The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 7

It turned out that I did have a home still, though the door was open and the garden full of people with all sorts of lanterns and torches lit. I ran ahead of my little troop then, foolishly, as if I on my own could have done anything (or indeed as if I could be certain that the others would follow me, and not turn on me at once).
But I did not need to do anything. As I came closer, I saw that the people in our garden were talking and eating, not fighting. That surprised me so much that I stopped in my tracks until the others caught up with me.
I took a deep, steadying breath, and took the horse's reins then; and we marched to my house.

The crowd outside fell silent. For a while they simply stared at us, wondering where we came from or perhaps sizing us up for a fight. Then they broke into loud cheers and surged forwards, and suddenly I was surrounded by people chattering and crying and embracing each other. Probably I should have taken care of Târinzil and Zâbulon first, but I could wait no longer. I left the others to their own purposes and ran inside.
And there by the hearth, Eru be praised and thanked, was my Amraphel, safe and hale for all I could see.
"The guard?" she said when she saw me. I only shook my head before wrapping her in my arms. To my embarrassment I began to cry with relief, until little Azruphel came running.
"Why is Atto crying?" she said, tugging on Amraphel's sleeve. I wiped my face.
"I was crying because I'm so happy that you are all well," I said, dabbing at my foolish eyes while Azruphel hugged my leg. Turning back to Amraphel, I asked, "You are all well, aren't you?"
"Oh yes," she replied with a smile.
I closed my eyes. "I was so scared that they'd hurt you."
"It probably was a close call, but they're not actually bad people."
"I know. Yet..." I stopped myself. It didn't matter what could have happened – it hadn't happened after all.
"Yet we have the house full of hungry visitors?" Amraphel finished the sentence for me (though that was not at all what I had meant to say). "So we do, but I figured that was the lesser evil."
"Oh yes," said I, and lifted up Azruphel so that she could see that I was no longer weeping. She studied my face very seriously; I smiled to show that truly it was all right, and with that smile the painful tension I'd felt began to ease.
"How did you bring this miracle to pass?" I asked of Amraphel.
She smiled, handing me a bowl of stew. "I invited them to supper. I assume at the time they just figured that a free meal was nothing to be sneezed at. Or perhaps they were curious what rich people had for dinner."
I looked down at my bowl. If that was indeed the reason, our neighbours must have been sorely disappointed. Millet and lentils and onions and bacon: Good fare, but nothing out of the ordinary.
"Originally, they probably just meant to gather strength and to strike afterwards; but I don't think they mean us harm anymore, not at the moment at any rate."
I listened to the noises outside: Shouting and crying and laughing, and dozens of voices talking at once so that not a word could be understood. They could have been plotting our death, or having a feast – I couldn't tell.
I was loath to ever let Amraphel and the others out of my sight again; but I had to take care of the poor horse at the very least. I ate my stew hastily, and went back outside into the crowd.

The horse had disappeared.
I looked around in alarm, and almost panicked when somebody grasped my shoulders. "Lord Azruhâr, you've really –"
"Don't call me that!" I snapped. The red face of Enrakôr the Taller – the hands on my shoulders were his – took on a puzzled expression, but I had no patience left for explanations. "The horse," I said. "Where in blazes is the horse?"
Enrakôr frowned and said, "Îbalad took it. To the stables, my –"
I left him standing in the yard and rushed off to the stables.
Surprisingly enough, Îbalad was indeed there, and not (from the looks of it) to steal the second horse. He looked up from rubbing the horse dry as I came in, and then turned his focus back to the mare, who stood patiently, accepting his ministrations. I watched for a while, catching my breath.
"Here you are," I finally said for the sake of breaking the silence. He did not answer.
"I thought you had stolen the horse," I said, somewhat lamely.
This time, he looked up and held my gaze. His face was flushed. "I am no thief," he spat.
"You wanted to take my house," I couldn't help pointing out, and he looked down again. I could see his broad hands clench into fists. I was fairly certain that he was stronger than I. He certainly was taller, and broader in the shoulders. I was too exhausted to be afraid.
"Nothing happened," he said so softly that I almost didn't hear it.
"Oh, and no doubt I owe that happy circumstance to you," I said.
"No," said Îbalad. At least he was honest. "No, you owe it to your wife." His eyes met mine again, and now there was a light in them. "She's a clever one, your wife, I've never met anyone like her. She is a lady – a real lady. 'You're just in time for dinner,' she said, 'but I'm afraid we don't have bowls for all of you. Why don't you go and fetch your own dishes, and we can eat together?' And everyone just did what she said, they didn't even dream about asking questions or just taking the food without her permission. Authority, that's what she has. She's –"
I was proud of Amraphel, so proud! But I was also angry. This man had tried to attack my family, and now he was singing my wife's praises. It did not matter that nothing had happened in the end. It did not matter whether he had just been incited by others. I had never wronged him, and yet he had threatened my family. I was so angry that my hands seemed to take on a life of their own, and wanted nothing more than to strike him and drive him to the ground. I just barely managed to control myself.
Something of my fury must have registered, for Îbalad abruptly stopped himself and started rubbing the mare's side again as if he was paid for it. I gritted my teeth, trying to reign my temper in. For a while, the only sound was the chewing and the soft snorting of the horses.
"Will you cast us out?" Îbalad said when he could no longer conceivably be busy with the horse.
I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. "I should, shouldn't I."
"I suppose so," Îbalad said. Silence again. Then he said, in his usual sullen voice, "I won't beg pardon."
"Fine. Don't, then." That earned me an incredulous stare. I shrugged. I could surely be as sullen as he.
"Will you cast us out?" he asked after a long pause.
"Yes. No. I don't know yet. What good would it do? But I should." Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at myself. A miracle that I had managed to fool the guards, I thought.
Îbalad's jaw worked as though he had something unpleasant sticking between his teeth. "I'd be very glad if you didn't," he said.
"I can imagine."
"I swear something like today won't happen again," he said, giving me a more sullen stare than ever.
I glared back at him.
"I'll hold you to that oath, Îbalad, and don't you dare break it. If you ever threaten me or my family again, I will kill you. And I won't do it fast."
And in that moment, I meant it.

The next day I woke with a severe fever and a splitting headache, and was confined to my bed for several days. I could not go to work, or even around the house, and I expected that guards would come to drag me to the catacombs or else to prison every moment. Amraphel told me that my fretting just made my sickness worse, but I could hardly help it, could I? I think she eventually drugged me with the help of Thâmaris the healer, for I remember very little until I was well enough to rise at last, and sit by the hearth for a bowl of broth. I was so eager to get rid of the dirty aftertaste of willow-bark that I almost burned my tongue.
"Where is everybody?" I asked when I had eaten, for it was uncharacteristically quiet.
Amraphel gave me a tired smile. "The children are with Thâmaris so they don't catch your fever. Khibuleth and the others are visiting friends. Îbalad is gone --"
"He left? The bloody fool. I don't think I'd have the heart to cast him out."
Amraphel clucked her tongue. "Let me finish and you won't be confused. He is gone to see the executions."

That was how I learned about the aftermath of the uprisings. Those who had instigated the rebellion (or those, at any rate, accused by their erstwhile followers) had been judged guilty of treason, and today was the second day of their punishment.
"So now Îbalad has gone to see the torments, has he," I said, and couldn't keep the edge out of my voice.
"Yes. He says he owes it to them." She gave me an earnest look. "Azruhâr, Îbalad was one of the instigators, too."
I cannot say that I was surprised. "Yes, he likes to stir up trouble, no doubt. How glad he must be to see only his comrades suffer, and not himself!"
"I think he's well aware that he would suffer as well, if not for you."
I snorted, but Amraphel insisted. "It is true, you know. If he had been accused, then he, too, would be up on the scaffold now. But they were never questioned, those who could have accused him…"
"Because I had them freed," I said, realisation dawning, and groaned "Oh, this is going to be horrible. What of the others?"
"The others who were arrested? Breaking the Peace."
"Breaking the Peace," I repeated. That would mean a short term of imprisonment, and then some public punishment, a flogging or something of the sort, to deter imitators. Unpleasant, but you generally lived.
"Yes," Amraphel said. "So naturally our neighbours are rather grateful for your timely interference."
"Are they? Well, that's something."
Amraphel took my hands and stroked them. "That's something indeed. Some even brought gifts when they heard that you were ill."
"That is absurd. They cannot afford gifts."
"Yes, and they still brought some. Admittedly they're not big gifts, but it's the thought that counts. Do you realise what that means?"
"They don't currently hate me?"
Amraphel laughed. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose!" She kissed my forehead. "Back to bed with you," she said then. "You're still not rid of that fever."
"I have to go to work."
"Don't be absurd, you can't go in this state. At any rate, Master Târik has told me to keep you at home until you've recovered."
I let her lead me back to the bed, but I could not stop worrying.

When Îbalad came back, he looked very pale, and did not speak with us for a few days. We pretended that nothing had happened as well as we could.
I looked through the gifts brought by my neighbours. Amraphel was right. They weren't much – a needle-bound pouch, a towel with embroidery in the corners, a necklace made of wooden beads, that sort of thing – but somehow it was touching that they had sent gifts at all. I must admit that I almost cried.
They also treated me with the utmost politeness, once I was allowed out of the house and back to work again. It did more ill than good, though. Even Îbalad, when finally he broke his silence, started with the foolish 'Lord Azruhâr', no matter how often I told him to stop it.
His wife supported him. "Why won't you just accept it? It's meant as a compliment, you should know that."
"Well, he can call me 'dear Azruhâr' if he must, but 'Lord' is a title I haven't earned."
"Take it as a compliment," Khibuleth said.
"It doesn't matter how I take it," I explained, "but if the real lords hear about it, they won't be pleased. It's astonishing enough I haven't been arrested yet for my presumption."

I clearly should not have said that, for only two days later I received summons to present myself before the King's council on Valanya next.
Amraphel tried to calm me. "They did not say whether it is about… that business," she said. "Perhaps it has nothing to do with it. It might be about your work…"
"About my absence from work, at best." It was long in the past now, but I still remembered the threat that had come with my pardon. No matter where you hide, you will be found, and no mercy will save you then...
"About your progress," Amraphel insisted. "Or some new guidelines…"
"They would call on Master Târik for that kind of thing," I said.
Amraphel sighed. "Yes. I suppose they would. But for what it's worth, they did not take you with them right away. Whatever it is, you can justify yourself before the council."
And that was true, I suppose. It just was no consolation whatsoever.

I did not wear my fine robes on Valanya. I had first thought about putting on the old stuff I wore down in the catacombs, so I would look more humble, but Amraphel reasoned that the council might then think that I did not take them serious. I certainly did not want that, so I compromised on my normal robes – good but simple stuff, the clothing of a craftsman who had been fortunate in his choice of commissions. At least those felt natural, and did not add to my discomfort.

The soldiers at the palace did not seize me as soon as I arrived, which I tried to take as a good sign. Instead there was some trifling talk in which I tried to participate as best I could. Afterwards I was shown to the council chamber by an amiable watchman, who chattered about nothing more important than the lousy weather. The guards, I deduced, did not know why I was here, either.
The council was already in session when I was shown in, and they did not interrupt their discussion. Few even acknowledged my presence – Master Khôrazîr of the Raisers raised his eyebrows at me; Quentangolë the scribe, seated to the right of the Crown Prince, gave me a brief smile; the Crown Prince himself gave me a look so angry that I almost turned and fled on the spot. I trembled as I made my obeisance, and hoped that they would not notice – or otherwise that they might judge me more kindly, knowing my fear. I waited.

And waited on. Although I had arrived at the appointed hour, the council did apparently not yet care to deal with me. Instead, they were discussing politics.
"The colonies must pay additional tributes," said one of the lords, who looked to be only a little older than Quentangolë or I. "That is only just. We protect them, after all, so they should pay their dues."
"But they already have paid their dues," an older man with a well-trimmed beard said.
The young lord waved his hand dismissively. "Onions and nuts," he said, "for Yôzayan! Onions and nuts to feed the greatest nation!"
"As I understand it, they sent as much as they could afford. That should surely be enough, even for, as you say, the greatest nation," said the old lord who had protested before.
"More than they could afford," said another man in the blue robes of the Venturers. "Their harvest was no better than ours – worse, from what I've heard. I have it on good authority that the Lord Governor of Tharbad already had difficulties feeding his people before the second tribute, and certainly he has more difficulties now."
"The Lord Governor of Tharbad's difficulties are not our concern," the Crown Prince interrupted sharply. He sat on the left-hand side of the empty throne, slouched in his ornate chair and glowering at the poor Venturer.
Had the Crown Prince spoken to me like that, I would have crumbled to ashes, I think; but the reprimanded Venturer merely smiled. "Why, as Lord Séretur so aptly said, they do pay so that we protect them. Letting them starve for our sake hardly seems like good protection to me."
"If I may remind my esteemed colleague," a councillor in spectacular velvet robes said, "that we hear rumours about people starving in the very streets of Arminalêth…?"

They continued arguing, and I began to feel a little resentful. I didn't want to be here, after all, and though I was afraid of whatever the outcome of my trial (for surely that was why I was here, for trial?) would be, I'd rather know it at once than be kept waiting forever. But except for the occasional glance from Quentangolë, who was busy taking notes (I wondered whether he had to write down everything that was said, and if so, how he managed, for the argument was growing heated and the councillors spoke very quickly), the council ignored me. Servants appeared now and then to refill the councillor's glasses, and one of them offered a glass to me as well, but I did not dare to accept it. Instead I stood and waited, trying not to dwell too much on the distressing sight of the empty throne, and to keep my face blank in case one of the councillors should look my way after all.
And they all did, as one man, for the Crown Prince suddenly interrupted the squabbling councillors and said, "Perhaps the Lord Azruhâr has something to contribute to our discussion? Do speak, Lord Azruhâr. What do you think we should do in the face of this crisis?"

I did not crumble after all, but I think it was a close call. The Crown Prince had a terrifying glint in his eyes, and some of the councillors almost matched him with their grim stares. A few appeared merely stern but not furious, and one or two perhaps only looked at me with some curiosity. Quentangolë gave me a look that suggested that he felt sorry for me.
And I opened my mouth, and said, "I… I don't know, your Highness."
The Prince's lips curled into a sneer. "What, a nobleman without an opinion? What a rare creature."
The floor was made of polished white stone with blue and green veins in it. It was probably some sort of marble, but I had never seen its like before. The marble you usually saw around was white and brown, or white and grey, or yellowish instead of white, but I had not known that it could also be blue and green. It was very beautiful. It was not, however, kind enough to swallow me.
"Your Highness knows that I am no nobleman," I said, or rather croaked. My throat felt very dry.
"Yes. We know that indeed." The glint in his eyes gave way to the same sternness I could see on the faces of the gathered councillors. He took up a heavy book bound in stained leather. I recognised it: It was the watch book.
"'Released at the pleasure of Lord Azruhâr the Embalmer'," the Prince read out. "We were a bit puzzled, to be honest, who that might be. Our Lord Eärendur here," he glanced at one of the councillors, the one who had defended the colonies, "does not, I believe, commonly use an Adûnaic name. And even if he did, he is most certainly not an embalmer…"
The Lord Eärendur pursed his lips as if disgusted by the idea. He probably was.
"But lo!" the Crown Prince went on. "All those released live in the same part of town, and by some odd chance they all live in the vicinity of a certain apprentice embalmer by the name of Azruhâr." He lowered the book and looked at me, and I returned to my study of the marble.
"So we have been wondering, you see, we have been wondering. Would you, by any chance, be that Lord Azruhâr?"
Well, what point was there in denying it? "I am that Azruhâr, your Highness."
"But not Lord Azruhâr?"
I frowned at my feet. He knew that already! "No, royal Highness."
"Then why does it say 'Lord Azruhâr' in the watch book, Azruhâr? Would you care to explain that to us?"
One of the councillors rolled his eyes. I suspected that he might be the one who had been present during my pardon, the one who had spoken against me. I was not entirely certain - I had been rather preoccupied and not paid much attention to anybody but the King - but I thought I had seen his face from the corners of my eyes. Now, however, he seemed to be bored rather than hostile.
"Would you care to explain, Azruhâr?" the Crown Prince snapped again.
"It was a misunderstanding, your Highness," I said.
"A misunderstanding?"
I could not stop staring at the councillor. He was no longer rolling his eyes, but he really was looking rather bored. That was a relief compared to the fierce look in the Crown Prince's eyes. He hated me, I thought, he really hated me.
"Yes, your Highness," I said without daring to look at him again. "I was wearing very fine robes that day, and so the guards thought I was a noble. I am very sorry."
There was some laughter. "Yes, fine feathers make fine birds," said the lord sitting next to the one in the splendid velvet, who turned sharply to glare at his neighbour. Quentangolë was scribbling furiously.
"Do you know what the punishment for assumption of authority is, Azruhâr?" asked the Prince.
My heart hammered in my chest; I could hardly breathe fast enough. "Not precisely, your Highness," I managed to say. And somewhat more softly, I mumbled, "Something painful that involves public humiliation, I expect."
This time, all the councillors laughed. They laughed for a good while, and the Crown Prince was left alone to glower at me.
"What an astute understanding of the law you have," one of the lords told me, and he was grinning. I did not know what to reply, so I bit my lip and said nothing.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," the Lord Eärendur said when the general mirth had subsided, "but if I may…? After all, my name was involved."
"Yes, certainly," said the Crown Prince with an annoyed flick of his wrist.
"Look at me, Azruhâr," said Lord Eärendur, so I did. His face reminded me of the King's – more so, in fact, than that of the Prince, perhaps because he was older. There were wrinkles around his eyes that suggested that he had smiled a lot in his life. He was not smiling now. "You say the guards mistook you for a nobleman because you were wearing fine robes?" Lord Eärendur said.
"Yes, my lord."
"Did you actually tell the guards that you were a nobleman?"
I pondered the question, trying to remember the exact circumstances. I was no longer certain what I had or hadn't said – although it had only been two weeks ago, what with the eventful night and the fever afterwards I could not recall it perfectly. "No, my lord," I tried. "Only that I was an embalmer…"
Master Khôrazîr of the Raisers snorted. "Which is quite the opposite," he said. I caught myself in time – almost I would have glared at him. That smug bastard, I thought.
"In that case, it would appear to me that the guards did the assuming, not your Azruhâr," said Lord Eärendur to the Crown Prince, who grimaced as though he had bitten into something sour.
"He is most assuredly not our Azruhâr," he said, glowering. "If anything, he is our father's Azruhâr. At any rate, he did not correct the guards when they called him a lord, now did you, embalmer?"
"I did not," I admitted. "I was trying to save my family, so I was preoccupied and forgot to protest." Only a small lie, I told myself, almost not a lie at all. My cheeks grew hot anyway.
"And in order to save your family, you had the very same people who had been marching against the storehouses released from prison?"
There were some raised eyebrows, but the councillor who had rolled his eyes earlier pointed out, in a dry tone of voice, "Well, they had clearly not been marching against his family." His seat next to the Crown Prince implied that he was of very high rank – a direct cousin or nephew of the King, maybe – which perhaps explained why he was not glared at. "Since the judgement is foregone anyway, shall we stop wasting our time?"
My breath quickened again. At the same time, I felt angry. If the judgement was foregone, why all these questions? Could they not condemn me directly and be done with it?
"It is vital that young Azruhâr understands the reprehensibility of his deeds, Uncle Atanacalmo," said the Crown Prince, mustering me like one looks at a nasty insect.
"I do!" I blurted out. He hated me whatever I did, I thought. It was not my fault.
"Do you?" the Prince said. "I am less certain. I think you have quite forgotten your rightful place, embalmer, and if the decision were mine, you would sorely feel the consequences."
I shuddered. I had no doubt that I would. He hated me enough to forego the plural; that said it all, didn't it? "Remember once and for all that you are Azruhâr the day-taler, Azruhâr the condemned, Azruhâr the nothing!"
"Alcarmaitë (1)," said Lord Atanacalmo. Whether it was protest or reprimand or warning or something else, I could not tell. I was confused. I was not entirely certain that I understood what was happening. What I did understand, in a flash of clarity that tore through my fear and resentment, was that the Crown Prince had it all wrong. Not I had forgotten my place - everyone else had. And that included even him. Azruhâr the day-taler, Azruhâr the nothing would simply have been dragged out of his house, and then scourged and put in the stocks or whatever the punishment for assumption of authority really was. Azruhâr the day-taler would certainly not have been formally summoned to appear before the King's council 'on Valanya next', with three days' warning. Yet here I was – and on my feet, too, and the skin on my back was (as yet, anyway) blessedly whole. Why that was, I did not know, but it was undeniable fact. And the Crown Prince, for all his talk, hated me – singled me out to waste such passion on me. I had forgotten my place? Hah!

"Unfortunately my father, venerable though he is, seems to have likewise forgotten what you are," the Crown Prince ranted on, unaware of my musings. "He appears to be inexplicably fond of you, and has decreed that if we should find you inclined to confess your transgression and repent of it, your assumption should be pardoned." His lips twisted in disgust.
I gaped, open-mouthed. My father appears to be inexplicably fond of you, I thought to myself. If the Prince had meant to intimidate or insult me with all this talk, he had certainly missed his mark – missed it by miles. Fond of me! His father! My King! If you had thrown me off a cliff in that moment, I think I would have floated. I would climb the Minultârik as soon as I could – this night, if I must – to pray for his health, that much was for certain. It was hard enough not to dash off that very moment.

"You appear surprised," Lord Atanacalmo observed, and I called myself to order as well as I could.
"I am, my lord," I said, and heard my voice tremble. "I did not expect to go unpunished."
"'Unpunished' remains to be seen," the Crown Prince said. "You are not to be punished for assumption of authority, but there is a different matter to settle."
He made a pause as if challenging me to protest, but I knew better than to speak. I waited.
He continued soon enough. "You have, after all, freed a goodly score of prisoners…"
Lord Eärendur laughed, and was glared at. Like the Venturer, he did not seem to take this to heart. Perhaps the Crown Prince just generally did a lot of glaring and hating, I thought, and you got used to it if you were a councillor?
"Would you care to explain what amuses you, Eärendur?" the Crown Prince said sharply, and I saw frowns on several faces.
"You make it sound as though he broke the gates and blasted the walls, Highness," Lord Eärendur said in a mild voice. "So far I believed that he had more or less gone and asked. That is perfectly lawful…"
"But since he is a commoner, he ought to have paid sureties, Eärendur," said Master Khôrazîr of the Raisers.
"Why, thank you for reminding me, Master Khôrazîr", Lord Eärendur said, and the way he said it, the honorific sounded like an insult. And perhaps it was, to a nobleman; it was, after all, a commoner's title only. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable again. I had not thought that the King's council was so much like a squabbling group of merchants. I did not think that it was a good idea to squabble over titles and sureties when the head of the council, the Crown Prince, was already close to exploding – although he seemed to be regaining his composure.
"Indeed, sureties, Eärendur," he said. "Sureties, Azruhâr. Will you pay what you should have paid?"
I blinked. That was all? This was about money? He had summoned me, a former day-taler, here over money, and in the same breath told me that I had forgotten what I was?
Out loud, I said, "Yes, certainly, your Highness."
He snorted. "You do not even know how much it will be, and you agree already?"
I grimaced, and amended, "I will if I can, your Highness."
"Listen well then!" Lord Atanacalmo said. "The surety is two weeks' pay. Your neighbours are all unskilled workers?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Hm. So that would be two Ships for each prisoner, then."
"Three Ships," the Crown Prince interrupted. "Think of the rising prices."
I had not meant to look incredulous, but it seems that I was too slow in controlling my features. Lord Atanacalmo raised his eyebrows and said, "Do you wish to say something?"
I tried to make my protest very carefully. "My lords, if my neighbours had a Ship and a half per week, or even just one, they would not have marched on the storehouses."
The lord Eärendur muttered something to his neighbour, but I could not understand what he said. The Crown Prince smiled. It was an unpleasant smile, I thought. "That is the price we have decreed, however. Do you doubt our judgement?"

And I found that I did. Son of the King though he was, and councillors of the King though the lords were, if they truly thought that a day-taler managed to earn a Ship in a week even when times were good, they were very clearly very ignorant. I bit my tongue, however, and bowed my head, and said nothing.
The Prince's smile was triumphant when I looked up again. "How many prisoners did you have freed? Two dozens?" he asked.
I wondered at the question. He had the watch-book, after all, so he should know well how many there had been. "Nine-and-twenty, your Highness," I said.
Raised eyebrows again. Had they expected me to lie? Did they think I was stupid? Well, probably they did – but that stupid?
"At a rate of three Ships per person, that makes..." the Crown Prince glanced at Quentangolë, who said "Four Trees and two Crowns and a half (2)", giving me an apologetic glance.
"Shall we make it a nice round sum?" the Crown Prince said to me. "Five shiny silver Trees?" He was no longer glaring now, and that surprised me. I should have thought that he was immeasurably rich, and that the thought of my five Trees should not cheer him so much. Or did he think that I would be badly hurt by the loss? At the rate of pay I was granted, five Trees meant ten weeks' work, and that was quite a lot of money, but even without knowing the exact amount of my savings I dared to hope that I could afford losing five Trees. It was unjust, since the sum was so clearly based on ridiculous assumptions, and so I hesitated – but it was not impossible.

They seemed to interpret my silence as refusal, for the Prince said, "Of course, you do not have to pay. We can simply have the breakers of the peace punished according to the law, and you fined only for the delay. That will cost you less..."
I bit my lips. "I will pay, your Highness," I said.
"Five Trees," he repeated, watching me closely.
"Yes, your Highness, five Trees," I repeated.
After a long pause, he said, "Very well then. Write that down, scribe. Five Trees, Azruhâr, don't you forget it!"
"I won't, your Highness." I felt like an idiot, but what else could I say?
"And if just one of them puts a toe out of line again, you will be held responsible for all, is that clear?"
I grimaced. "Perfectly clear, your Highness."
He gave me a long stare, and I was hard put not to look away. Finally he turned back to his councillors.
"Very well, Lord Eärendur. If you think the colonies are not an option, what do you suggest we do in order to feed the hungry?"

Since I had not been dismissed, I stood and waited while Lord Eärendur talked about lifestock, and of the oats and roots that were now fed to the pigs when they – and the pigs – might as well nourish hungry people. I was not asked to speak again, which was strange since they were arguing about the feeding of poor people. I certainly knew more about poor people than any of these well-fed lords in their silks and velvets. They argued that there were not enough spices to cook so much meat at once. Spices! As though we'd turn up our noses at a stew because pepper or cumin or coriander was lacking! It was certainly touching, the way they attempted to guess at poor people's lives, but oh, they really had no idea. And that, too, was strange. They were the King's council, after all, the wise men of the realm, and one should believe that they knew everything. They did not. That was quite the eye-opener.
And they did not ask for my experience, I realised eventually, because they had forgotten that I had it. I was born a day-taler, but I was also a man who could pay a fine of five Trees. I was living at the foot of the hill, but I was wearing good, warm robes and fine riding boots underneath. I was reminded of my low station, and yet I was not bleeding and not in the stocks, but in front of the King's council.
I was not Lord Azruhâr, but for all the Crown Prince's words, I was not Azruhâr the nothing anymore, and that was odd.

It certainly was a lot to think about.

Chapter End Notes

(1) I was getting annoyed with the lack of a pre-coronation name for Tar-Telemmaitë. As he was supposedly named Telemmaitë for his greed/love for silver, which can hardly have been apparent at birth, and the Númenoreans do not seem to have gone in for the motherly foresight thing of the Eldar, he must have had another name at some point. So I made one up. Shamelessly. Alcarmaitë means "glory-handed" (as opposed to the later "silver-handed"), so it suits nicely with the… um… modest mindset of Tar-Ancalimon and provides the pattern for Tar-Telemmaitë's later name.

(2) For an explanation of the Númenorean monetary system used in this story, see chapter 2, footnote 5.