SHORT STORIES

In Tatlankel once the grota rains came early. The gift of the Queen of the Skies quickening Geb’s wellsprings of life is a joy to the farmers of the City of Wisdom. The Sethrum and Lake Wenarehk swell, spill their banks, and the earth is renewed. Those who are not farmers instead seek shelter, and glumly await a season where their footwear is not squelching through puddles. So it was that I gazed out from beneath an awning into a hazy downpour, reflecting that I had little to occupy myself even if I could venture abroad. I stood at the edge of my refuge and the impact of the droplets splashed my shins and soaked my old pair of hobnailed sandals. Beyond, the folk of Tatlankel emerged from the rain’s curtain on their errands, heedless of the weather, then disappeared once again behind it as they passed. This was the nature of the lives many led, I considered. The bowl of beer in my hand was not the first of that morning. The premature arrival of the rains had caught me unawares. Trusting Ranute’s many mercies, I was reposed beneath thin and inexpensive thatch suited to dolina’s heat. The new roof required for an abode I’d hoped would be more temporary left my finances in such disarray that the copper chains which paid for the morning’s refreshment were nearly my last. This bowl, I promised myself, this bowl and I will join the rest of Tatlankel and eke out the living which carries each of us closer to the final embrace. This bowl and perhaps another. This newly-planned bowl and most likely yet one more besides were forestalled by a greeting. “Titi? Ai, there is Titi!” As had become something of a habit during my time in the City of Wisdom, I was greeted by the muruch Shile. My previous chance meeting with the one known as the Busybody had developed into an occasional partnership that usually redounded to our mutual satisfaction. This morning, he was not alone. Accompanying Shile was a bulky man of middle age with sand-colored scales. The bands across his stomach were distended by apparent years of plenty, but gone somewhat slack now, overhanging the waist of his simple kilt. He’d dispensed with his thin brown hair, shaving it to stubble which was now resurging unevenly. The rain cascaded off his broad, brawny shoulders and he appeared to pay it no heed. “Hum, who is this, now?” the man asked, taking in my appearance much as I was his. “My frequent partner, Titi,” explained Shile. His sharp-toothed grin was reserved for me in acknowledgment that the case was somewhat overstated. “You have said you require my assistance. Well, I shall not shortweight you by leaving aside some of my resources.” The muruch’s pinkish skin was soaked as well. His shoulders had tanned during dolina, but would fade now that the rains had come, I supposed. The patches of brown scales on either side of his face served me to set him apart from others of his kind. “Walk with us!” Shile entreated me, and what could I do but acquiesce? I left the lees in the bowl, and exchanged the shelter of the beer-seller’s awning for the pouring rain. Presently my acquaintance introduced his client. “This is Amnahun, formerly a soldier, now a reed-builder.” “What now?” Amnahun asked, astonished, “I gave you only my name!” To my eyes, the older man had somewhat the bearing of one who’d marched at command, but the assessment of his present occupation mystified me as well. As was his wont, Shile elaborated. “Observe he is quite untroubled by the wet and the mud on his shins.” Amnahun looked down at the bits of muck clinging to his legs, cast and adhered there continually by the rain. “This speaks to one who surveys among the reeds, packing dirt to raise and maintain the fields in the lake. A respectable, educated profession, one often in need… except in recent years. See how the ends of his kilt are overlapped?” “The crop failures,” agreed Amnahun, giving away the game with this confirmation. “The fields of the City of Wisdom do not expand, and the Nomarch is parsimonious in maintaining the canals and districts. I have had to tighten my kilt.” “Rather than purchase a new one,” Shile continued, pleased but unsurprised he had the right of it. “Amnahun learned surveying while under arms, for his name does not suggest the wealth to afford the education, and his hair grows patchy around scars in his scales. Do not be offended, you came by your skills honorably. Titi here carried an axe for a time, too.” “You are not wrong,” the reed-builder still sounded surprised. Presumably Shile was recommended to him specifically for the muruch’s cleverness, but seeing it in practice is startling. It can appear to be divination, but it is not. “Perhaps you will make sense of my conundrum.” “As you surmised, these have been lean years for my work,” he began, “I was forced to release my laborers to find other employment for themselves two years ago, and thus could only accomplish small undertakings when they were available. However, I recently received a contract to maintain the shoring of the Precinct of Worthies.” “By yourself?” prompted Shile. “No, I had to quickly retain a laborer to assist me. Apsu herself must have sent the young fellow to me, for he agreed to work for half-pay, room and board, and instruction in the surveying trade. And he is your kind, a boon in the deeper canal waters.” Amnahun gestured to Shile who was, of course, walking on two legs just then rather than swimming as muruch naturally do. Shile looked nonplussed at the mention of another muruch. “Is he the only other one in your household?” “I keep a beastkin to cook and clean,” Amnahun admitted. “Employed even as your finances shrank?” Shile asked. “I am a bachelor,” the reed-builder spread his hands, “and would be hard-pressed without domestic help. She is also touched a bit by Ash. She has a knack for predicting the weather and finding lost things and her fee is quite reasonable compared to an iaret. Her and the boy have got along well, it is a peaceful household.” We had paused on our somewhat aimless stroll through the rain, our advance blocked by a grim funeral procession bound for the Tomb of Worthies. The effigies borne by the wailing hierodules were splayed and tormented in pantomime of the gruesome rites of the Zeelite denomination. A high priest had recently gone into the Drowning Girl’s arms, and the mourning ceremonies had been interminable. The priest’s great wealth could afford such official outpourings of grief. “Now, as to your conundrum,” Shile prompted his client. “It began before the rains,” Amnahun explained, “I had begun the contract I alluded to, and thought to give thanks to Ranute for her gift. My maid, upon hearing my preparations, however, suggested Apsu of Waters. Feeling somewhat indulgent in my good fortune, I elected to pay homage to both.” “When I arrived at the fane of Apsu, however, I was treated to a remarkable sight. A great crowd had gathered to hear an itinerant teacher speak Apsu’s wisdom. Of greatest interest was his word that Apsu’s heart had been broken anew by Ash, and the yearly floods would come early, if one of great faith entreated her.” “I remained until the crowd had dispersed to offer my praise privately, when suddenly I found the teacher at my arm. ‘I see your devotion,’ he told me, and pressed a gold deity into my hand, promising another each day I spent entreating Apsu. With a needle, he pricked me here,” Amnahun pointed to his heart, “as a promise to the Wounded Lady.” Here, the reed-builder looked a bit embarrassed. “Thus I came each day, from morning to dusk, and said prayers and joined the priests’ rituals in service of Apsu. And each day, after, the teacher could be found in the temple square and gave me another gold coin. In all, I was paid twenty-three golden deities.” “Even after the rains came?” asked Shile. “Even so, until the day before yesterday. I thought that if the teacher’s beneficence persisted beyond the foretold event, there must be no harm in it.” “But your contract?” this question was mine, for I was concerned for the man’s obligations beyond godbothering. “The muruch lad labored in my stead. He is a hard worker and an avid learner. His progress is slow, but acceptable for an apprentice and within the specified schedule.” “Hum!” he cleared his throat, “so at the last dusk, the teacher did not appear! I spent all yesterday searching for him, but found no trace. I was concerned… that I was the victim of some scheme, or that ending my daily devotions would incur the wrath of the gods.” Shile gave one of his toothy smiles, “so you engaged my services.” Our walk had taken us to the edge of the Precinct of Life, and across the canal, the Tomb of Worthies loomed half-visible through the rain. “Tell me, Amnahun, what area were you contracted to repair?” “Why, it’s just over there.” He pointed to a spot below the tomb’s flank where the kit of a surveyor was set up, along with baskets of stone, timbers for bracing, and great rafts of earth for filling. Shile considered the scene and turned to Amnahun, voice grave. “There is no time to spare. Go to the Precinct of Wisdom and find the magistrate Hem Likhopsef. Bring him at once to the Tomb of Worthies, use my name if he is hesitant.” The mystified reed-builder departed on this errand and Shile’s sudden gravity persisted. “Titi, have you your axe to hand?” I did not, of course, and went to fetch it with the promise to rejoin Shile at the tomb. It was a relief to enter the tomb, the rain was not abated in the least by the time I rejoined Shile. I arrived swiftly, and thus the muruch and I waited upon Amnahun’s return. When the reed-builder came, it was not with the magistrate, but a lesser priest, and two of the Flower Guard. However, Shile seemed to be familiar with this personage as well. “Ah, Hemet Tezolal. I assume Hem Likhopsef was indisposed, so thank you for coming. You must allow us entry to the Tomb of Worthies, only your aid will prevent a crime against the Nomarch’s peace and the dignity of the gods.” Tezolal was as short as I am tall, with narrow vertical stripes emerging from beneath her hair to descend down her neck and reappear on her legs below her robes. She frowned at Shile’s demand but gave a knowing sigh. She had come with the great flat metal keys to unlock the tomb’s gate, so this must have been anticipated. When we entered, Shile took my arm for guidance. Muruch cannot see in darkness as iaret. “Hemet, please lead us to where the great priest awaits his final interment.” “The Zeelite?” Tezolal was not of that sect, for I could hear her disdain. In that time, there were fewer of the blood-stained priests in the city ministries. As she guided us beyond the ornate entry halls, we passed over powerful glyphs of forbiddance. No effort had been spared to deter tomb robbers, even ones who could employ magical means of entry. It is said that the tunnels beneath the tomb through which the masons and workers traveled were safeguarded by deadly mechanical traps should thieves ever penetrate the outer wards. We arrived at a large chamber, piled with grave goods and riches. Some would be dispersed to any family the priest had, some in tribute to the Nomarch, some to his temple, and some would go with him to the Drowning Girl’s bosom, but for now all was gathered in a display of his wealth. His sarcophagus was laid in the center of the room, richly gilded and inlaid with lapis and polished agate. At Shile’s request, Tezolal produced a magical light so he could see while we waited. “We will not need to tarry overlong, I think.” Indeed, a rushing sound could be heard beneath the stone underfoot before the priestess’ magical light expired. We looked about for the source of the noise, all except for Shile, who merely cocked an ear to listen. “Be ready to extinguish the light,” he warned, “our guests will bring their own illumination.” Water began to seep through the gaps between the stones in the floor and the muruch motioned for darkness. Now came the sound of chisel and hammer against the floor, and we drew back from the epicenter of the disturbance. The flagstones buckled and gave way, and a brief deluge jetted into the chamber from below. Lit from below the water, a muruch crawled out of the hole and peered into the darkened room. Behind him, an apkallu in monastic robes of water silk surfaced bearing a magical light. “Quickly now!” Shile cried, “grab them!” I was nearest, and when I emerged from hiding, the muruch came at me with determined alacrity. I battered aside the coral dagger in his fist with my axe and knocked him down bodily. The Flower Guards took hold of the teacher’s robe before he could slip under the water again. Afterwards, Amnahun was quick to identify the muruch as the laborer he had taken on, and the teacher as the one who had engaged him to pray for rain. The teacher held his tongue, but the muruch was bold. “A fair catch!” he admitted, cradling his wrist. I may have broken it. “Lured us right in, you did, and closed the net!” “I suppose you have an explanation for this?” asked the Hemet as the Flower Guards hauled away the would-be tomb robbers. Her displeased look had not softened since our meeting, despite having prevented an embarrassing theft from the Tomb of Worthies. Shile smiled at her all the same. “As even the reed-builder guessed, the beneficence of the apkallu was too good to be true. But he should have been as cautious of his laborer’s willingness to work for half pay. The final implication was the location of the reed-builder’s contract: the perfect place to burrow into the tunnels beneath the Tomb of Worthies.” “What was lacking was privacy to do such burrowing. Thus Amnahun was engaged to pray for rain all day, and the plotters could go about their clandestine work, hiding the progress each evening. With what they stood to gain, the investment of a double-handful of deities to pay the reed-builder for his worship was nothing.” “But the traps in the tunnels?” I admit I only knew of their existence as rumor, but surely clever thieves would have somehow accounted for the possibility. “The deluge,” Shile explained, “both thieves can breathe water. By flooding the tunnels, they could swim above triggers in the floor, and the water itself might impede or disable the mechanisms.” Satisfied, the representative of the law left us in the rain outside the Tomb. Amnahun paid Shile the fee they had agreed upon, and a portion of this was offered to me, which I gladly accepted. The muruch gave a final admonition to his client, “you are an earnest man, and fair. In the future, scrutinize all offers and opportunities for hidden motives.” “Do you think he will heed your advice?” I asked after the reed-builder departed. Shile looked pensive. “I hope so, for he will likely be tested again. Recall who suggested to him that he offer thanks to Apsu, availing him to the tomb-robbers’ scheme.” “You should have told the Flower Guard!” I had not made the connection to Amnahun’s domestic help. “Little could be proven,” he shook his head, scattering droplets back into the rain from his sodden brown hair, “and better the harmless machinations of a maid who depends on him for room and board than whatever cruelty another opportunist might inflict.” With those parting words Shile too was gone and I stood alone before the Tomb, somewhat at a loss. My blood had stirred with the brief fight, and the prospect of returning to the beer-seller’s awning with my new funds did not appeal as much as I might have expected. In the end, I hefted my axe to my shoulder as of old, and let the rain wash my scales of the day’s events.