The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

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Chapter 69

Not a fun chapter despite the fun chapter number. My apologies.

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I felt the approach of the rainy season before the first clouds formed.
Mind you, at first I didn't realise that it was that. I had slept badly and woken frequently from a dull but persistent pain in my joints - as if I had overworked myself, which I had not, or as if old injuries had chosen to reawaken after a period of rest, which was what I had assumed. I blamed my dreams, which had been full of unpleasant memories. Only when Sidi answered to my obligatory "Have you slept well?" in the negative, explaining that his old bones were aching because the rains would surely begin soon, did I gave the matter a second thought.

Since I did not see the connection between Sidi's bones and the rain, he explained that it was common for the elderly and the injured to feel it in their bones when the weather was about to change. I was doubtful. At the time that we had that conversation, the skies were perfectly clear, and a harsh autumn sun beat down on the baked loam of the road and the vinyard. But sure enough, over the course of the next day the skies began to grow at first hazy and then cloudy, and the dry heat turned into an oppressively humid warmth. Then, as I lay once again restless, unable to find a sleeping position in which my limbs didn't hurt, I heard the first tentative raindrops thumping on the roof tiles. They had turned into a more regular pattering, and then the pattering was transformed into a steady rushing noise that, after a while, finally succeeded in lulling me into sleep.

"Are your bones better?" I asked Sidi the next morning, not least of all because mine were still hurting in a dull but relentless way.
He smiled patiently. "A little," he said, "but they will need some more time to adjust. It is worse at night, though. I can still work."
That wasn't why I had asked, but there was very little I could say except "Good," and, "I hope you feel better soon", and wish the same for myself. I tried to remember whether I had experienced these pains the previous year, and if so, how long it had taken before they had stopped, but my memory brought up nothing. In all truth, I had been in such poor shape the year before that I probably hand't registered the pains as anything out of the ordinary. I had still been recovering from the torments and from the journey, and one thing or another had always hurt anyway. The fact that I now noticed (and resented) the ache as something unusual made me belatedly realise just how well I had healed, to have taken the absence of pain for granted.

"Would you believe me that you're the first person to tell me that the weather can make someone's bones hurt?" I asked Sidi.
Sidi's smile deepened. "Of course I believe you. It is very common among old people here, and even some of the younger ones who've had a broken bone or a twisted foot or something like that, but I don't expect that it happens to your blessed people."
I had indeed never heard of old folk among my own people complaining about aching bones – not in connection with the weather, at any rate. Nonetheless, my own affliction showed that my people weren't necessarily spared from it. I was once more forced to remember that I did not belong to the blessed among my people.

Other than that, it had become all too easy to forget just that. After the departure of Lord Herucalmo, my position on the council and my place in the community had become reasonably secure. Sure, I still occasionally clashed with Master Zainabên and some of the other craftsmen because I was too lenient for their tastes, and Lord Arandur frequently challenged me on what he called my "short-sighted and superficial interpretations of the law" and other such things; but there was no cruelty to these challenges. No doubt Lord Arandur still considered me an impostor and a fool - rightly so - but he was gracious enough not to spell it out. My presence among my betters, whether it was during council sessions, or at the palace, or at other events for the community, was tolerated without comment. I was invited to further hunting trips with Lord Roitaheru, to feasts at my friends' and even at other people's houses, and to friendly contests of strengths, where my meagre efforts were applauded politely and barely mocked. In all, I was treated with the same indulgence afforded to the rare adolescents among the community. Lord Arandur signalled that I should find it demeaning to be considered a mere youth and struggle to do better., and perhaps I should have. But it didn't really feel demeaning to me. On the contrary, I was treated with a consideration that I had rarely experienced in all my years as a day-taler or embalmer at home, and even if I was being condescended to, it was still with a condescending sort of respect, an acknowledgement that I might not be quite there with the rest of them yet, but that I would get there eventually. If Lord Roitaheru and the others put my ignorance and inexperience down to my perceived youth, rather than to my lack of breeding, that was all the better for me.

In all, I was forced to admit that the Queen Mother and Lord Atanacalmo had been correct: there were doubtlessly worse fates than being sent to Umbar. For a man of ambition, it would have been a glorious opportunity, and even for me, the bitterness of exile was sweetened by the generosity of the community. If I had been allowed to have my family with me, I could have been perfectly happy in Umbar. But I still missed them terribly. Not all the time – I confess was distracted sometimes, not just by my work but also by entertainments – but, like the ache in my damaged joints, the pain of their absence woke me up at night and kept me from falling asleep again. Sometimes it also struck me in broad daylight when I saw other men embrace their wives or lift their children to their shoulders, receive the clumsy kisses of their offspring or the tender kisses of their lovers. Lord Laurilyo kept advising me to find a lover of my own – possibly the only piece of advice on which he agreed with his cousin – but I had ignored it just as I had ignored Lord Herucalmo's. They both, I felt, missed a significant part of the problem, which was that I was missing my life's companion and the better part of my sanity, not just the pleasures of love. No Umbarian lover, however beautiful and tender and skilled, could ever replace Amraphel; and to betray the love and the trust that we shared in order to satisfy some petty bodily desire was out of the question.

But sometimes it was hard. I suppose it would have been easier if I could have fully confided in her in my letters, at least; but I was still mindful of the warning that letters could go astray and be read by others, and without a doubt Amraphel was even more mindful. We wrote to each other about insignificant every-day events and more significant every-day woes; but I never truly knew how they were doing. I had the impression, reading between the lines, that a lot of time was being spent in Andúnië. I hoped that was a good thing. I also read about troubles with money, and arguments with the neighbours, and the difficulties faced by the Day-talers' Welfare Society concerning this decision or that new statute. There was rarely anything about the resolution of these issues. I hoped with my whole heart that there were resolutions, and that Amraphel merely wished to keep them from our enemies. I know that I certainly complained much and wrote little about the good things, hoping that the King or Lord Atanacalmo or whoever else was snooping through our letters would be satisfied to see that I was unhappy and see no need to add further trouble. So I made my life in the colonies sound more strenuous than it was, and in my turn hoped that Amraphel would figure out that it wasn't nearly as bad as that. She was much smarter than I was, of course, and she had stressed the need for secrecy and deception herself; and yet, I felt guilty to be writing letters full of worries and complaints instead of reassuring her that I was, all in all, living a very comfortable life. And sometimes, when the pain of her absence grew too much, I seriously thought about throwing all caution to the wind.

Not long after the rainy season had begun, I received a reminder that caution was still called for. At first, I wasn't unduly worried when Lord Roitaheru summoned me to the city in the middle of the week, in spite of the urgency of the summons - there had been other such occasions before, for concerts or celebrations or contests organised on short notice. The first time I had been told to present myself at the palace completely out of turn, I had indeed been anxious about it; but now, I simply assumed that his lordship had conceived a desire to hold another competition, or that somebody had, unbeknownst to me out in the vinyards, achieved a business deal or other achievement that merited celebrating. Therefore I shaved, which I could once more do for myself without dark thoughts, and Nerad did his best to braid my hair and rub oils into my skin. I put on my green robe and a cloak and a broad-rimmed hat to keep most part of myself dry, and rode into the city. Even when I was led to Lord Roitaheru's office, rather than to the gardens or the baths or the feasting hall, I felt calm and merely a little curious about what the matter might be. Only when I was shown in, and Lord Roitaheru dismissed his valet and the servant and told the guard to close the door and let no-one enter until he called, did I begin to feel a certain unease.

Mind you, Lord Roitaheru was perfectly civil. He invited me to sit in an upholstered chair across from his desk. He had a tiny bowl for khoosh and a larger bowl for tea prepared for both of us, and filled them himself before raising the cup of khoosh in a casual toast. It was the awkward silence that followed the polite greeting and the khoosh that first suggested that something was amiss. Lord Roitaheru studied me at length, frowning as though he was uncertain where to start – no hearty small talk, no update on the events in the city that I missed in my seclusion – and that was unlike him. The first flutterings of anxiety made themselves felt in my stomach.

At long last, Lord Roitaheru sighed and leaned back, looking at me with with unexpected sternness. "How surprised," he said in a strained voice that attempted to still sound conversational, "would you be if I told you that there was trouble with those bodies you sent home with Calmo?"
The flutterings settled into a massive lump of dread. At the same time, I could not honestly claim to be surprised. "Not very," I admitted. "Is that what happened?"
"Apparently so. They began to stink shortly after the journey began, and after a week it was so bad that the crew had to throw them overboard." He glanced down at a letter on his desk. "I have had to read that when they tipped the coffins overboard, a shapeless putrefying mass only barely held together by bandages oozed out and bobbed in the waves for a while before sinking into the depths." He wrinkled his nose, his lips twitching in displeasure at the thought. No wonder. My stomach lurched violently.

Lord Roitaheru let out a huff of disgust. "So you expected this to happen?" There was a definite edge to his words now.
I shook my head hurriedly. "Not expect, Lord. But I did fear that it might happen. The bodies were dragged all the way through the desert for days or even weeks, as you remember, and then it took longer to treat them than it should have. I was hoping that we had stopped the decay, but I still feared we had merely stalled it. And then they were taken out of their stone coffins in their cold caverns and put into thin wooden boxes and taken onto a ship, all in the summer of Umbar, I can well imagine that the decay continued to work on them." I barely managed to resist the urge to pull up my knees, but I could not keep myself from burying my face in my hands.
"For what it's worth," I said into the gap between my palms, "I warned Lord Herucalmo about these concerns."
I feared that it was worth nothing at all, but at least it seemed to give Lord Roitaheru pause. "Did you?"
"Yes, my lord." I remembered our argument in the catacombs only too well. "I think he made a note of it in his report, too." I very much hoped that he truly had noted it, not just pretended to.

Lord Roitaheru nodded slowly. "That can be ascertained." He shuffled the papers on his desk, as if expecting them to miraculously produce the notes Lord Herucalmo had made during his visit to the morgue. Then he rang for a servant and sent the young fellow who presented himself down to the libary to fetch the report in question.
While we were waiting, there was another uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Lord Herucalmo broke it. "You see," he said, "I personally see now reason to give you any grief over this."
How very reassuring, I thought. Except that he was clearly still about to do just that.
He went on, "As far as I'm concerned, the poor buggers are no worse off in the ocean than they would be buried somewhere in the desert, and this way, at least they're closer to home. But their folks seem to take a less pragmatic attitude. Some family or other must has brought the matter to the King's attention and urged His Majesty to take notice. Probably paid a hefty sum for it, too, because I have been told in no uncertain terms to find out where to place the blame and the consequences. So here we are."

I doubted that anyone had paid a hefty sum. I suspected that the King had required no urging whatsoever. He had probably been all too happy about the opportunity to place the blame – and consequences – on my shoulders. Perhaps there wasn't even one of the families of the dead soldiers behind it. Perhaps they were as pragmatic in their grief as Lord Roitaheru was. It was just as possible that the King had paid close attention to the reports about the journey precisely in order to find soemthing that would destroy me.
In fact, it was just as possible that I had tipped him off about this opportunity myself. I had certainly written home to complain about Lord Herucalmo's demands, and to express my fear that it would ruin my work. At the time, it had seemed a safe topic to write about (certainly safer than anything else that had happened on that day), but it might also have encouraged the King to be more interested in the journey of the bodies than he would otherwise have been. The letter would have reached home at about the same time as Lord Herucalmo's ship – maybe it had even travelled on the same ship – so it was quite possible that I had sealed my doom with my own hand.

I very much did feel doomed. Lord Roitaheru might not personally want to give me any grief over this matter, but then, he didn't need to do much. All he had to do was confirm my failure and send me back home in order to put me into the hands of a man who wanted to give me all the grief in the world.
The servant returned with the report, which Lord Herucalmo had apparently copied from the wax tablets he'd been using onto a more durable material. While Lord Roitaheru skimmed it to find any reference to the concerns I'd mentioned, I quietly descended into despair. Lord Herucalmo, even if he had noted my protest, had dismissed it right away. He probably hadn't even bothered to document it. Beyond my words to Lord Herucalmo, there was no evidence that I had been anything but confident about sending these bodies on their journey home. And even if there was, I had still failed my only purpose, which was to preserve them so they could be laid to rest in their native soil. I had failed. My life, precariously rebuilt, was tumbling into pieces around me. I wondered if there was any hope in reminding Lord Roitaheru that some bodies had already been too far gone to preserve, which I had reported to him right away. But there was probably nothing to achieve in that direction. I had kept these bodies, and then failed to keep them safe. The King, at the very least, knew exactly where to place the blame, and he would make certain that it would be placed. I felt as though I was suffocating. I might as well have drowned myself on the journey.

Just as I began to consider the respective merits of breaking my promises and ending my life in a swift and hopefully painless manner, or trying to escape across the mountains and probably die too, just more slowly and painfully, Lord Roitaheru interrupted my thoughts.
"Ah yes, here it is. 'Embalmer expresses concern that bodies cannot be transported safely. Concern dismissed.' Bloody fool."
Before I could ask who was the bloody fool – Lord Herucalmo or me – he went on, "Well, that poses a new problem, doesn't it."
I needed to take several small breaths before I could answer. Things weren't decided yet. Problems could, perhaps, be solved. I tried to pull myself together and work towards a solution, but I didn't manage anything more clever than, "Does it, my Lord?"
"It does," Lord Roitaheru confirmed, tossing the papers to the side. "It very much does. Evidently the misjudgement was Calmo's."
I took a deep breath of relief, and then nearly forgot to breathe again when Lord Roitaheru went on, "But I cannot tell the King that Calmo is to blame. I know you two aren't fond of each other" – I very nearly choked – "but he isn't a bad lad, all things considered. And he has great plans, and a great future ahead of him if he plays his cards right. It mustn't be ruined by a rash decision."

I very nearly asked, What about my plans? What about my future? But there was no point. Compared to Lord Herucalmo's future, mine was insignificant. I would be punished for his rash decision, and he would rise to court and probably marry the Princess. If I had not been so terrified, I might have been furious. As it was, I was trembling with the effort of maintaining some sort of dignity, rather than curling up in the chair and breaking into tears of anger and despair.
"So what do we do?" Lord Roitaheru seemed to be talking more to himself than to me, but then he addressed me directly. "What about your assistants? Is there one of them who could've made a mistake?"

To my shame, I was desperate enough to consider the suggestion seriously. I suppose I could have blamed Yorzim, or anyone else (but Yorzim was the first to come to mind, truthfully). I could have said that he had botched the cleaning, the salting, the embalming, the wrapping, any step of the way. There was no way to prove that he hadn't, even with our extensive notes. It was entirely possibly that someone had a mistake. He could have misunderstood an assignment, or used the wrong substance, or simply mismeasured. Yorzim in particular might even have acted out of spite, considering how much he had hated me at the time. Or at the very least he might have been distracted. It was quite plausible, and nobody would be able to prove that there hadn't been a mistake, and I was close, so close, to jumping at this chance to save myself.

But I managed to hold myself back. How often had I been punished unjustly for things I hadn't done? How often had I seen the lowly take the blame for mistakes made by their so-called betters? How often had I raged, inside the privacy of my mind, against these injustices? So how could I consider, even for the briefest of moments, subjecting someone else to the same injustice? Telling myself that it would be just as unfair if I took the punishment for Lord Herucalmo's misjudgement didn't make it any more just to pass it on. But it was hard, then and there, not to do just that.
I was responsible for my apprentices', or assistants', work, I reminded myself, as sternly as I could. If any of them had made a mistake in the conservation of the bodies, then it was still my oversight, and my head that should roll for it.

I just wished that the rolling of heads could have been no more than a figure of speech.

I shook my head (half expecting it to fall off right then), and once I had worked up the strength to speak, I said, "No. They followed my instructions exactly. I cannot justly blame any of them." I bit my lips, already sore because I had worried them all through my considerations, and then said out loud what I had already told myself. "Besides, they have merely begun to learn. I am responsible for their work."
Lord Roitaheru nodded gravely. "Fair enough. A pity, though. That would've been a convenient way out."
I hung my head, waiting for whatever would come next. Would I have a chance to return to the morgue, explain matters, settle any open debts? Or would I be arrested directly? It was probably too much to hope that I would simply be imprisoned here in Umbar, where at least I had a sympathetic jailor, or even executed under Lord Roitaheru's command, who at least had no reason to make it more unpleasant than it had to be. More likely that I would be sent home in disgrace and delivered straight to the King's torturers.

Scraping together the last shreds of hope, I raised my head to appeal to Lord Roitaheru. "Before you make a decision, your Grace, there is something I must tell you. I – I don't think the King has taken notice because anyone urged him to." Only very briefly did I consider the wisdom of breaking my silence concerning the King's past actions and present intentions for me. At this point, I did not feel that it could make matters worse. "He wanted to take notice because he hates me and wants to destroy me. The – the unjustified torment that your son spoke of? That was no accident. That was fully intentional." The memories came welling up like rot and cess out of a flooded sewer, threatening to overwhelm me. I was struggling for air. I clenched my hands into the armrests of the chair, trying to remind myself that I was, as yet, sitting upon cushions in a bright, warm office in the governor's palace in Umbar.
When at last I had caught my toughts and my breath, I managed, "I am begging you not to send me home, where I will surely be tortured again, and probably killed. I would appreciate it greatly if you could punish me here. I know you normally don't want me to grovel, but inwardly I am casting myself at your feet, and I'll do it outwardly too if it pleases you."

Lord Roitaheru scowled at me in disgust or at the very least disdain, waving his hand to forestall any attempts to beg further. "It does not," he said shortly, and then he said nothing for a while, his jaw working all the time as if chewing a particularly tough piece of meat or holding back angry words. I fought to keep control over my breathing, and to not break into tears.
"How about this," Lord Roitaheru said at long last. "I shall take the blame. We will say that I ignored both Calmo's and your concerns and commanded the transport of the bodies myself. Nobody can demand that either of you should have gone against my direct orders."
I blinked, disbelieving my ears. "But what – what of the consequences?"
He shrugged in dismissal. "At the worst, I'll get replaced as governor, but frankly there's nothing in the statutes that requires me to bring back the bodies of soldiers who died in the service of Númenórë intact and unspoiled. I'm not allowed to send them into danger without need while they're alive, but as we have established at length, the campaign against the desert folk was entirely justified and necessary." Perhaps remembering my objections to the very same campaign, he gave a wry smile. "It's altogether far more likely that there will be some grumbling and a reprimand, and maybe some demands for damages, which I will pay out of the tax coffers and the mines, and then I'll have to exhort you to find a safe way of transport for the bodies in the future." He waggled his finger at me. "Consider yourself exhorted."

I swallowed hard. This all sounded too good to be true, and I didn't know how react to that, so I just scratched my nose awkwardly and said, "Actually, we're already testing different woods and different proofing methods to see which are the most suitable for transport at sea."
For some reason this seemed to amuse him. "All the better!" he chuckled. "We can tell the Crown that corrective measures are already being taken."
I chewed on my lips once more. I was endlessly grateful for the protection he was offering me, and as a result, I felt that I owed him "And if the King does replace you as governor?"
Another eloquent shrug. "Well, it's a nice office, and I wouldn't mind keeping it. But I can do without it. I'll get to stay here, no doubt, so my presence doesn't tarnish Calmo's reputation. I'll have a smaller house with fewer duties, and will probably turn into an old and past-his-prime version of Laurilyo. Nothing to be feared. And who knows? If what you say is true, once you're out of the picture, His Majesty may not be all that interested in the consequences anymore. As for the families of the soldiers, they will surely find far more solace in compensation than in my deposition." He spread his hands, suggesting that his decision was final. "So there we go."

There were still doubts in my mind – what if the King was out for blood, if not mine, then someone else's? what if the sum Lord Roitaheru had to pay was as outrageous as Lord Eärendur's fine had been? what if he replaced Lord Roitaheru with another enemy of mine? – but I could not find it in my heart to argue that the blame should be placed with the man who most deserved it, if his father was willing to take the blow for him – and, more importantly, for me. So I bowed my head, this time in acceptance and gratitude, and only said, "I don't know how to thank you, your Grace."
He refilled the cups, and said in a voice as unconcerned as though we had simply discussed the weather, "Well, you could tell me the story of how a humble embalmer managed to gain the enmity of the Highest in the Realm, and all the other things you and my dear son and my esteemed father-in-law have kept secret from me so far." His eyebrows rose in reprimand. "I feel I've earned it."

Who was I to argue? I told him the whole story, or as much of it as I thought of telling at the time. And to be honest, there was something liberating about finally telling him the truth about who I was, and about relieving myself of all the other secrets. No doubt relief loosened my tongue as much as the khoosh did, so perhaps I was more forthright than I should have been. But as he had said, he'd earned the truth. And I suspected that, once he knew it, he would be just as interested in keeping it secret as the rest of us were.