The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

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Chapter 61

A (short) chapter of returns.

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Yorzim returned one day earlier than he had to. I wasn't certain whether that was a good sign or a bad sign, and he didn't tell me. When I asked about his daughter's health, he replied, "Not good. But as good as can be hoped." He spoke more softly than usual, but he hadn't grown any more talkative.

Under the circumstances, I did not want to pry further. I did see him talk at great length to Sidi, so I assumed that he was getting whatever he didn't say to me off his chest in other ways.
That evening, Sidi took me aside and said that he had a favour to ask. "It is about Yorzim's family," he said, "but it is for myself, not for Yorzim."
"Alright. I'm listening," I said, although I couldn't help but wonder why Sidi felt that it was a favour for himself when it concerned Yorzim's family.
Sidi licked his lips nervously. "Yorzim is worried that they are not safe after he went away. I am worried that he is right. I would feel much better if you could send guards to them."

I needed to figure out what to say. After a moment's thought, I said, "I don't have that many guards. I can't really send any of them away." That seemed a better answer than admitting that I did not fully trust those guards. I had no good reason to mistrust them, because they did as they were told even when they clearly questioned it. It was just that I didn't feel comfortable around guards, generally. There was also the matter of Darîm, whom I didn't trust, either. The guards had been recommended by him because they had gone through training that he approved of, and that needn't be a bad thing, but I couldn't be certain that they would make the right decisions when left to themselves, as they needs must would be if I dispatched them to that little farming village. Or rather, their decisions would be right in Darîm's eyes, but not necessarily in mine.
But it was also true that if I needed guards at all, I needed them here, and so that was what I told Sidi.

"Maybe you could send someone else…?" Sidi said gently, but urgently. "Or bring them here."
I realised that he was very serious about this matter – serious enough to argue, even.
"I offered that to Yorzim, actually. If Lidosh is well enough to travel, I think it would be a good idea to bring her and her mother here," I said. "But that really isn't something I can decide as a favour to you. That's something the people involved have to decide on."
Sidi frowned. "I do not understand what you mean."
"Well, you know Yorzim! I don't think he'd appreciate if we decided to bring his family here over the top of his head. And frankly, his wife and daughter should also have a say in the matter, shouldn't they?"

With a cautious smile, Sidi said, "To be honest, Master, Yorzim told me about his concerns because he wanted me to share them. And to ask you."
"Really."
"Yes, yes! He was hoping that I would ask you to protect them."
"Why, then, isn't he asking me directly?"
Sidi's eyes widened dramatically. "Oh, he cannot do that, can he? He mustn't be greedy."
I massaged the bridge of my nose. "I specifically told him to ask if he, or his family, needed further help."
"Yes, but that is a polite thing to do. It is not polite to take many favours." A pause. "It can also be unwise."
"Because favours mean obligations?"
"That is right. And because at some point there will be no more favours granted."
Sighing, I said, "I see." Or so I thought, anyway. "Still, the fact remains that I offered to bring his family here, and he did not take me up on it. If I do it anyway, wouldn't that also be impolite?"

That was apparently a funny thing to say, because Sidi chuckled. "But that isn't something you need to think of!"
I had to take a deep breath. "Well, let's assume that I do, anyway."
Sobering, Sidi said, "It would not be impolite to repeat the offer. My people do that, to show that we mean it."
"Ah. And if I repeat the offer, Yorzim will accept it?"
"No, he will not dare. He has pushed his luck, as you say, has he not? But maybe you can make the offer to me. I am really very worried. And Yorzim is a close friend of mine. I would accept it."
I raised an eyebrow. "At the risk of running out of favours to ask?"
Sidi gave a little shrug. "At my age, I hope I will not need so many favours anymore." Then he gave a smile that was almost a little sly. "Perhaps I am hoping that you will be a little forgetful, too."
"I hope I won't be," I couldn't help but say. "But I'm hoping that I'll be able to be generous."
"That would also be good," Sidi agreed.

I didn't feel comfortable with this arrangement, and even more uncomfortable when I informed Yorzim the next day that I would like to have his family brought here, for safe-keeping, as a favour to Sidi. Yorzim merely bowed in acceptance, expressing neither protest nor agreement, although he did say that Lidosh could not walk and would need to be carried, if she were to go anywhere. I suppose that was as much agreement as I could expect from him.

The truth was, I couldn't help but share Sidi's concern. Even if nothing sinister was afoot (and after my encounter with the midwife and the neighbours, and their tales of Darîm's interference, I worried that sinister things might be afoot), it would be reassuring to have Lidosh nearby, to see that she really was receiving the help that she needed, as long as she needed it.

So I arranged with Nerad's family to make space for two more in the rooms that they shared (something else to feel guilty about). And then, although it had turned out that my apprentices and me were ill-equipped to preserve three (and a half) bodies at once and we were already in delay, I took the cart out to that little farming village.

 

I had second thoughts when I actually saw Lidosh. She was lying in a tangle of blankets on her straw mattress, asleep or unconscious, and looked so pale and frail that I half-worried she wouldn't reach the morgue except as a corpse. Considering that her mother looked barely any better, it was perhaps a result of having been cooped up in a dim room for too long, in which case some open air and light might be helpful; but again, I felt very uncomfortable about suggesting to move the poor young woman. She would certainly be more comfortable and hopefully safer, too, once she was at my house, but the road there? Even with the cart well-cushioned and her mother next to her to hold her hand, the journey would doubtlessly take its toll on her strength, which was already worn low.

While I stood by her bedside, trying to figure out what to do, Lidosh woke and half-opened her eyes, and a change came over her. Suddenly, her eyes focused and went bright with wonder, and her hand reached for my arm and clasped my sleeve. "Cadwar," she breathed, "my love, you have come back to me."
There was a sharp intake of breath from her mother, and a growl from Yorzim.
"I am not Cadwar," I said, as gently as I could manage. Even though the man had abandoned her, evidently she still had strong feelings for him, and I hated to disappoint her. "He isn't here. I am sorry." Seeing the confusion in her eyes – perhaps wondering who I was and what I was doing here, then – I explained, "My name is Azruhâr. I'm your father's new master."
The hand remained on my arm, which (from her father's angry look) was probably not entirely proper, but it told me that there was some strength in her yet, and I was relieved about that, although I feared that it wouldn't last long.
Impossibly, the hint of a smile flitted across Lidosh's drawn features. "You remind me of Cadwar." The mother hissed again.

Perhaps I should have been offended, but all I could feel was pity. "Your father thinks it is safer for you to come to my house," I told her, hoping that she would understand what I was saying. "But it is near the city of Umbar. The road will be long and rough."
"Anywhere is better," Lidosh said, with feeling. "I hate this place." Her eyes dimmed. "But I cannot walk. I cannot go anywhere."
"I have a cart outside," I said. "We've tried to make it comfortable for you." I cast a helpless look at Yorzim. "Do you think it is safe to move her?"
Yorzim's jaw was clenched so firmly that his chin was trembling, and his eyes were dark. "I fear it is not safe to leave her, Master," he said. And that, I suppose, was his way of acknowledging that he did want help, and that Sidi had spoken the truth. And so it was decided.

As Lidosh was carried outside, she continued to clutch my tunic – I did not have the heart to remove her hand from my sleeve, in case the touch helped her to endure her ordeal better – and I could see that she was studying me, as if searching for Cadwar who was not there (and really didn't deserve her faithful affection, though I did not say so). Suddenly she laughed in what sounded almost like delight. "I thought you looked like Cadwar, at first," she said, "but actually you are more beautiful."
My face grew hot. I heard another growl from her father, while her mother ran to my side, saying urgently, "It is the medicine that makes her talk like that, Master, please forgive her."
I wasn't offended – I had no kind thoughts to spare for Cadwar, but Lidosh clearly did, so the comparison was doubtlessly flattering, if untrue. It was embarrassing, that was all. So I said, "It's nonsense, of course. I forgive her."

To my great relief, Lidosh endured the journey reasonably well – at least, she appeared no worse afterwards than she had been before it; she even seemed to liven up a little. Perhaps the change of place would do her well. At least, I hoped so. At least she and her mother wouldn't be alone in a place that she hated (and that Umâr, her mother, hadn't been too fond of either). At least we could hire a healer whom Yorzim was inclined to trust, if his own arts didn't suffice. I very much hoped that Lidosh would recover under their care. I wasn't certain what Yorzim would do, should his daughter die under my roof; and at any rate, it would have been a terrible thing to happen.

 

We were now, as I said, in delay with our work on the bodies that had been entrusted to me. I did not dare to leave any of them untreated, so I had put my apprentices in teams to work on all three of them simultaneously, but I could not split myself into three. Being inexperienced, the apprentices required constant supervision and also many a demonstration, so I had spent much of the previous week running from one slab to the next, explaining the same thing three times and starting over repeatedly. It had grown hard to be patient, although I knew that it wasn't my apprentices' fault that they were still at the very beginning of their training. It had been much easier for me, of course, since both Kârathon and Mîkul had already known well what to do, and I surely had required a lot of guidance myself. It was to be expected. But I was beginning to feel the strain.

I was also beginning to worry that we wouldn't be able to preserve these bodies as they deserved, and face the displeasure of their ghosts as well as their living relatives. Back at home, of course, it hadn't been uncommon for bodies to lie in the Sleepers' locked room for weeks until we had time to preserve them individually, back when we'd still worked in the citadel. But that had been much deeper underground, and it had been colder, too. The air in the cellars of the old winery was cold compared to the air overground, but it did not even make our breath steam. When I asked Urdad whether it was possible to get ice in Umbar – the sort of ice that was used in the cooling cellars at home – he said that it was possible, but very expensive. Climbers had to go high into the mountains to cut off large enough blocks that would survive the transport down to the city, so it was dangerous. However, as a material necessary to my work, he expected that it would be paid by the treasury. At any rate, if I wanted to commission such ice-cutters, it would be wise to do it now, before the rising temperatures would reach further up and make the ice withdraw further to the mountain-tops. I asked him to commission them.

 

This turned out to be necessary, because not long after we found ourselves flooded with bodies that needed looking after. For one day, our work was interrupted by the sound of trumpets, and a second later Nerad was shouting from upstairs whether we wanted to see the approaching army, and when we rushed up into the afternoon air and left the enclosure of the laurel hedge, we could see the sun glinting on polished armour and helmets. Even when the army is friendly – and I trusted that it was friendly; I could see the badge of Lord Roitaheru on the banners – it strikes awe into your heart to see so many armed men, on foot and on horseback and guiding ox-carts full of provisions and tents and other things, blasting their trumpets and beating their drums and shaking the ground with their marching feet. And if it was intimidating for me, it was probably even more so for my Umbarian staff, who lined up orderly by the roadside and knelt when the host drew nearer.

I expected that they would pass us by and turn towards the capital at the crossroads, but just as he reached the gate in the hedge, their leader raised his hand, and there was a shouting of commands behind him, and within moments the entire army had come to a halt. The sudden quiet was almost as shocking as the noise had been before that.
The leader removed his bright helmet. It was Lord Herucalmo, of course. I can't deny that I was glad to see him. It wasn't that I'd doubted his ability to vanquish the desert people, or taken Lord Laurilyo's jokes too seriously, but it was still a relief to see that he had survived the battle (apparently) unscathed. Unable to mask that relief, I exclaimed, "You are back!", and he laughed. "Oh, did you miss me?"

I bit down hard on my lip. "I'm glad that you have returned safely, Lord, that is all."
He laughed again. "Yes, I have returned safely! And victorious!"
He jumped off his horse, walked up to me, picked me up and spun me around. In front of the entire host and my staff and the workers from the vinyard that had also come to the road to see the army, he spun me like the heroes in the play embrace their lady-loves when they have returned from their dangerous quest. As I struggled for balance after he had set me back down, I could see some open-mouthed stares of the Umbari, and I suspected that there was more than one smirk on the faces of the soldiers. But I didn't want to look too closely, and lowered my head instead. My face felt so hot that you could probably have fried an egg on it.

Lord Herucalmo did not seem to notice. He must be very happy, to act in such an unguarded manner, and I suppose he had earned it, but I still didn't like the thought of the rumours that such an open display of affection would spark. Nor could I think of a good way of reminding him that I was very much not his lady-love, or any kind of love, and that everything about this was altogether inappropriate. All I could do was take a large step back, to restore a safe distance, and to clear my throat in a way that a cooperative listener might have taken as a warning. I tried to come up with something innocuous to say, but all I could think of was, "How was battle?" I indicated the army with a flick of my head, hoping that he would take the hint that there were rather too many witnesses, even if he hadn't gone quite as far as he had gone in the baths (my cheeks flared up yet more at the memory), and that they would assume I was simply intending to mean all of them, rather than just him, specifically.

"Gruesome and glorious, as it always is," he declared grandly, clasping my shoulder just like his father liked to do. "You must attend our analysis of the campaign – then you'll hear all of it. It's a long story, and this isn't the time to tell it." He sobered. "Actually, we have come by this road so we could deliver our fallen directly into your care." He begun to walk towards the back of the caravan. When I didn't move along, he beckoned briskly, so I stumbled after him, past the rows of waiting soldiers. He paced ahead without waiting for me to catch up. I suppose he had realised by now that he had been somewhat too enthusiastic in greeting me. Either that, or he wanted to get rid of the fallen quickly. They had been stacked on carts, wrapped in wet blankets, but even from where we were standing I could smell decay.

"There is a cost to victory," Lord Herucalmo said, in a detached manner. "We've brought you some of the brave men who paid that cost. I expect you'll know what to do with them."
I wasn't so certain. The smell suggested that too much time had passed since their death. "How long have you been travelling?" I asked, frowning.
"About three weeks, on and off," Lord Herucalmo said, confirming my fears. Three weeks in the warmth of Umbar meant that they would probably all be beyond preservation.
How could I put this gently? "I'm afraid that we may not be able to keep all of them, or even any of them, Lord," I said. "The heat and the journey will have taken their toll, and I cannot undo damage that has already been done."

He just shrugged at that. "That's for you to figure out. We've already sorted out and buried the ones that were too far gone. See what you can do with the rest."
I sighed. While I hadn't exactly appreciated the cordiality with which he'd greeted me, I didn't appreciate his way of dismissing my concerns, either.
But it didn't seem like there was any point in arguing. So I agreed, "I'll see what I can do. I suppose you'd better bring these carts into the yard, and then my apprentices can carry the bodies down into the catacombs." Where they would have to be kept well apart from the bodies we were already working on, so they wouldn't infect them with the putrefaction. Where we already were struggling to complete our work, and where it wasn't nearly as cold, or as dry, as I needed it to be.

I didn't say any of that. With the army – the dead men's erstwhile companions and possibly friends – listening, it seemed unwise to complain. I would have to hope that the ice, once it arrived, would make a difference, and that at least a few of the dead soldiers could be preserved.