not yet honoured that promise. The council session would be an opportunity to amend that. I decided to take part. I also decided - against better reason, I suppose - to see if my apprentices couldn't be trusted with a day off after all. It had been a stressful month - for me, anyway, but I was certain that it hadn't been easy for the apprentices, either. There had been a lot of new things, particularly now that I had begun to dictate the rudiments of theory to them. I felt that they had earned a holiday, and thus, as we sat together for dinner on that last Eärenya, I asked what they would do if they could use the next day as they pleased.

At first, none of them answered. Then finally Sidi spoke up. "I think I would go to a tea-house. To see some friends, and talk, and play chess." He smiled a little wistfully, but sobered at once when I asked, "You play chess?"
He tilted his head at me. "Yes, Master; why?"
He made it sound as if my question was the strangest thing, so I found it hard to explain my susprise. "It's just, I only know it as a game of the nobility," I explained.
Sidi looked thoughtful at that. "So I may not play it?"
"No, no, you can play it all you want! That's not what I meant! I'm just - I was surprised that you like to play it."
Yorzim spoke up unexpectedly. "It is very common, Master. The game is old, many people know it."
"Oh," I said, feeling foolish. "So would you play chess too, on a free day?"

Yorzim met my eyes. "Perhaps," he said. "But firstly, I would practice my writing."
"Really?" I asked, because that sounded suspiciously like an answer he gave because he thought it was what I wanted to hear.
But he said, "Yes, I do not like how bad I am at it," with no trace of irony, and I suppose that was a good reason. I hadn't noticed that Yorzim had been struggling particularly with writing - if anyone needed to practice, it was Jômar - but perhaps the man was a perfectionist. I decided not to question him further. "Alright. And you, Bâgri? What would you do?"
Bâgri flinched, as he always did when torn from his thoughts, and he looked lost for a moment. "I would like to see my little boy," he said eventually, very quietly.
I nodded. That was, as far as I was concerned, extremely understandable.
"I would visit my family, too," Êlal said, more confidently than Bâgri. "Haven't seen them in some time."
Jômar nodded his agreement, and so did Talmar, and the two stablehands and Oyam, one of the guards. I realised now that I had neglected to include the servants in the conversation (although fortunately they seemed not to have noticed), so I turned to Rophâr, who had not yet voiced his opinion. "What about you?"

He shrugged. "I'd go to see my mother, too, I suppose. I mean, I know that she is doing alright and not expecting to see me. But if I had the time, I would go to visit her, because why not?"
"That's reasonable," I said, and came to a decision. "Listen. I'm asking because tomorrow, I have council duty, so I will be gone all day. And I thought, perhaps we should make it a day off for all of you - well - some people will have to stay and look after the house." I realised this belatedly. As usual, I hadn't thought things through. "But they will get a day off at some other time, when the rest of us are working." I realised that there were a lot of eyes on my face, too puzzled to look down modestly as they did most of the time.
"Is something unclear?" I asked.

Êlal elbowed Sidi, who gave him a pained look, then exchanged glances with the other apprentices, but before he could speak, Khûraz spoke up. "Have we done something wrong, Master?"
I frowned. "No? Not that I know of. Why?"
"When you send us off, I think we have done something wrong."
Êlal nodded emphatically, sparing Sidi from having to explain.
"On the contrary," I said, still frowning. "I am giving you a free day because I am pleased with your work." Pleased was, perhaps, too strong a word; but I had no good reason to complain. I couldn't force them to relax or speak freely, and ultimately I knew I had no reason to want them to do that. They were behaving as good servants should; it wasn't their fault that I felt uncomfortable with it.
"But you are sending us away," Khûraz said again.
"To come back!" I protested. "A day off is just - a day! One day to visit your families or do whatever else you want. Within the limits of the law, I mean. You can stay here if you want, too, but you don't have to work that day. That's the idea. It's not like laying you off or anything of the sort."
The expressions on their faces suggested that they still didn't quite get the idea. I remembered what Urdad had said, that they wouldn't know what to do with a day off. I had thought that it was just like those things wealthy people said, that people like me wouldn't know what do with money even if we had it, but it seemed to be different. I gave up.
"Well, think about it," I said. "It's customary where I'm from, and I thought you might enjoy it. But I'm not forcing anyone to go. I won't be here tomorrow, and if anyone wants to use the day to go to the city and visit their family, or play chess, or whatever, you have my leave. Just let me know about your decision."

That evening, Sidi took me aside. After Darîm's visit, he had returned to his watchful and withdrawn behaviour - no amount of reassurances that they would not have to pay for the things I had provided had encouraged either him or the others, not even when they had been given their actual pay. The closest he had come to mediating between the apprentices and me had been when he'd asked for an additional blanket on Bâgri's behalf. But now it appeared that he saw the need to speak up at last. "We are all wondering why you are doing this, Master," he said cautiously.
"Doing what?" I asked, feeling - I admit it - exasperated at that point. "You mean the free day? As I said, it's customary back at home. I had not realised that it would be so controversial."
He smiled tightly. "Please do not misunderstand. I am certain everybody would be very happy to see their family. Or their friends. We are just wondering why. Maybe it is customary in the Yôzayân, but it is not customary here."
Weary of being questioned, I closed my eyes. "But it is not forbidden, either, is it?"
"No, Master."
"There you go. Look, Sidi. I am very far from my family. I will not see them for a very long time." If ever, I thought, but I pushed that thought away as far as I could. It wouldn't do to start crying in front of Sidi, so I pushed on, "I know that most of you haven't seen your family in a while, either. Unlike mine, these families are nearby, so the only thing that keeps you and the others from visiting is that you have to work here. It seems cruel not to let you visit, and I see no reason to be cruel. Is that understandable?"
Sidi gave the matter rather more thought than I would've felt necessary. "I suppose, Master," he finally said, making me suspect that he was unconvinced.

Still, the next morning, several of them asked leave to go to the city. Astonishingly, it was Bâgri of all people who was the first to ask - timidly, but still - whether the offer was still good. When I affirmed it, Jômar and the others also asked for permission. In the end, ten people stayed behind: Nerâd and his family, who saw no reason to go to the city out of schedule; Urdad, announcing that he needed to order his books (I felt a little guilty that they had apparently already gone into disarray, probably because I had confused his bookkeeping with my unorthodox methods); Yorzim, who wanted to practice his writing; and four of the guards, who would be given a free day the week after instead. The rest of us set off towards the city, although I had to leave the others quickly, since I was on horseback and they were on foot, unable to keep up with my horse at more than a very slow trot, anyway. I doubted they would miss me much. As they were walking, a certain exhilaration had taken hold of the group, a change in their posture and gait - but no doubt they were still anxious while I was around. I told them goodbye and reminded them to stay out of trouble and return back before nightfall, which they promised. Then I rode off. I had to go to the barber before the council session, after all. The stubble was by now approaching a proper beard, and I was too young for that, really.

Lord Laurilyo's recommendation was good. The barber, although he was Umbarian, took my beard off so gently and so efficiently that I had no time to worry about the blade on my skin. He braided my hair, too, and massaged my skalp while he was at it, so that I entered the theatre feeling fairly more relaxed and at peace with myself. I was promptly deflated when Lord Laurilyo said, "You got rid of the beard after all! Pity. I thought it gave you a certain gravitas."
"Gravi-what?" I said, frowning.
"Gravitas," he repeated, and seeing my helpless expression, he explained, "Weight. In the sense of authority. Wisdom. That sort of thing."
I had to laugh. "That doesn't fit me at all."
He shrugged with a disarming smile. "You could just pretend."
I didn't know what to make of that, so I did not reply.

The council session, at least, went without difficulties. There were news of the army - well, not really news, merely a message sent from some border village to inform lord and council that all was well and going according to plan (whatever that plan might be). But Lord Roitaheru seemed well-pleased with it, so I assumed that there was nothing to worry about. Beyond that, there was some talk about the approaching spring festival, about restrictions to be lifted and preparations to be made. I knew nothing about the matter, so I kept well out of it, but I gathered that the spring festival was an important event, comparable to the fair and celebrations that accompanied Erulaitalë at home. It was, however, following Umbarian traditions - there was no mountain to be climbed, at any rate, instead a series of rituals and athletic competitions - and for the first time, I saw Darîm take centre stage in the proceedings, doing more than simply ask questions and bow politely when he was anwered. This was apparently an occasion where his office was worth something. His suggestions about the matter were, for the most part, accepted without much debate; and the session moved on smoothly to the final part, which was my application to add a sixth prisoner to my household. This, too, went smoothly. Apparently the discussion had exhausted itself, or reached a satisfying conclusion, the last time. I asked; the matter was put to the vote; I was given permission; and after that, the council session was formally concluded.

Accordingly, once the councillors began to leave or have their own private conversations with groups of friends, I made my way to the scribe to get a writ that would allow me to pick up Dârujan on my way back.
"Let me finish my minutes first," Minluzîr said politely, but firmly.
"Yes, of course." I bit my lip and stepped back contritely, though I couldn't help shifting from foot to foot as the wait lengthened.
Lord Roitaheru raised an eyebrow. "Why the rush? Let's go back to the palace first. You'll get your writ over the course of the afternoon. You can't pick up your man before the feast, anyway!"
I chewed on my lips some more. I had not, in fact, intended to attend the feast. "I was going to return to the morgue now," I admitted. "It would be too late to ride out after the feast."
"Oh, of course! But of course you're welcome to stay for the night! That way, you can ride back tomorrow at your leisure."
"Another time," I said - a little too pleadingly, I suspect. "I didn't realise that I could stay overnight, so I haven't left instructions for a longer absence. I'm not sure my household would know what to do if I didn't come home in the evening." I really wasn't. Would they be worried, I wondered? Or maybe relieved to have the house to themselves and talk freely, as they didn't dare to do when I was present?

Lord Roitaheru laughed, briefly. "Better safe than sorry, I suppose! But listen." He slung an arm around my shoulders, nearly making me stumble. "You are responsible for your household, of course, but don't forget that you have a responsibility to yourself, too."
"To myself, Lord?" I did not understand what he meant.
"Yes! To yourself! You need to give yourself a day of rest! Relax, go to a playhouse, take a bath, eat, drink, make merry - and make friends. Among your peers." He gave me a pointed look.
Flushing, I felt compelled to say, "Lord Laurilyo has chosen to befriend me, I didn't --"
I was interrupted. "Laurilyo's alright, as long as you don't let him distract you too much, but he's too shallow in the long run. You need friends beside him - proper friends. Down-to-earth people, who can give you advice and encouragement and real company, not just entertainment. It's got to be awfully lonely out there in the vinyards." Before I could point out that I was sharing my house with a dozen other people, he went on, "It's not good for a man to be without friends. So spend one night at least down here in the city. Feast with us, and mingle with the community." At last I realised that by your peers, he meant other people of Yôzayân, not necessarily other embalmers. Or daytalers for that matter.
"Next time," I promised, and fortunately, he accepted that and let me go.