The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

---

Chapter 65

Dârujan is in trouble.

---

Chapter 65

The invitation to the next council session arrived, and I ignored it. The messenger also brought two letters from home, which I did not ignore, although it took a while until I found the time to answer them. I would have liked to pour my heart out to Amraphel, but I still had her warning in mind that my enemies might also read my letters. I would have to weigh my words very carefully, and some things I could not talk about at all. For some weeks, I didn't have the inner strength to dissemble my thoughts after the long days spent preserving the dead soldiers and the additional hour overseeing Dârujan's writing practice. I suppose I could have left that duty to others, but then they would have shared in Dârujan's punishment although they had nothing to do with his infraction. Besides, I wanted to give him as little opportunity as possible to be tempted into neglecting his writing practice again. But it was frustrating work. I had struggled with the letters myself, so goodness knows I was sympathetic, but I hadn't struggled nearly as much as Dârujan did. He could copy letters and words very nicely, but producing his own words or even just understanding what he had copied was out of the question. He simply could not match sign to sound. I let him copy individual letters, hundreds of times, while repeating the sound they meant; and yet, the next day, he could not reproduce the letter he'd learned a mere day before. It was unbelievable. More than once I was close to losing my patience, and more than once he was reduced to tears. When the hour was over, we were both relieved to go upstairs and join the others, and I tried hard not to despair because he showed no progress whatsoever.

Then at long last we completed our work on the dead soldiers, one by one by one, and I could turn my mind towards other things, such as possible ways of working against the moisture that the ice would bring into the morgue, once we finally had it. The simplest way was perhaps to use dry loam or clay that could just be removed once it was soaked. There were also salts that could bind water. But I still wasn't certain how to keep the ice from melting too quickly, since it would have to last for a while. Accordingly, the first letter I wrote home was not to my family but rather to Master Târik, to ask him for advice. Only then did I finally tackle my reply to Amraphel and began the surprisingly difficult task of recounting the events of the past weeks in as much as that was possible. The whole mess around Yorzim and his family, the difficulties of teaching certain apprentices to write, and the victorious return of the army seemed safe enough topics. But I did not dare to commit all my thoughts about the treatment of the Tash-naga to writing, nor could I properly talk about my feelings concerning the midwife's and villagers' fears and Lîdosh's resultant suffering. As for Lord Herucalmo's strange behaviour, there was no way to touch upon that at all – although imagining the face of Lord Atanacalmo (surely he was among the people who were likely to read my letters?) if he read about his grandson's protestations of love for me was somewhat amusing, in a petty way. The further consequences would have been far less amusing, however, and so I did not mention any of it.

Another month passed – by now, summer was upon us, and the weather had once more become hot and dry, so that emerging from the cool cellars and stepping out into the evening air felt like walking into a furnace – and another invitation arrived. Again, I decided against attending, but I let the apprentices have their day off to go into town or walk through the vinyards or just relay around the house. They hadn't complained when I'd kept them in the morgue the past month while there had been so much to do – perhaps the custom was more important to me than it had ever been to them, anyway – but they had worked hard these last weeks, and it seemed right to give them a free day now that things had calmed down. At any rate, there was a certain sense of relief when I announced that they would have Valanya for themselves, and with the exception of Yorzim – I suppose he had no reason to go away, since his family was here now – they all made their way into the city soon after breakfast.

This time, it was Dârujan who did not return in the evening.
I had thought long and hard on whether he should be allowed to go in the first place. The previous day's hour of writing practice had once more ended in tears. "I don't think I can ever learn them, Master," Dârujan had sobbed, "they do not speak to me at all." I had told him that he'd figure it out eventually, he just had to keep practicing, but my heart hadn't been in it. Still, he had tried hard, and thus I felt that he had earned the right to visit the city – to buy his own drawing materials, if nothing else – just as much as the others. I had hoped, even, that it would renew his courage and give him fresh resolve.
And now dusk turned into night, and he hadn't come back.

"Are you surprised, Master?" Yorzim asked when I questioned the apprentices. I didn't intend to repeat my mistake of letting them hush up anything they knew about the matter, so I asked them about what Dârujan had said to them, the last days, trying to discern if there was anything in it that would help us to find him again (and then put him to justice, I suppose, but I didn't want to think about that yet). Nothing emerged that I hadn't already known. The apprentices reported that he had been frustrated by his failure and complained about the impossibility of writing, but he hadn't said anything that suggested that he'd try to run away. Nonetheless, Yorzim gave a derisive snort and asked, "Are you surprised?"

I felt my lips narrow. "If you have information you want to share, go ahead."
He shrugged. "It is obvious, I think. Dârujan cannot write, so he does not want to come back. And he was not punished properly, so he is not afraid to stay away."
"You're saying that he wouldn't be staying away if I'd been harder on him? Is that what you're saying? Because that makes no sense to me. To me, it seems that if I'd punished him more harshly, he'd have had more reason to run away."
Yorzim shrugged again. "Not if you had not let him leave in the first place." A short pause. "Master."
"Like I shouldn't have let you leave?" I couldn't help asking.
Stubborn silence.

I needed a moment to regain my balance. "Where I come from," I said, not without reproach, "kindness is generally repaid with gratitude."
Another shrug from Yorzim. "Perhaps gratitude has value, where you come from, Master," he said. "It is less valued here."
"Well, I value it," I said.
Silence fell once more.
"So do I have to worry that you will misbehave again?" I asked Yorzim. "Since I didn't punish you properly and you don't believe in gratitude?"
Yorzim grimaced at that, no longer scornful. "That is different," he said stiffly.

But before I could ask how, Bâgri burst out, "I do not believe that Dârwa wanted to go away." His fingers were knotted in his lap, knuckles and sinews standing out as though he had to pull a great weight, and his head was bowed over them, so his words weren't easy to make out. "He wanted to know how I was remembering the letters. He thinks there is some secret to it. I think he still wants to learn."
Sidi nodded, more confidently. "He asked me the same thing," he recalled, "he asked me where the trick is. Bâgri is right, it did not sound as if he planned to give up."
That, at least, was reassuring, and I was inclined to agree with Sidi's and Bâgri's assessment.

At the same time, Dârujan had undeniably failed to come back. Perhaps he hadn't planned to run away. But away he was. "But that still begs the question where he is," I said out loud.
Sidi sighed. "He said he would meet his family," he said.
"And do you know where that family lives?" I asked, realising once more how poorly I was doing as an employer. I should have known who and where my apprentices' closest relatives were, for emergencies if nothing else. I would send Urdad around to make a list of names and addresses, as soon as the question of Dârujan's whereabouts had been answered.
"I think so, yes," Sidi said, unaware of my thoughts. "Unless they moved in the last weeks."
I nodded. "Then that's where we'll look first, tomorrow."

 

But when Sidi and I came to the family's lodgings, in the outskirts of the town, we found them abandoned. Abandoned in a hurry, apparently – there was laundry still hanging from a window, and when we pushed against the unlocked door, it opened to reveal a room still furnished, with bowls and cups for three people still on the low table. It looked as though the family had finished their meal and then decided, for no discernible reason, to leave without bothering to clean or pack up.

I suppose if you decided to run away from your dreaded master (though I hated the idea of being seen as such) and were afraid that your family would suffer for it (which was also an idea I hated) then it made sense to set off quickly, but in that case it made no sense to cook a meal – the cast-iron pot still stood in the ashes of the hearth – and eat it around the table, and then suddenly up and leave. From the number of flies that filled the air with an unsettling buzzing sound, I even feared for a moment that someone had been murdered. A closer look at the remains of the meal suggested that the family must have been gone for far longer than just a day: the crusted leftovers in the pot were covered in a thick fuzz of mould, and the perishable fruits and vegetables had become a breeding ground for maggots.

We asked the neighbours if they knew where Dârujan or his family had gone, but they claimed to know nothing, except for an old man who told Sidi he'd seen the city watch come and take the family with them, some weeks ago. As for Dârujan, yes, he had been here yesterday, and then he had gone away again – where, he could not say.
"I believe he has gone to look for his family," Sidi said when he related these things to me. There was a pleading quality to his voice, as if he thought I would not agree. "Truly I do not think he wanted to run away."
"Neither do I," I said, but that still left us as wise as we'd been earlier. "Well, if the city watch took the family away, then perhaps Dârujan went to the watch-house hoping to find them."
Sidi wagged his head thoughtfully. "Yes. Dârwa might be foolish enough to do that."

We went to the watch-house, reporting the disappearance of my apprentice, and as soon as I began describing him, one of the guards said, "Oh, that sounds like the noisy man who came here yesterday."
"Noisy?" I asked. Dârujan was talkative at times, but in a mild-mannered, quiet way. Noisy didn't seem to fit him well.
"Yes. He made a lot of noise when we arrested him and said that he urgently needed to send a message to his master." He snorted at the idea, but then he paused, looking at me with his brow creased. "Well, maybe he wasn't lying about that."
"No," I said stiffly. "Why didn't you let him send his message?"
The guard raised his eyebrows. "Well, you wouldn't let a spy send messages either, sir, would you?"
"A spy?"
"Suspected spy," the guard amended. "Still, couldn't take the risk, could we?"
Bewildered, I asked, "What makes you think he's a spy? What should he have spied out, anyway?"
"That's not for us to determine, sir. His folk have connections to the desert people. We have orders to arrest all of them until it has been ascertained they aren't spies."
"Well, in his case that should be easy! He was imprisoned until the beginning of the year, and since then he's been under my tutelage and spent most of his time out in the morgue. The chances that he could spy about anything worthwhile, or report it anywhere, are rather slim."
I could see the guard biting his lips and exchanging a nervous glance with his colleague. "If you vouch for him, Lord, I am certain he will be released at once. You will find your apprentice at the prison."

And thus we rode to the prison once more. Unlike the last times I had seen him, Captain Thilior looked grim and weary. "A good day to you, Master Embalmer," he said, sounding as if it was anything but a good day. "I hope you have good news for me. Are you here for one of my prisoners, or maybe a dozen of them?" He turned towards Sidi. "Please don't tell me you're bringing me another one."
I blinked. "No," I said. "I've been told that one of my apprentices has been brought here. I'd like him back."
"Oh, good," Captain Thilior said. "I mean, a dozen would be better, but at this point I must be grateful for every single man who's taken off my hands."
With a nervous smile, I said, "I take it the council hasn't acted on your complaints?"

He pursed his lips at that. "On the contrary. That idiotic new law means that this place is overflowing, except I have nowhere for the overflow to go, have I? The cells are so full that I now have to keep people in the yard all the damn time. We don't even have mats for them. I've been promised they'd would be released quickly, but it certainly isn't quick enough."
"New law?" I asked, realising that I was woefully unaware of what had been going on in the capital recently.
"The one about the desert people," Captain Thilior said, apparently assuming that I had kept on top of things and just didn't know which of several new laws he was referring to.
 

When he saw my confused expression, he elaborated, "You know, how everyone with any relation to the desert people is to be arrested under suspicion of espionage until their innocence has been ascertained? Yeah, that one. Turns out there's an awful lot of people with relation to desert people. Which isn't really surprising, seeing how we're right next to the damn desert, and I don't see how having a great-grand-uncle from out there means someone is a spy, but either way, there's a lot of people here, and the guards aren't fast enough ascertaining their innocence. Half my prisoners are burning in the sun and the other half are giving each other the shits, and nobody outside of here gives a damn." He wiped his brow, huffing. "Sorry, I know it's not your fault. You've come here for your apprentice. Good. Every little helps."
"Yes," I said, trying to say something that would appease him. "Dârujan can't possibly be a spy, unless the desert people are very interested in embalming. Which isn't a secret."
"Listen, I don't even care. I just need to get rid of these people before anyone is killed." He waved to a guard and told him to find and bring Dârujan. "I understand that the council thinks they're keeping people safe, and I also understand that the prison isn't exactly their top priority, but it's breeding pestilence here and fear in the streets."
"And innocent people get hurt," I observed.
"Just so! It's a mess all around." Captain Thilior wiped his forehead again. "Listen, I need someone to rescind that stupid law. It's putting the cart before the horse, but the council doesn't care what I say because I always complain and they're not taking me seriously. Would you be able to give it a try?"
"I'm not on the council," I said, "and they don't take me seriously, either. But I'll talk to Lord Roitaheru."
"By all means. Every little helps. Or so I hope." He turned at the sound of a door being opened. "Ah, here's your apprentice."

Sure enough, there was Dârujan, shackled and led in by several guards (protocol, no doubt). His eyes were red from weeping, and his face was red from the sun, and his clothes were red with the dust of Umbar. "Master," he cried as he fell at my feet and clutched my ankles, "you have found me! I didn't want to be late, but they did not allow me to go to you. They did not even allow me to send a message. Will you take me back home?"
"Of course, that's why I'm here," I said, bending down to awkwardly pat his shoulder because he sounded so very distressed.
He burst into tears again, although I must assume that they were happy tears, because what he said was, "Oh, that is good. I was afraid that you did not want me back because I am so bad at writing."
"A terrible crime," Captain Thilior said gravely, but when Dârujan looked up with renewed terror in his eyes, he winked at him. "I'm joking, lad. Don't worry. Get up, and get out of here before Master Azruhâr thinks better of it. You're one of the lucky ones."

"Wait a moment," I said as a sudden idea struck me. "No, I mean, do get up, but we aren't leaving just yet. Your family is also here?"
With a worried frown, Dârujan nodded.
"Are they spies?"
"What?"
"They've been arrested because they're suspected of spying. You know them well, right? So, are they spies?"
Dârujan looked from me to Captain Thilior to Sidi. Sidi in turn frowned at me, while Captain Thilior gave an encouraging nod. "It's a simple enough question. Come, answer to the best of your knowledge."
"Why would they spy?" Dârujan asked, adding something in his own language that, as far as I could concern, also contained a 'why', and also a 'who' and a 'what'.
"I don't know," Sidi said, in Adûnaic. "Did they?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, then," I said to Captain Thilior, "do you think that's sufficient evidence of their innocence?"
Captain Thilior laughed out loud. "It's sufficient for me," he said, "although evidence to the contrary may be discovered later. I hope not, though. You want to vouch for them?"

In all honesty, I would have liked to vouch for far more than the four people in question, but that seemed too much of a risk even for an idealistic fool like myself. Since Dârujan had so far proved to be almost compulsively honest, I was willing to trust his judgement that his family were innocent. But I couldn't be so certain about the other people. I mean, I was fairly certain that most if not all of them were harmless – but not so certain that I'd put my own name (and possibly life, if I turned out to be wrong) on the line.
Dârujan and his family, however, I was willing to trust that far, so I said, "Yes." And because I had learned my lesson – or a lesson, anyway – I asked, "Should I pay sureties?"
But Captain Thilior only laughed again. "Goodness, no. I trust you. Heck, I have half a mind to pay you."

He didn't, in the end. He did, however, note in his books that four prisoners had been released lawfully at the behest of Master Azruhâr the Embalmer. I admit that it was hard not to change my mind right then and there. I told myself that the King was nowhere near and that hopefully these notes would never reach him. Nonetheless my stomach clenched at the mere memory of the last time I'd had prisoners released. The paperwork was necessary, of course – otherwise, Captain Thilior said, the city watch would probably arrest the family again as soon as they returned to their lodgings, which I didn't doubt – but I still felt ill at ease and wished there need be no record of my involvement.

Then I had to accept the family's demonstrations of gratitude. Recalling Yorzim's words, I forced myself to show them that I appreciated it, although in reality I was embarrassed as ever to be thanked so abjectly, with many a brow pressed to my feet and many a kiss to my hands. At long last I could convince them that this was quite enough, and that it would be best for all of us to return to our respective homes. Captain Thilior waved as we walked through the heavy gate, and then we parted from the family on the road outside the prison. Dârujan shared the mule with Sidi on the way back. I wondered, privately, what Sidi thought about the whole matter, because he hadn't said much and wasn't speaking a lot now, either. Dârujan's thoughts, on the other hand, were no secret at all, because he readily told me what had happened since he'd left my house the other day, how he had found his family's home left and heard from the neighbours about their arrest, gone to the watch house to ask about their whereabouts, and promptly been arrested himself. "They did not even let me send a messenger," he said, sounding offended, and then, "I'm so happy you found me."
"I also went to the watch house," I said, bemused.
"I'm happy they didn't arrest you also," Dârujan answered earnestly, and that made Sidi laugh. I found it less funny, but of course Sidi couldn't know that.

Dârujan's return was celebrated by the household, who appeared altogether relieved that he hadn't decided to run away after all. He told the whole story again, and the others expressed their sympathy and even joined in the praise of me, which was rather nice of them. Only Yorzim was in a bad mood, but that might have been because I told him to apologise for the unfounded accusations he had raised against Dârujan.
He had bowed his head and said, "I was wrong and you were right. I ask forgiveness."
"Not of me," I'd said, "of Dârujan! He's the one you were badmouthing."
Yorzim had thought unnecessarily long about that. "You want me to apologise to Dârwa? Because I was wrong?"

"Not because you were wrong – because you were accusing him wrongly. Look, Yorzim, when you were staying away in secret and didn't want me to know where you were, none of the others betrayed your secret until the very last! None of them told me that I shouldn't be surprised, or that I hadn't punished you hard enough the first time around. Even when it was becoming clear that your silence wasn't helping anyone, least of all yourself, Sidi didn't want to talk at first! In contrast, you had nothing better to do than spread tales of how Dârujan wasn't planning to come back before any of us really knew what was going on. That's really ugly behaviour. And for that, I expect an apology – not to me, but to your fellow apprentice."
"I thought it was good to be honest to you," Yorzim said, his brows almost meeting in the middle.
"Well, you weren't. You were speculating wildly. And you might well have harmed Dârujan, if I had believed you and simply sent the guard after him instead of investigating for myself." I found myself getting angry and had to remind myself that things were perhaps different in Umbar. Nonetheless, badmouthing a friend, or at any rate a colleague, without need – without even having been asked, specifically! - must surely be objectionable even here.
I'm not certain if Yorzim understood that. Still, he bowed to Dârujan and repeated his apology, which Dârujan accepted very cheerfully.

Two days later, I made the time to ride into town again, this time for an audience with Lord Roitaheru. It did not go as I had hoped. True, he welcomed me kindly enough, expressing his pleasure to see me and claiming that I'd been missed at council (doubtful). But when I explained that I had come to make him rethink the law concerning the arrest of all citizens with connections to the desert-people until they were proven innocent, he raised his hands in a display of helplessness. "The council has decided, the law is made," he said. "I am no king who can overrule a majority vote. Mind you, it was not a very strong majority." His smile was more than just a little wry. "If you'd been there, perhaps you could have turned it around."
I felt a pang of guilt, even though I found it highly unlikely that I could have changed the outcome of the vote. "Well, I'm trying to turn it around now, Lord."
"Then you will have to bring it before the council again," he said. "Assuming you can find a reason why a newly made law has to be rescinded so quickly. It's not usually lawful to do that, unless the situation has changed significantly."

I thought about that. "I would argue that it has changed," I said, "because it seems that there are far more people than expected at first, and Captain Thilior no longer knows how to look after them."
Lord Roitaheru found that amusing. "Has he given you an earful? Thilior always complains about the state of his prison and the number of prisoners, that's nothing new. You'll have to put more thought into your line of reasoning, or it won't even come to the vote."
"I was rather hoping that you would put it before the council," I confessed. "Nothing I say there seems to have the desired effect."
"Then you need to work on your reasoning and rhetoric," he said not unkindly, but very firmly. "I can't well go against a majority vote that I've just passed into law. I'll give you a chance to speak, next time, but you'll have to do the work of convincing the others that the law needs overhauling."
I sighed. "I will try."

And thus, my resolve to stay out of politics was once more overthrown.