The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 10

"There's a Nob asking to see you, sir!" said one of the young boys – Tîmat he was called – who kept an ear on the streets for us.
It was Valanya, a Council day, and so I expected that my fears were going to come true today: That I was summoned to answer to new charges, Assuming Authority or Breaking the Peace or whatever else the Crown Prince thought I had done this time. I could not keep the tremour out of my voice. "Where am I to go?" I knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable, but good grief, it was hard to man up and face whatever lay ahead. "The palace?"
Tîmat shook his head. "Not so far. No, he's standing where the road starts." He grinned, revealing that his front teeth were missing. Soon he would no longer be counted a boy, I thought, clinging at anything to distract myself. Tîmat went on, "Stepped into the mud and got his shiny boots dirty, and then he asked whether I knew where Azruhâr the Embalmer lives. I didn't know whether you'd want me to bring him here, so I said I'd ask whether you were at home." Another gap-toothed grin. "He gave me three Stars for my trouble, too! But if you'd like, I can tell him I didn't find you and see if he gives me any more."

I tried to calm myself by thinking the matter through. A nobleman who came down to the foot of the hill was probably not about to have me judged in front of the Council – they would simply have sent guards for that purpose – nor was it likely that he would deal out my punishment in person – he wouldn't have waited for a street urchin of doubtful loyalty to warn me first. Besides, it was unlike a Noble to do such dirty work with his own hands. It could not even be the Crown Prince, who maybe hated me enough to wring my throat in person, because certainly he would not have gotten his boots dirty for the purpose. It made no sense however you looked at it, but at any rate it did not seem likely that I would suffer greatly just now. Maybe it wasn't a Noble at all, just one of my colleagues?
I stood up. "No, thank you. I suppose I'd better go and find out what he wants," I said with a sigh. "Come along, Tîmat; maybe I'll need you to bear another message back here."
And I put on my warm cloak and my straw overshoes, and followed Tîmat towards the passage where the muddy road ended and the paved streets began.

The person who was waiting there was indeed a nobleman, that much was obvious, and not one I knew. I vaguely remembered his face (very handsome; some people have all the luck) from the ceremonies I had attended at the palace, but if I had ever been introduced to him, I had completely forgotten who he was. But he was a nobleman: He was accompanied by bodyguards and everything. One of the guards was holding the reins of a splendid black stallion. Its hooves and legs were unsullied; the nobleman's boots were, as Tîmat had said, smeared with mud up to his shins. He had clearly judged correctly that the road was too muddy to safely ride through, but misjudged the depth of the mud.
The bodyguards were all uniformed, from their fine grey leather boots (some of them muddy, some not) to their blue cloaks closed with silver brooches that showed the same family badge; they all looked like trouble, but they remained behind their lord, whose expectant frown actually gave way to a smile when he saw Tîmat and me sludge closer.
I tried not to look too confused.
"You must be Azruhâr, then," said the Noble. "Well met – no, don't!" But it was too late; I had gone down on one knee - if I had to choose between muddy breeches and risking to offend a nobleman, muddy breeches it was. "Please, stand up," he said, and I complied. The mud sucked at my leg greedily, trying to keep me down, and finally let go with a disgusting squelch.
"Oh, look at that mess," the nobleman said. "That really would not have been necessary."
"I apologise, your lordship," said I, although I felt somewhat silly for apologising that I had greeted him in the manner that was normally expected. Well, if he was worrying about the state of my breeches, he surely didn't mean to hurt me, and that was good. "What can I do for you?" I asked.
He was still looking at my mud-caked pant leg, a frown marring his pretty features. He reminded me of someone, that is, I was certain that I had seen his eyes before, just not in this particular face. I just couldn't put a finger on it.
"My brother has asked me to see whether there was anything I could do to help down here," said the nobleman, making less sense than ever, "and you are supposed to be the man who can tell me what needs to be done."
My mouth fell open. I exchanged a glance with Tîmat, who gave a dismissive shrug as if to say, Well, isn't it true?
"Your lordship's brother?" I asked, feeling rather foolish. The Noble's eyebrows went up, whether in indignation or amusement I couldn't quite tell, although he seemed to be given rather to amusement, judging by the curl of his lips and the glint in his eyes.
"You do not know who I am, do you?" he asked.
"Begging your pardon, your lordship, but no, I don't."
He grinned. Amusement, I thought, was better than annoyance.
"Eärengolë of Andúnië," he said with a courtly bow.
"Azruhâr son of Narduhâr, at your lordship's service," I said automatically, bowing lower (I now assumed that it was safer not to kneel again, although it wasn't as though my breeches could get any muddier). The formal response gave me a welcome chance to suppress the words that really wanted to rise to my tongue, What an impossible name. Tîmat, standing a few staps behind me, had given a little snort at it; I hoped that nobody but me had heard it, since he didn't even bother to pretend that he needed to cough or the like. Well, noblemen had strange tastes, I thought; but at least now I knew where I had seen those cheerful eyes before – in the face of Quentangolë, of course. I remembered what old Palatâr had said, about King's Scribe being a position for a lord's second son. So this must be the first son, the future heir of the current lord of Andúnië, who in turn was the man whose name I had sort of dragged into the dirt back in early winter, when I had freed my neighbours. Oh dear.
"Quentangolë is your lordship's brother?" I asked, just to make sure I had pieced the bits together correctly.

He gave a little sigh. "Please, you know my name now. You make me feel ancient – and horrible. Don't you think all this 'your lordship' business is cumbersome?"
"I would not know, Lord Eärengolë," I said, "I cannot pretend to know the preferences of your noble kind."
He sighed again, but said, "Better. And yes, Quenno is indeed my little brother." He looked around, demonstratively rubbing his arms although he was wearing a fine beaver-fur coat and couldn't possibly be cold. "Maybe we can continue this conversation inside somewhere?"
I looked at his feet doubtfully. "I would invite you to my house, but the road is only getting worse," I said. If he worried about my breeches, I could not imagine that he would want to ruin his own boots.
"Ah," he promptly said. "I see you have found a clever way to protect your feet?"
"Yes, Lord Eärengolë. If you wish, you can have my overshoes --" I bent down to take them off.
"No, that will not do." He waved his hands at once. "Are there any more of these overshoes to be had?"
"Would you like me to get Elzahâr?" Tîmat asked from behind. He was going barefoot, and had mud smeared up to his thighs: He probably thought we were being quite silly.
"Elzahâr makes these straw-boots," I explained to Lord Eärengolë. "He may have another pair ready, if we're lucky."
"Then by all means, send for him – and his shoes," Lord Eärengolë said. While Tîmat dashed off, I wondered whether the nobleman would be willing to pay for a pair of overshoes he'd likely only need on this one occasion. Maybe I could later buy them off him and give them to someone else who had more use for them.

I also wondered whether I should try to make conversation. Probably. It was surely impolite to stand here in silence, leaving Lord Eärengolë to boredom. I just had no real idea how noblemen conversed. Did they talk about the weather, too?
"I am dreadfully sorry about the state of the roads down here," I tried.
Lord Eärengolë tilted his head, his lips curving in a grin. "I was not aware that you were responsible for their state," he said. "Which is indeed dismal. How did you go about it? Did you just water them, day by day, until they were aswim? Or did you import the mud from Fornostar?"
I almost laughed at these suggestions, but I wasn't sure whether that was permitted. "That is not what I meant, Lord Eärengolë; I just feel ashamed because you have to see this... this muck. We don't often get such high-born visitors, mind you."
"I can imagine," he said wryly. "It would be a good thing if these roads were plastered, or at least drained and gritted, would it not?"
"Oh, that would be a blessing," I said. "In every respect. It's not going to happen in my lifetime, though."
The nobleman grinned more broadly. He had the same contagious grin as Quentangolë, and the same odd sense of humour, it seemed. "It just might, Azruhâr; it just might."

I did not dare to interpret too much into that exchange, but I did not dare to change the topic, either – so I fell silent after all, clasping my hands behind my back to keep them from scratching my head or peeling the hardening mud off my breeches. Elzahâr saved us when he arrived after a while, at a mad dash, with two pairs of straw-woven overshoes under his arms and two more carried by Tîmat.
"Please, don't kneel," Lord Eärengolë said as they came to a halt before us.
Elzahâr's jaw worked – I could practically hear him think – and finally compromised on a caricature of a courtly bow. "Your lordship," he said breathlessly. "I hope that one of these fits. They're all slightly different, so maybe one pair will have the right size. Um. If it please your lordship to try them on?"
So far, I had probably been Elzahâr's wealthiest customer. Having an actual nobleman wear his overshows would make a fantastic tale if nothing else, but I really hoped that he would get some money for his trouble, too. Weaving straw was miserable work; you could cut your fingers open on it, and the dust got everywhere, making your nose and throat itch. The rims of Elzahâr's eyes were indeed red and enflamed, but on the other hand, it was as reliable an income as one could hope for.
The second pair that Lord Eärengolë tried on seemed to fit nicely, and I thought that would be the end of it, but he asked his bodyguards to try the remaining pairs until three of the bodyguards had overshoes, too. Elzahâr looked at once hopeful and crestfallen as he said, "I do not have any more, though of course I can make more if your lordship wants me to, but that will take a few days..."
Lord Eärengolë smiled. "That will not be necessary; a few men have to stay behind with the horse, anyway. No, this will do very well. What do I owe you?"
A sigh of relief escaped me, while Elzahâr looked down at the ground, mumbling "I normally take half a Ship for a pair, your lordship...?" At this point, customers would rarely pay and more commonly haggle for a lower price. I knew that Elzahâr generally settled at three Stars for a pair, but with so many sold at once, he might be willing to take less.
"Half a Ship per pair, that'll be a Half-Crown," said Lord Eärengolë. I opened my mouth to protest, because maybe Elzahâr did not know enough of calculation to catch the mistake, but I certainly did. Four pairs at half a Ship each, that was two Ships – not three. I assumed that this was some sort of test, to see how honest poor Elzahâr was. This was how we got branded as dishonest often enough: Someone would say too high or too low a price, and because most of us couldn't think beyond half a Ship, we didn't know that we were being tested. I wanted to save Elzahâr from such a fate, but then I saw that Lord Eärengolë was winking at me. I shut my mouth again, frowning.
"One Ship for the speedy delivery, and for troubling you on a high day," he said by way of explanation. "And two Ships for the exceedingly useful overshoes." He began to dig in his purse, and indeed produced a silver Half-Crown. I thought of my first Crown and a half, when I had begun working as an embalmer. I had probably looked just as Elzahâr was looking now, his red-rimmed eyes wide and round, his mouth falling open in astonishment. He accepted the coin with trembling hands, kissed it, and then he fell to his knees after all, which actually caused Lord Eärengolë to step forward and try to catch him.

"Why did he do that that?" the nobleman complained as we made our way to my house, accompanied by tireless Tîmat and three of the bodyguards. "I asked him not to kneel, didn't I?"
I half-turned so I could see his face – see whether he was being serious. He seemed to be.
"We have to show our gratitude in some way, don't we?" I asked in return.
"Well, there's nothing wrong with saying 'Thank you, good lord' or something of the sort," he said.
Tîmat snorted; I shot him a warning glance, although he was right, of course.
"Um," I heard myself say. "An hour ago, Elzahâr and his wife were probably trying to figure out how to put food on the table this night. Now they don't have to worry about that for at least a week. Maybe two. 'Thank you, good lord' seems a little weak, doesn't it? And its not exactly like lords mind when you kneel to them."
He did not reply, and for a while we sludged on without speaking. Then suddenly he spoke up again.
"Can I ask you to be honest, Azruhâr?"
I actually stopped in my tracks, because his voice sounded so strange – almost subdued. "I would not dare to be anything but honest to your lordship," I said, which was quite true. I might try to paint the truth in a way that might suit him better, oh yes, but I certainly would not lie. Most of us wouldn't, unless our life were already at stake and it couldn't get any worse.
I could see his eyes widen as if in shock. "I did not mean to imply that you were dishonest," he said. "I apologise."

Well, how did you reply to that? I wracked my mind for an appropriate answer, and finally came up with, "No offense taken, Lord Eärengolë. And yes, I will try to answer any question that you choose to ask me, if that is what you meant."
There was a smile on his face now. "It is indeed." He sobered at once. "Tell me, Azruhâr: Am I intruding here, or am I welcome?"
I blinked as I tried to figure out the right answer. "I don't rightly know, my lord," I finally admitted. "You certainly are an alien down here, because I've never heard of a nobleman come to the foot of the hill at all. It's hard enough to get craftsmen to come here! And I'm not sure what to do. So I suppose that yes, you are intruding."
And he was, and in more than just the way I had just told him. Life was often bleary if not downright miserable down here, but at least you could feel safe in the company of your peers, all of whom shared your plight and all of whom could be treated in the same way, spoken to in the same language. We had to meet craftsmen and merchants and even the occasional nobleman up in the better parts, of course, and there we bowed and tried not to say or do anything offensive, but down here, we did not need to worry about that; we were free. With him present, we weren't. Especially since he didn't even stick to the normal rules that noblemen tended to follow. With normal lords, when you had inadvertently offended them, you could always fall at their feet. Him, you'd probably just make angrier. How were you supposed to deal with someone like that?
On the other hand, Quentangolë had sent him down here because he thought his brother could help, and while Quentangolë knew next to nothing about our lives and needs, he was certainly meaning well. Tîmat and Elzahâr had already benefitted from Lord Eärengolë's presence, at least.
"But you said that you wanted to help, and help is certainly welcome," I went on. "Just, if I may say so, please don't think ill of people when they are wary around you, because most of us have had our experiences with the powerful, and most of them aren't particularly friendly to our kind."
"'Them', and 'our kind'," Lord Eärengolë echoed. "You make it sound as if we were of different species."
"Aren't we?" I asked. I hadn't meant to be so blunt, but it was out before I could stop myself. There was almost a hurt look in his eyes now, as if I had negated his humanity; but he did not protest.
We went on in silence, and I thought, Great – now you've insulted Quentangolë's brother. Who was supposed to help us, and who had certainly done nothing to deserve an insult. So far, he had been very nice – especially for a nobleman.

He continued to be very nice. I would not have dared to ask him to take off his muddy shoes (both pairs, really), and it did not matter all that much since we had no carpet on the floor, anyway. But he did it without me asking, as did his bodyguards. I had never seen a Noble with his boots off, and wasn't surprised to see that he was wearing silk stockings underneath. The bodyguards' stockings were made of linen, like mine, but of finer weave, the sort I never dared to buy because I feared it would make me look decadent. It clearly paid to be bodyguard to the Lords of Andúnië. I led them into the living-room, which was still occupied by the crowd I had left there. They fell silent as we came walking in, staring at my company.
"Meet Lord Eärengolë of Andúnië," I said, which was probably not the right way to put it, but I hadn't exactly been spoon-fed etiquette. I almost added, He doesn't want to be knelt to, but nobody would have believed that, anyway. Besides, the floor in my house was clean, so maybe he did expect a proper obeisance here.
He certainly got it; anybody who had been sitting rose, and then everybody went on one knee, and there was some muttering of "At your service".
"Lord Eärengolë, please meet my neighbours," I said, feeling more silly by the minute. I hoped I would not have to introduce everyone by name.

Lord Eärengolë first looked puzzled (and his bodyguards looked worried, although what danger they feared from twenty-something kneeling people, I couldn't have told you), but then he broke into a smile. He bowed in his courtly manner, as if asking a lady to dance, and said, "Pleased to make your acquaintances. Please, be at ease." His words were greeted with confused silence, until Amraphel, who had come in from the kitchen to see what was going on, quietly gestured with her hands, Up! People understood that, and rose to their feet again; but nobody looked particularly at ease.
"I am here to discuss business with your..." he faltered, looking for the right word. He would know that 'lord' was inappropriate, and I hoped he wouldn't try 'master', either.
"Host," Amraphel suggested.
The nobleman smiled. "Your host, yes. Thank you, madam."
I hoped that Amraphel would be able to deal with the situation from here on, and quickly went over and took her hand. "My wife, Amraphel daugher of Amrazôr," I said.
Amraphel made a very dignified curtsy; she had a smear of grease on her cheek and was wearing a kitchen-apron, but otherwise, she might have been the lady Lord Eärengolë had asked to dance. "I am honoured to make your acquaintance, gracious my lord," she said.
He blinked, but then he bowed again. "The honour is mine," he said, quite absurdly.
"If you have business to discuss, then Amraphel better be present," I said. "She has more of a mind for such things than I have."
Lord Eärengolë tilted his head with a curious little quirk of his lip. "As you wish," he said. "Do you think we can speak in private?"
"If your lordship does not mind the smells of the kitchen?" Amraphel said. "Otherwise, we'll have to ask these people to leave..."
"No, no, please don't trouble yourselves. The kitchen will be perfectly fine."
"Can I offer you something to eat or drink?" asked Amraphel.
"I feel that I really should not take where others need it more," Lord Eärengolë said with a look at the full room and the occasional empty bowl. "Thank you for the kind offer."
"And your men?" Amraphel said. "Tea, perhaps?"
"Thank you, madam, that will not be necessary," said one of the bodyguards; it was the first time they spoke to one of us directly, although they had on occasion whispered among themselves.
"Let someone know if you change your mind so we can bring you something," Amraphel said, and then turned to our neighbours. "Now, one of you will have to give up his chair..."

"I must confess that I am astonished that you wish to discuss business with Azruhâr, Lord Eärengolë," Amraphel said when we had carried three chairs into the kitchen (our neighbours had been generous like that), and were all seated around the hearth. "Unless things have changed much, I would think that Andúnië does not hold with Keeping the Dead."
"Indeed not," Lord Eärengolë replied. "This has nothing to do with... his usual work."
"What then? The Copper-hoods?"
"In a sense, yes. I was hoping to fund something similar – some way to keep the people down here paid and fed until times are better."
Amraphel raised an eyebrow. "That is a worthy endeavour, Lord Eärengolë. But if you don't mind me asking: Why, and why now?"
Lord Eärengolë's mouth twisted in a pained grimace. "Yes, I suppose I must suffer that question," he said. "This is not exactly a common occurrance, is it."
"I don't think it has happened before in our lifetimes."
Another grimace. "Indeed. Well, my brother has convinced me that it is shameful that a man like your Azruhâr sacrifices his savings to get the daytalers through this winter, while the Nobles of the realm only interfere when hunger drives the poor to rebellion."
"I am tempted to agree with your brother, your lordship."
"Feel free! I am tempted to agree as well. On the other hand, I am told thatyou must be free to lead your own lives and make your own fortunes. I'm not sure whether people appreciate the high-and-mighty meddling with their work life – where does it end? Would it not look as if we were forcing you into our service: Either you work for Lord Eärengolë, or you starve?"
"I believe that is how our economy is working anyway, my lord. Either you find work, or you starve. Whether that work is invented by you, or by Azruhâr, or whether the offer comes from some craftsman who genuinely needs another pair of hands – ultimately that makes very little difference."
"So you think the argument is invalid? You hear it very often."
"From the poor, or from those who could feed them?

Nobody paid any attention to me. I was gripping the seat of my chair, fearing the moment that Lord Eärengolë would tire of being interrogated and strike out. I would have to try and cast myself in front of my wife protectively, I knew, and I was not certain whether I would manage it.
Fortunately, the nobleman did not lash out. "Touché," he said instead, a word that I wasn't familiar with*, but as he said it with a wry smile, I assumed it was some form of agreement.
"I don't think you need to worry that your charity will go unappreciated," Amraphel concluded. "But why here? Why not in Andúnië, which is after all your primary sphere of influence?"
Lord Eärengolë pursed his lips and sat up very straight; for the first time, he appeared indeed offended. His voice sounded a lot colder than before when he replied, "The situation in Andúnië is quite different from that in the capital. We do not have quarters like this in the first place..."
I had been feeling out of my depth for a while, so I latched on to the first part of this conversation that my mind could grasp. "Then where do the poor live?"
"I am not certain that we have poor people in your sense – in the sense of your neighbours, that is," he said stiffly. "We have very few unskilled workers, at any rate. But they live in proper houses. No insult to your fine house, Azruhâr, but some of the hovels I've seen on my way here... I would not want to step inside them for fear that the roof collapses over my head."
"People aren't living in such houses for the joy of it, Lord Eärengolë," I pointed out quietly. "Do you think that they wouldn't happily live in a house like this, or like yours, if they had a chance? That they wouldn't repair the roof, if only they could afford it?"

He heaved a very long sigh. His face softened; apparently, the moment of anger was over, making way for regret. "I cannot do anything about the housing situation," he said. "A house is the responsibility of his owner, and I cannot well order them to rebuild them, even if I pay for it. The roads, on the other hand..."
"Yes," I said. "You mentioned the roads before."
Amraphel caught on fast. "You're thinking of paving the roads?" she asked, disbelief obvious in her voice and face. "Your lordship?" she added quickly, realising that we were being very discourteous towards our noble guest.
"I was considering the possibility, yes," he said. "You think it would not work?"
"Oh, my lord, I think it is a splendid idea," Amraphel replied. Her eyes were shining now; in her head, she was probably already calculating whether we could fund something like that, in case he decided against it. "But it would be huge. The logistics alone will be a pain to plan. You'd need to get the quarriers on board. You'd need a lot of people to bring in sand and gravel and more to prepare the ground... ideally, they would get their mid-day meal on site, stew or at least broth, which would require cooks and ingredients. Then, the mud must be taken somewhere. Depending on how fast you would wish to progress, we're looking at hundreds of workers..."
"Yes, Madam," Lord Eärengolë said, sounding almost like a schoolboy. "Though you forgot to mention flagstones, and we would also need toolmakers. The question is, would your neighbours be willing to do all these things?"
I couldn't stifle a small snort. "My lord, day-talers are willing to do pretty much any work, as long as they're getting paid for it."
"Then would not a project that requires so many unskilled workers be ideal?"
"Unlearned," Amraphel said. "It's not like they lack the skill to hold a pickaxe, they just never got a chance to specialise in one single craft."
I thought that it was unwise to correct him in this manner, even though Amraphel was right; but Lord Eärengolë actually said, "My apologies. Would it not be good to offer work for so many unlearned workers?"
"Oh, absolutely, your lordship. The idea, as I said, is splendid. But I must beg you to consider the costs – no, do not laugh, I know that you can easily afford to fund such a project and more, if you choose to. That is not my point. No, I must beg you to consider the costs and decide whether you are truly willing to pay them, for a road you do not even use, for no recompense but our gratitude. Do not raise people's hopes before you are certain that you will go through with it." Now she sounded very stern. I marvelled at her courage.
The nobleman gave another wry smile. "If I were not willing to expend quite a bit of money, I would not have come here. No, you need not worry that I will change my mind once this vague idea turns into a real toll on my purse, though I understand your concerns. I need permission from my father, from the King and from Lord Atanacalmo – nominally, the upkeep of Armenelos is his responsibility, so I am hunting on his grounds, so to say. But he is a reasonable man; I am sure that I can convince him. Pending these permissions, the works can begin."
"I must still beg you not to tell our neighbours until that happens," Amraphel insisted.
"Of course; and I must swear you to silence until that day, too."

When he and his bodyguards made to leave, queuing in my narrow entrance hall, they discovered that somebody had taken their boots and cleaned and polished them. Lord Eärengolë stood as if thunderstruck; then he turned, glancing back into the living-room. "Who did that?" he asked, holding up his no-longer smeared boots.
There were a few glances exchanged as people wondered whether there would be praise or punishment. Eventually two of the younger boys, Makhôr and Lôrahîl, stepped forwards with sheepish looks on their faces.
Lord Eärengolë smiled. "Much obliged," he said, handing both of them a couple of small coins.

Amraphel looked after him as he left, led by Tîmat and flanked by his bodyguards. Then we returned back inside.
"He seems to be a very nice fellow – particularly for a nobleman," I said.
Amraphel shrugged. "I am trying not to like him."
"Why not?" I frowned. "Am I missing something?"
"Not exactly. It's more that if I allow myself to like him, I'll be all the more furious when all this turns out to have been empty talk."
"So you don't think he'll actually do anything?"
Amraphel turned to face me, a sceptical look on her face. "I don't want to put too much hope into him," she specified. "I wouldn't mind being surprised, of course."

And she was. Two weeks after that day, Quentangolë gave me not only my pay, but also a letter, folded up small so that it fit in my hand along with the coins. I was surprised at such secrecy, but I duly took the letter home to Amraphel.
It contained a precise list of how many workers would be needed in what place starting Elenya next. Hands were needed in the quarry and the lime-pit, for transport, for digging away the mud, for carting it to the gardens where it would be used as fertiliser, for preparing the gardens, and so on and so on. This wasn't just work for a couple of my neighbours; it would require people from the entire foot of the hill, and some of the city's craftsmen as well. It concluded, simply, with if not these numbers, then as many as possible, and was signed, very simply, RNGL.
"Even if he gets all these workers together, this is going to last well into Spring," Amraphel said soberly. "This is a proper miracle if I've ever seen one. I think, I just think, that I might like him after all."
"I don't think it matters whether we like him or not," I said.
"No, indeed," said Amraphel, and prepared to allot our neighbours to all the different tasks and places, to find out who had carts and who had kettles.
I left that entirely in her hands. I had no clue how she did it, but it seemed that she was good at it, because beginning Elenya, everybody was busy. Even the girls stopped their writing lessons, instead cleaning or sharpening tools, weeding the gardens, preparing meals; and until Îbalad's family returned from their work when darkness fell, we finally had our house to ourselves again.
I did not see Lord Eärengolë again during those weeks; but by and by, a handsome gravel road was manifesting, a grey snake making its way into the mud-brown landscape of our neighbourhood.

Chapter End Notes

*He probably said it in Sindarin. I figure that there would be fancy Eldarin loanwords in Adûnaic, the way there are fancy French words in English too. They probably have a couple of snobby Elvish cooking terms, too. ;)