The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

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Chapter 55

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Chapter 55

Captain Thilior seemed genuinely pleased to see me, and he gave me a warm welcome. That was unexpected. At first, I got the worst scare, because the prison grounds were full of armed guards when I arrived there. Although I suppose I should have known better at that point to expect some sort of trap, the fear of having walked into one was very real until I managed to get a grip on myself. As it turned out, the guards weren't there for me at all, but rather for the prisoners who had, as Captain Thilior put it, their Daylight Hour in which they were permitted to walk, under guard, around the innermost yard of the prison. "Otherwise I'd fear they'll turn into olms before long," he said dryly, shaking my hand in greeting. "I was wondering how soon I'd see you again! How are the lads doing? Do I have to expect any of them back?"

I told him that the lads were doing alright, as far as I was concerned, and that I had no reason to send any of them back. He nodded, satisfied. "That's good. I'm sure they're not bad at heart. I'm glad they're using their chance." He didn't even bother to check the confirmation I'd been given by the council scribe, instead waving to a guard and telling him to fetch Dârujan at once.

If Captain Thilior was pleased, Dârujan was overjoyed. He fell to his knees and kissed my hands before I had even told him why I was there (although I suppose he could guess - or maybe the guards had told him as they'd brought him over). When I repeated my offer, he accepted with what seemed like real enthusiasm. I cannot lie; it warmed my heart. I knew that it didn't ultimately matter whether my apprentices liked their work, or me for that matter. I knewthat it wasn't even fair to expect them to, since the work was a condition of their freedom and I was ultimately just a friendlier jailor. Maybe not even that. Captain Thilior seemed to be genuinely interested in the well-being of his prisoners, not at all like the jailors I had met back at home. He even took me aside to tell me that Dârujan was a good lad but that he was a little gullible, so I should not expect him to understand irony or read between words.
"You mean, he's stupid?" I asked, frowning.
"No, I wouldn't say stupid," Captain Thilior said. "He's bright enough. He just takes things at face value. Says exactly what he means, too. Perhaps he's too honest to understand that sometimes people say things they don't mean - something like that."
"If he's so honest, then why is he here?" I couldn't help asking.
Captain Thilior shrugged his shoulders. "Brazen impertinence," he said. "As I said, he says what he means."

Since I did not have the cart with me this time, Dârujan had to walk all the way back to the morgue. Worried about what it would feel like for him, I walked and led the horse beside him. After a moment's thought, the guards - who had already mounted - unhorsed again and walked alongside us. Despite their presence, Dârujan readily made conversation, answering my questions and even volunteering information. No, he did not mind the long walk. Maybe he would tire quickly because he hadn't gone far in a while, but it was nice to have so much world around him. It was a good day for walking, too, neither too hot nor too rainy. Well, his time in prison had not been too bad, all things considered - other people had it worse, probably - but by its very nature it had not been good. Freedom was better. Yes, he could sew and did not mind making his own tunics, although he had expected that he would work in embalming, not sewing. No, he was not afraid of the work; his uncle was an embalmer, and not unhappy with his lot. How his uncle had come to be an embalmer? Well, he had been apprenticed to an embalmer, of course. Yes, it must have been a regular apprenticeship, although Dârujan did not know the particulars, since the uncle had already completed it by the time he, Dârujan, had been born. But he would be very happy to introduce me to the uncle if I wanted to talk about work with him. It was important work, of course, because if one did not take proper care of the dead, they might come back to haunt the living. It was not good to be haunted.

In this matter we passed the time, and Dârujan very nearly spoke more on that walk to the morgue than my other apprentices had spoken all month. Or that's what it felt like, at least. I can't deny that it endeared him to me. Even with nothing much happening, the past month had been tense, bringing back unpleasant memories of the time when my neighbours had thought me a spy for the King, or when Master Târik had been wroth with me. Goodness knows what my apprentices thought I was, but it was clear that it wasn't anything good. And I wanted to be good, I really did, and it was endlessly frustrating to be so bad at it.
But I digress yet again. At any rate, by time we reached the morgue, I was already fond of Dârujan.

He changed, unfortunately, once we got into the house. Dârujan was clearly upset that his companions were nowhere to be seen. I explained to him that they were in town and would come back later, except for Yorzim, who had stayed behind to practice his writing. But Yorzim wasn't there, either. Urdad - somewhat nervously - explained that Yorzim had changed his mind and asked leave to go, which he had granted in my absence. "I thought you would have allowed it, since you allowed it to the others," Urdad said. "If I was wrong in this, I beg your pardon."
"No, no, you did right," I said. Indeed, I was glad that he had given Yorzim permission. I couldn't even blame Yorzim for changing his mind after declaring so grandly that he would practice his writing. With everybody else gone, he had probably felt his loneliness.
It did mean that Dârujan was the only released prisoner, though, and I could see that it made him uneasy. I assured him that his companions would be back by nightfall and showed him around.

"Who will I share the bed with?" was his most pressing question when we came to the sleeping area.
"You've got it all to yourself," I said, assuming that this would be encouraging. It was not. He gave me a wide-eyed stare, looking a little lost and quite scared. "I never had a bed to myself," he said. "I don't know if I can sleep alone." He seemed to be thinking intently, and then his brow creased. "Where did you say the others were, again?"
"In the city," I said once again. "They have their day off. You can meet the rest of the household for the time being, though." I hoped that it would put his mind at ease to find other people like himself - that is, from Umbar - living comfortably enough in my house, but I'm not sure that it worked. After the introductions, Zâdosh gave him the fabric, thread and needle so he could begin making his livery. He could barely sit still on the bench in the hall, fidgeting and losing the thread more than once, and eventually asked permission to sit on the stairs outside. I began to wonder if the house had made my apprentices so anxious, although I didn't see why that should be. Aside from the catacombs, hidden away in the cellar, there wasn't anything about the place that struck me as frightening or even just discomfiting - indeed, it was much less intimidating than the Royal Morgue in Arminalêth had been.
And yet, Dârujan seemed to calm down somewhat once he was sitting on the stairs outside, overlooking the courtyard and driveway, although his face was still pinched in a frown and he paused frequently to look imploringly at the road beyond the hedge. There was no ready talk now, no saying what he meant. He didn't smile until at last Bâgri and Jômar returned in the late afternoon. Dârujan greeted them like old friends then, while their response was more restrained - whether it was because they did not share Dârujan's feelings, or whether it was their usual caution, I couldn't tell. Either way, Dârujan's brow uncreased and his tense shoulders relaxed a little, and more so when Sidi came back not long after

Talmar arrived escorted by two men - an older man, who introduced himself as her uncle, and his son, her cousin - who looked around curiously but kept their eyes lowered while we made small talk, and left soon after.
Khûraz, Nôrim, Oyam and Rôphar returned together, in high spirits, although they stopped singing once they entered the grounds and saw me.
"You could have kept singing," I said, "I do not mind it."
"Ah," Oyam said with the slightest blush, "but it is a naughty song."
"Is it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now I'm determined to know what it's about," I said.
Guards and stablehands exchanged embarrassed glances. Eventually, Khûraz explained, "Well, there are this young man and woman. They are newly married. And on the first day of marriage, they, um. Have love in the bedchamber. And on the second day, they have love in the kitchen. And on the third day, they have love in the stables. And so on, every day a new place, until on the seventh day..."
"... they do it in all of these places in a row," I guessed, familiar with how drinking songs worked.
Khûraz shook his head. "No, sir, on the seventh day they are too exhausted from too much love and sleep all day."
I laughed, surprised, and Khûraz grinned. "You understand the joke!"
He sounded amazed at that. Perhaps us grand men of Yôzayân weren't expected to show a sense of humour, but I didn't see what harm it could do, so I chose not to worry about it.

I had other things to worry about, anyway. Now that some of his fellows had returned, Dârujan was calmer again, but I couldn't help but notice that Yorzim and Êlal were still absent, and the brief Umbarian dawn was now well on its way. Khûraz confirmed that their group had left the city not long before the gates were due to be closed, and they hadn't seen anyone else heading this way. I was beginning to fear that Elâl and Yorzim would get locked in the city, unable to make it back in time and violating the rule for the free day I had set. At last Êlal returned, out of breath from walking fast, and asked pardon for being so late - he had been kept too long, he said, and had barely made it through the city gates at closing time. Even bowing low in apology, he seemed more bouncy than usual, exuding an air of excitement, but I didn't have the presence of mind to ask about it. "Did you see Yorzim on the road?" I asked instead, although I suppose the two would probably have arrived together if they had met on the road.
Elâl duly shook his head, frowning. "Wasn't he here?"
"No, apparently he went to the city later."
"I did not see him," Êlal repeated, sounding alarmed, as if he expected to be blamed for it.
"Maybe he left by the south gate," suggested Sidi, joining us outside again. "Then he would have to go around half the city first."

But it grew later and still there was no sign of Yorzim. I was beginning to worry in earnest. It was now completely dark, and as far as I knew, he didn't have a lamp, and the road was unlit. By day, it was a reasonably even road, sitting on an elevated bank between the fields and vinyards. But in the dark, it was all to easy to imagine somebody stumbling off the bank, twisting an ankle or hitting their head on a stone. I could see on the faces of the other apprentices that they were also worried - Bâgri had drifted into one of his moods in which he went very still and looked through everything at things that nobody else could see; Sidi kept glancing at the road in the middle of his conversation with Êlal, who had little beads of sweat on his brow that seemed out of place in the cool night air - and decided to send two of the guards with lanterns to see if Yorzim lay injured by the roadside somewhere. In the meantime, we sat in the hall so Zâdosh's lovingly prepared dinner would not go cold. The stablehands as well as Rophâr and Oyam continued to be cheerful and slightly noisy - I suspected that they had drunk somewhat more wine than they could handle - but the apprentices, including our new addition, were downcast. Êlal seemed to attempt to get Sidi to say something, a few times, but Sidi shushed him each time.

It was closing on midnight when the guards returned - without Yorzim. "We didn't see anyone on the road, or off it, either. Went all the way to the city and asked at all the gates, and they said they didn't see anyone who looked like Yorzim leave the city in the afternoon, or ask to be let out after closing," Hâmzir reported.
Sidi spoke up, carefully. "Perhaps he knew that it was too late, and found a place to stay in the city."
I felt my lips purse in displeasure. "Perhaps, but that shouldn't have happened in the first place. He knew he would have to be here on time."
"Perhaps something important kept him," Sidi said in a strained tone, but when I asked what kind of important thing he had in mind, exactly, he didn't have an answer.

We did not get any work done the next day. Yorzim did not turn up in the morning, as I had secretly hoped. He did not turn up by noon, either. At this point I began to fear that he had run into serious trouble. Perhaps there had been a misunderstanding and he had been arrested. Or perhaps he had been mugged and dragged off the road by outlaws. I saw myself obliged to ride into the city and make enquiries. I hated to do that - word would doubtlessly come to Darîm or Lord Roitaheru or both, and I felt awkward about having introduced my apprentices and servants to the shocking idea of a free day outside of holidays in the first place - but I was now worried in earnest. Not that it did any good. The city guard had no helpful information. They had arrested nobody who fitted my description of Yorzim, and a look both into the cells and the pillory confirmed that he wasn't there. The polite Umbarian officer on duty even looked up who had been on gate and street duty the previous day, so we could ask the guards if anyone had any idea of Yorzim's whereabouts. None of them had any memory of seeing a middle-aged Umbarian man with Yorzim's broad jaw and strong eyebrows in the livery registered for my embalmers. Either he had changed his clothing somewhere along the road, or he had never entered the city at all.

"This Yorzim had an errand here in the city, yes?" the Umbarian officer enquired, and I nodded gratefully; an errand, if word spread further, was better than a day off.
"I'm afraid you may want to consider that your man has made a run for it, sir," the officer said in his businesslike manner.
I very much did not want to consider that. The thought had crossed my mind, very briefly, but I had refused to entertain it - surely Yorzim had much more to lose than he could hope to win, and he must be aware of that. Nonetheless, I couldn't deny that it was a possibility. If he hadn't had an accident, or been arrested, or abducted, then it unfortunately stood to reason that he had run away.
"Yes. Maybe he has," I was forced to acknowledge.
The officer pulled a sheet of paper towards him and asked, "Would you like me to send out search parties to hunt him down?"
I thought about it. If Yorzim had tried to run away - or if he was hurt, or if he had been attacked - then a search should probably start as soon as possible, to have a better chance of finding him. But if he had tried to run, and the guards did find him, then I would have very little choice but to send him back to prison. There was no love lost between Yorzim and me, but I still hated the thought.
"Let's give him another day, in case he comes to his senses," I heard myself say.
The officer pulled up his eyebrows, but all he replied was, "As you wish, sir."

I had hoped that Yorzim would, against all reason, have returned by the time I came back to the house, but he hadn't done me the favour. The apprentices were anxious; even the guards cast me worried looks and spoke in hushed voices. They probably thought me stupid for not sending them or the city guard out to drag Yorzim back from wherever he was hiding. Perhaps they were already discussing mutiny. I probably deserved it. I felt awful. None of this would have happened if I had been a better employer, I knew, and while my failure wasn't really unexpected, it was certainly frustrating. Before my mind's eye, I could see a whole chorus of wise and authoritative men assembled to examine my case, shaking their heads in reproach and disappointment and pronouncing their judgement. I could practically hear their voices: the King ("I knew from the beginning that he'd never amount to anything"), Lord Atanacalmo ("I thought that perhaps he might have it in him, but obviously I was wrong"), Master Amrazor ("He was always a base wretch, you know"), Lord Roitaheru ("I expect it simply was too early to give him such responsibility"), Lord Herucalmo ("Unable to maintain discipline - he never managed to learn even the most basic skills"), Darîm ("I warned him against being too friendly, I assure you!"), even Lord Eärendur ("It was too much to ask of someone like him; you should never have expected these things!") all pronouncing me useless.

I walked around the grounds aimlessly and finally sat down at the further end of the garden, where an irrigation channel informally marked the border to the vinyard. In truth, I was tempted to hide among the vines to have a secret cry. Part of me even was jealous of Yorzim. I, too, should have turned my back on all of this. I told myself that I could still run away - cross the mountains, hide in the desert, maybe make it to some distant land unknown even to the boldest Venturer. It was nonsense, of course. I would die of thirst, or starve, or fall down a ravine, or get lost, or be attacked by robbers, or enslaved by desert people. More likely yet, I wouldn't be gone for a day or two until Lord Roitaheru's guards would find me and he would shake his head, sternly, and remind me that I should have come to him at the first sign of trouble. Even if it were at all feasible that I would get away with it, I knew I couldn't do it. I had responsibilities, after all. I was terrible at them, but I had them, and that was that. So yet again, I did not run away. I simply sat at the edge of the channel, legs dangling, and tore spikelets off the grass, plucking them apart just so my nervous fingers had something to occupy them while I tried to figure out how to proceed. I'd have to confess what I had done to Lord Roitaheru and ask him to clean up the mess, presumably. I probably should've done that hours ago. And then, in the future, I'd have to be more strict - if Lord Roitaheru wouldn't strip me of my position and send me back home in discgrace after all, that is.

After a while, I could hear footsteps approaching - respectfully, but inexorably - and I hastily tossed away the shredded grass flowers, wiped my eyes and stood up. It was Urdad, his face carefully blank. "Do you have time, sir? We are wondering what to do with Yorzim."
I was obviously not doing anything important, or anything at all, and had time enough, so the question struck me as strange. Not that I would've known how to broach the subject any better, if I had been in Urdad's place, but he could have come to the point directly.
I sighed, trying to pull myself together. "Well, I will have to bring the matter to my lord's attention tomorrow, I suppose, and after that it's out of my hands." The coward's way out, I thought in self-contempt.
"Ah," Urdad said, grimacing a little. "Yes. Right. Will you allow Yorzim to explain himself first, nonetheless?"
I gave a half-laugh. "Sure, if I see him first, but the chances of that are low, aren't they."
Now Urdad was genuinely frowning; then he put his fist against his brow and bowed his head. "He is here, sir! In front of the house, sir. I am sorry, I should have said that first."
By the time he had finished the sentence, I was already on my way to the front.

Yorzim was indeed there. He was kneeling in the front yard, head tilted back and eyes closed as though exhausted, although he opened his eyes when he head me approach. For a second, our eyes met - I thought I could see a sort of dull anger, the sort you feel when the world seems to be set entirely against you and you don't feel that it's right and you can't do anything about it, but the moment was too brief to be sure - before he put his hands on the ground and bowed his head over them, the very image of contrition.
Two of the guards stood behind him, and assuming that they had gone out and searched for him while I had been unmanned by my frustration, I asked them, "Where did you find him?"
Hâmzir tilted his head. "On the road, sir," he said.

Without looking up, Yorzim interrupted. "They did not find me. I came back myself." His voice, too, suggested anger - a suppressed anger, nothing that threatened to turn violent, but it was anger, not regret or shame or anything of the sort. I couldn't help taking note of that.
"You came back a full day late," I pointed out. "Can you give me a good reason for that?"
Yorzim replied, bowing his head lower yet, "No, Master."
That, I cannot deny it, made me angry. I had been worried about him, damn it, fearing that he'd had an accident, that he was lying somewhere by the roadside, hurt, or that he had been attacked by robbers, or that he had been arrested and locked up - and now that he was back and could explain himself, he had nothing to say.
"Well, why are you late?" I asked, trying to keep my anger in check.
He did not immediately reply, not until I said, again, "Well?!"
Yorzim sighed. "I misjudged the time, Master. I apologise very much."
He did not sound all that apologetic - resigned, perhaps, but not as though he truly felt in the wrong. And perhaps he wasn't. I very much tried to remind myself that there could still be a good reason for his delay, even though Yorzim wasn't exactly doing himself any favours by holding it back, if there was one. "What do you mean, you misjudged the time? Where did you go?"
"Into town, Master."

Now it was getting hard to reign in my temper. "That's a lie. We searched for you, when you didn't come home, you know. We thought you needed help! We searched the roads and we searched the town and we asked the city guard, and it appears that you never even got there."
It sounded as though Yorzim, too, was growing impatient. "I mean, into my home town, Master."
"And where would that be?"
"Too far to go to and back in one afternoon, Master."
Was he trying to rile me up? It certainly felt like it. I knew that he didn't like me, and I suppose he didn't have to, but he did have to respect me, and it seemed that he wasn't doing that, either. Understandable, really, but not at all helpful. "And you didn't know that when you set out?"
His shoulders slumped. Perhaps he wasn't looking to annoy me on purpose after all. "I thought I could make it if I went very fast. It was my mistake. But I realised too late."
I let out a long, slow breath, trying to calm myself. Half the household was watching, silently, to learn what was going to happen; this undignified scene would have to come to an end. In truth, I would have preferred interrogating Yorzim further to put off the unavoidable conclusion, pronouncing judgement. I very much did not want to do that. But this was leading nowhere, and I would have to finish it somehow either way.

"You realise that I will have to punish you," I said, hoping that Yorzim would now - finally - give me some excuse for not punishing him.
But no. All he said was, "You will do what you will have to do."
Exasperated, I folded my arms across my chest. "By rights I should be sending you back to prison," I said, and that was true. I had promised Lord Roitaheru as much - no excessive generosity and no second chances. I didn't want to give up on Yorzim - even now - but I had to admit to myself that it wasn't like Yorzim appreciated generosity, or that he even wanted a second chance.
And yet... I could see that he had tensed at my words, that his fists had clenched, that there was a tremour in his arms that hadn't been there earlier, that his head had sunk lower yet. Over his silence, his body seemed to scream No.
My soft heart stirred. Taking another slow breath, I said, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't."
At that, Yorzim raised his head to stare at me - brow creased, eyes searching, lips drawn back in a grimace of fear rather than fury - and said, after a moment's staring, "What do you want me to say?!"

He sounded every bit as exasperated as I felt - almost reproachful, really. I exploded. "Well, just as I said - give me a reason why I should keep you here! You obviously don't want to be here. You don't obey me. You probably came to the point of running away today. So I expect you'll be much happier away from here - even if it's in prison." That last part came out rather more bitter than it should, but I didn't have the strength to hide my hurt feelings. I was trying to build a bridge for him; why did he refuse to walk over it?
Yorzim was still staring at me intensely, helpless anger in his eyes. I was aware of the other stares - from the guards, the servants, the other apprentices, and Urdad - and hated the whole dreadful situation. Perhaps most of my anger with Yorzim came from bringing me into this dilemma. Perhaps the rest of it came from the knowledge that I had brought it onto myself.
"I came back," Yorzim said.
And there it was.

It was not a particularly strong reason, and with a stronger man than me, it would surely not have been enough. As it was, I was desperate for any reason not to condemn Yorzim and admit my failure. It was true; he had come back, even though he had probably known that there would be consequences. He had come back, even though he could have stayed away and enjoyed his brief spell of freedom until forced to return, dragged, perhaps, by one of the guard's search parties. He had come back, even though perhaps he could have run further away and gone into hiding, hoping that he would eventually be forgotten.
That had to count for something.
"Right," I said, "you came back." I took a steadying breath, and said, "But I will still have to punish you."
He nodded, closed his eyes, waited.
"The next time that the others are allowed to go out on their own, you will stay here - as you initially said you would yesterday," I said, which certainly felt reasonable and appropriate, although Yorzim's face clenched as if I'd struck him.

I would still have to strike him, I knew, because that was the sort of punishment that was expected. There was nothing I could do about it. I remembered how often I had been on the receiving end, and that should've made it easier because it was such a commonplace thing, but I still hated it. I hated myself even as I condemned him to twenty lashes, and it was only marginally helpful that Yorzim also deserved my anger because if only he hadn't been so stupid, I wouldn't have to do this at all.
Not that I did do it myself. One small relief of having guards was that I could hand over the awful business of giving Yorzim his beating. I felt - once more - like a coward. But judging by the mess I had made back at the mines, this was probably for the better; Oyam (who ended up with the distasteful task) struck hard, but in a regular and predictable manner, and it was over quickly. Yorzim took it reasonably well. In fact, he seemed significantly less put out by it than I was, although he was the one suffering and I was merely watching - but then, I had always been squeamish. I knew that it wasn't particularly harsh punishment, all things considered. But I hated it nonetheless, and once it was administered, I told Urdad that I needed time to myself and did not wish to be disturbed before dinner. In that time, I tried to recompose myself and penned down some bitter lines in a letter home that I probably wouldn't send.

Yorzim was - understandably, I suppose - grim and taciturn at dinner. When I had come down to rejoin the household, I had seen him in a corner in urgent conversation with Sidi (who had looked very upset - whether with Yorzim or with me, I couldn't tell), but he didn't talk after we had sat down at the table. Jômar was downcast. Bâgri, for some strange reason, seemed more relaxed than I had seen him in a long time. Elâl's eyes kept flitting to my face, and then back to his food, frequently, as if I were a dangerous animal that needed to be watched. Even Dârujan did not attempt to talk much, and I noticed that he was eating less than yesterday, too. I regretted very much that he'd had to witness such a scene right at the start of his work for me. Sidi appeared to be bracing himself for some unpleasant task.

He braved it after dinner, when he cautiously approached me, bowing low and asking, "Sorry to disturb, but may I make a request?"
I told myself that it was unreasonable to be annoyed by politeness, particularly today, and replied, "You certainly may."
"On Yorzim's behalf," Sidi said, tilting his head back to peer up at me.
"Let's hear it," I said in what I hoped was an even tone.
"Master Urdad said that you were going to tell the Governor of Yorzim's lateness," Sidi said.
Grimacing, I said, "Yes. That's what I told him. But that was before I knew that Yorzim was back."
Sidi frowned. "Do you mean that you are not going to tell the Governor any longer?" he asked after a moment's puzzlement.
"I should," I said grimly. "But I'm not sure that Lord Roitaheru wouldn't put Yorzim back in prison, and I decided to give him a second chance." I sighed before I could stop myself. "I just wish he'd given me more to work with."
"More to work with, Master?"
"A good reason. Something to explain why he was late - other than misjudging the distance." I couldn't help but snort in derision.
Tilting his head, Sidi asked, "Would that have helped?"
"Yes, of course!"
"You wouldn't have thought he was making excuses?"
"Well, maybe I would, but how is that worse than 'I misjudged the distance'? How does that even happen? He should know the distance, shouldn't he. I mean, he's lived here all his life."
Sidi grimaced - in sympathy, or maybe in confusion - and said, "I do not know."
I hadn't expected him to. "I know. But it makes it hard for me to know if I'm doing the right thing."
Silence. If Sidi had any thoughts on the matter, he clearly wasn't inclined to share them.
I asked, "Do you know where that town is, where Yorzim went?"

More silence. At long last, Sidi said, "I cannot say."
I sighed. "So you don't know how far away it is. I guess I'll have to ask Darîm."
At that, Sidi flinched, giving me a pained look. "Do you have to speak to the Darîm about this?"
It was my turn to frown now. "Shouldn't I?"
"You will do what you think is right, Master," Sidi said, "but it would be very good for Yorzim if you did not tell the Darîm."
Something about the request rubbed me the wrong way. "Why isn't Yorzim talking to me himself?"
A tense smile. "Yorzim fears that it would anger you. More than he already has. So he would not dare to ask himself, today, and tomorrow might be too late."
"Surely I haven't been that unreasonable," I said. "Most others would have been less lenient, I'm sure. Some kind of punishment was necessary."

"Yes, of course," Sidi agreed readily. "There need to be consequences. Or the others would wonder why they should follow the rules. That is natural. Yorzim knows it too. Or he will, after his pride no longer stings. But Yorzim is afraid that the consequences of telling the Governor or the Darîm would be... worse. Much worse."
"You respect the Darîm more than you respect me," I heard myself say. It wasn't a question; I had no doubt that it was the truth.
Sidi still had the grace of acting scandalised. "No, no! We do not! We have the greatest respect for you. But you already know. But the Darîm..."
I had a sour taste in my mouth. For all Sidi's words, it was obvious that Darîm was the real concern - more than even Lord Roitaheru, perhaps.

Unfortunately, I myself wasn't too keen on Darîm hearing about my failure. Hadn't he told me not to be too friendly, and hadn't I ignored his advice? No matter that I didn't need to follow his advice or even his commands, no matter how politely he would word his disapproval, disapproval there would be. I really could do without that.
"I will have no need to talk to Darîm, as long as Yorzim doesn't offend again, I suppose," I said. "But I will need to see that he follows the rules, from now on."
"Thank you, Master," Sidi said in obvious relief. "He will be grateful. I am grateful. I will tell him."
"Do that," I said - gracelessly, I suppose. I didn't have any grace left in me that day.
"One more thing?" Sidi said. "Not on Yorzim's behalf."
"On your own behalf?" I asked, but Sidi shook his head. "No; for Elâl. I know the time is bad, but it is urgent for him."

I remembered Elâl's curious behaviour, both the day before and today. "Alright," I said. If nothing else, at least I'd find out what that had been about, and perhaps it would be a good distraction.
Sidi waved to Elâl, who hurried over. Unless I was much mistaken, there was an air of excitement about him - a barely contained impatience that wanted to be let out at last.
"Elâl has a request to make," Sidi declared, and then gave Elâl an encouraging nudge. It looked funny - Sidi, looking old and stooped and starting to go frail, encouraging Elâl, broad-shouldered and strong and as tall as the Umbari got - and I nearly smiled in spite of everything.

Contrary to his powerful looks, Elâl's voice sounded nervous. He spoke quietly, and very fast, as though scared that he would forget what he wanted to say if he didn't get on with it, or as if worried that I'd interrupt him before he had finished. "Yes. I have a request. I was told that I could fight in the spring festival this year. I would like that very much. Will you give me your permission?"
"Fight in the spring festival?" Remembering the talk about athletics and the arena and the prizes for champions at yesterday's council session - how long ago that felt! - I asked, "Oh, you mean, compete?"
Elâl turned to Sidi, frowning, but smiled and nodded eagerly when Sidi translated the word into the language of Umbar. "Yes! Compete. I was invited to compete in the spring festival. It is very special."
"I see," I said.
"Elâl is very strong," Sidi said, as if I hadn't noticed. "He could be a winner. It's a great honour."

Elâl was also quite obviously excited about the prospect. I did smile now, because his enthusiasm was a relief after the worry and frustration of the past day, and said, "Well, as long as you do not neglect your work, I don't see why you shouldn't compete."
Again, Elâl turned to Sidi for clarification.
"You give permission?" he asked after Sidi had translated, giving me a hopeful stare.
"Yes, I give permission."
"Yes!" Elâl exclaimed gleefully, then took both my hands and kissed them and touched them to his brow. "I will practice before and after work. Not during work. I promise." He straightened, grinning broadly. "I will bring you great honour!"

"Yes, well, just do your best," I said, feeling my face burn. How often had I kissed hands and shown reverence, without thinking twice about it? How long would it take until I'd no longer feel like an impostor when the hands in question were my own?
Still, Elâl was happy, and that was more than could be said for the rest of us. I could only hope that some of it would rub off on the rest of us. And that Yorzim would indeed follow the rules from now on, of course. I didn't dare to imagine what trouble I would get into if he misstepped again.