Shifting on the unyielding floorboards, I thought of Laela and prayed for her. I would light candles on the altar of Shesmegah and I would leave honey cakes, I swore, for her to feast on in the afterlife. Keeping my tears silent, I wept.
I woke to find I had not been murdered in my sleep. Perhaps the Attolian did indeed mean to take me to his king to be paraded around the court as a trophy. I lay looking at the wooden plank ceiling above my head for a moment and then sat up. The Attolian immediately did so as well, and I assumed that some noise outside the cabin had woken us both.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” I said, and scrambled to my feet.
“You don’t have to do that,” he protested.
“Indeed, master,” I said, but he held up a hand—no need for the “master.” “They know me as a slave,” I explained. A dead giveaway if I stopped saying “master” now.
He grimaced, but conceded.
“And you as a Mede,” I added.
That problem he dismissed at first. “There is no one they can tell when they see otherwise.”
Treading carefully, I pointed out that the boat would make many stops. “We are not yet very far from the city,” I said, “and the crew may mention an Attolian on board to those on the shore.” At any stop, the crew might hear a rumor about a slave who had murdered his master, which was why, even if the Attolian did intend to take me back to his king, I needed to abandon the Anet’s Dream as soon as I could. Once the crew realized that the Attolian was pretending to be something he was not, they would become suspicious of me as well. When they heard the rumor, they would put two and two together quickly. And of course, if the rumor came to the Attolian’s ears, I’d be dead.
Twice I had corrected him. Nothing so hateful as presumption in a slave, as my master’s cousin had only recently reminded me. I waited, on edge, to see how he would react, but the Attolian was amiable. He agreed to stay in the cabin for the time being, and I went out to get him some food.
Dawn was breaking. The ship was still moving north, pushed up the river by the light breeze catching in its oversized sails. If the breeze dropped entirely, the crew would row, probably tying up in the middle of the day and then moving on in the evening. The indeterminate banks were empty of everything but rushes. In the distance there were mud houses, built up on whatever ground would be above water during the yearly flood. The wealthy had homes in the hills on the far side of the plains or farther up the river where the banks were higher and more defined. Here, where the banks were low, the boat would anchor midstream and I would be trapped on board.
I went to the midship, where I had seen a rudimentary galley area, to arrange for food and to make the acquaintance of the others on board. Xem, it turned out, was the captain’s youngest son. In charge of the galley, he told me that a merchant was traveling alone in one cabin and the other two were empty. I made it a point to avoid any interaction with the merchant. Slaves too easily become beholden to any free man in need of a servant. I would be fetching and carrying for the Attolian, and I didn’t want to give some nobody merchant any ideas. The only others on board were the captain and his crew, most of them his sons or other relatives.
I carried the tray back to the Attolian, and again he divided the food scrupulously in half, and again we ate together. Rather than giving me a more elevated sense of myself, I’m afraid his behavior lowered my opinion of the Attolian. I had lost everything, I suppose, but my pride. I should have had more respect for his quick thinking when he had come upon me at the docks, but I credited myself instead with our safe arrival on board the Anet’s Dream, focusing on our meeting with the captain. Like a sailor clinging to the wheel of a sinking ship, I wanted to believe I steered the course of my life.
When the food was gone, I carried the tray back to the galley and then wandered the ship. It had a hold, but a fair amount of cargo seemed to be ceramic cooking stoves stacked on the deck and tied down with mismatched lines. I moved between the cargo and the cabins, identifying places I might like to sit out of the sun and out of sight of the other paying passenger in the front cabin. At the stern, I found a rowboat trailing behind on a long line. I could climb down into it if necessary, and I thought I could navigate it to shore if I had to, though I hoped I wouldn’t. I looked over at the rush-lined bank of the river—too shallow for the Anet’s Dream to come near. Farther upriver, that would change. The ship would tie up at the shore and it would be easier for me to slip away.
It was three days to Sherguz, the first town of any significance north of Ianna-Ir. So long as there was no news from someone on shore before then, I had that long to make a plan. I would watch for times when the crew might be distracted or asleep, and if an opportunity arose, I would decide whether or not to take the little boat. It would be risky to climb over the side of the Anet’s Dream, but if I wanted to live, I might have to, and I very much wanted to live.
I’d been gone some time from the cabin. It wouldn’t do to anger the Attolian, so I returned to see if he wanted anything.
The cabin was narrow, only about twice the width of the Attolian’s bunk. Entered from the center of the boat, it stretched almost to the outer rail with only a narrow strip of deck to allow the sailors to pass by. The outer wall was mostly open to admit light and air. Across the opening were the table and stools where the Attolian sat looking at the water.
“Did you need me, master?” I asked.
He smiled and shook his head, offered me the other seat with a gracious wave that the rickety cane-seated excuse for a stool didn’t deserve. I gingerly sat. The riverbank slid by. We said nothing. I was both anxious and bored, but the Attolian seemed neither. I am used to hiding my feelings, and I sat with my hands folded in my lap. In time, the captain decided we had made enough progress and the ship anchored in mid-river. The ship’s boy came around with water and fruit.
In response to no stimulus that I could see, the Attolian said, “You needn’t stay cooped up with me,” and I gratefully abandoned him to stretch my legs again on deck.
I came back after what I guessed was a respectful time, and as I sat, he asked about the play we had seen the day before.
“The bigger man was king? And all of those people were coming to him to say that something bad had happened?” He had followed most of the story, but not all of it.
“Yes. Immakuk was the king of Ianna-Ir. When the spring floods came and didn’t recede, the people were suffering. They thought the king was too old to help them. They all say his hero days are past. His friend Ennikar convinces him that he is not too old and that he should try to save his city. So, together they steal the chariot of the sun god, Anet, and fly off to shut the gates of heaven and stop the floodwaters from drowning Ianna-Ir.”
“That yellow thing was supposed to be a chariot?” the Attolian asked.
“It was not a very good production.”
“I see.”
“Immakuk and Ennikar are never seen again, but the floods recede and are never again so severe, so they must still be working the gates of heaven and protecting the city.”
“I’ve never heard of Immakuk and Ennikar,” he said, and I wasn’t surprised. The Attolians are for the most part uneducated.
“I could tell you more about them if you like. There is a translation of the first tablet into Attolian.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’d like that.”
It was my own translation, but I didn’t tell him. He might have thought I was bragging, and he would have been right. I tapped my hand to my lower lip, bidding the gods to speak through me, and I began.
Greatly wise cloaked in wisdom was Immakuk
greatly strong clothed in strength was his true friend
Ennikar
great was their love and greatly did it sustain them in
their journeys together
greatly did Immakuk rule with his friend
when he came home to Ianna-Ir
Before their journeys began was Immakuk prince and keeper
of the water gates in the temple of Nuri
bound to open the gates to allow the god to enter with
the water
to fill the reservoirs and bring life to the city
Immakuk
bound but not bound well
bound but not committed
bound but not performing
the gates not open the water wasted the god offended
Immakuk left the city in shame
in shame sent out to wander the world
to learn the ways of welcome and unwelcome
Immakuk went into the world and learned about gates closed
against him and gates opened
Learned about blessings
accepted and blessings deserved
Wandered lonely
until Shesmegah took pity turned Immakuk’s path
turned it to Ennikar
led him to Ennikar
Strong Ennikar
great in strength greatly admired
in the city from whence he came
bound to attend the gates of Nuri
but not attending attending instead
a pretty maid
left the gates open let the blessings of the god
flow out of the temple flow into the world
uncontained
Wasted said the priests
Left his city in shame
sent by the priests out to wander
to learn waste not and want not
In the world Ennikar learned about blessings
denied and blessings shared
Met the witch of Urkull met the daughter of Ninur
stayed with her until his path led him on
Followed the herds of the god Prokip and helped
himself at the honeyed hives of Cassa
Fled angry Cassa and met Immakuk
who had wandered
met and shared his takings from the hives
Asked Ennikar of Immakuk what have you learned?
Learned about welcome and unwelcome said Immakuk
Wise Immakuk asked Proud Ennikar what he had learned
Learned I like to wander said Ennikar
“Bit of a freethinker, Ennikar,” said the Attolian. I smiled, but kept going, pleased I had conveyed Ennikar’s untamed nature.
Wander with me then friend Immakuk of
friend Ennikar asked together they went
seeking the day of their return to Immakuk’s city
where in his Wise Years
he would build the stalls of animals
found streets and houses and cities
where he would build the great temple of Nuri
invite the god in
Immakuk ruled with his friend Ennikar at his side
saw the walls of the city built by the gods
many chariots wide the walls
topped in copper strong in glass-faced stone
unbreakable walls to make the city strong
keep its blessings in
its gates open
to send the blessings flowing out
into the world
The Attolian thanked me politely when I was done and asked about some of the words he didn’t understand. Then he asked, “Yesterday, who were the others? With the, you know . . .” He gestured to indicate the outsize accoutrements of Senabid and his master.
“Oh,” I said, ducking my head, “they aren’t part of the story. That’s Senabid, the slave. It’s a sort of a—crowd-pleaser, a chance to laugh as a slave outwits his master.” I hated the Senabid skits, though. I knew other slaves who found them funny, but I thought they were stupid, as if any man would let his slave get away with that kind of trickery. I could only imagine what my master would have done with Senabid, and the thought made me sick. I couldn’t be amused.
“I see,” said the Attolian, nodding. “We have something similar in our theater. Only not a slave, just a lazy workman.” He fell silent again, staring out over the river. By this time I was fairly sure I had his measure, and as the churning sense of terror and dislocation faded, my sense of superiority was slowly reasserting itself.
The breeze held, and we continued upriver all day. The crew took turns resting in the shade under the low awnings. In the evening we stopped to unload a single cookstove at a tiny dock. I went to lurk near the captain and his men as they worked—to catch any hint of a rumor about my master’s death—but there was none. It seemed the news was still too fresh to have traveled north from the city.
That night I debated with myself whether or not to try to slip away. Once I thought the Attolian asleep, I left the cabin and made my way to the stern to look at the rowboat bobbing along at the length of its rope. I would have to pull it close, climb over the rail, and then lower myself into it without anyone seeing me. If I fell, I’d drown. I’d like to think that I stayed on the Anet’s Dream because it was prudent, not because I was afraid. I told myself I was still too close to Ianna-Ir. I planned to wait for our first stop at a real town where I could slip from the boat directly to a dock and hide more easily among the buildings than out where there was nothing but rushes.
The next day was as quiet as the first. We sat, mostly in silence, watching the riverbank slowly slide by.
“You said you were reciting from the first tablet,” said the Attolian.
“There are more than a hundred in the temple of Anet alone,” I said. “No one knows how many there are altogether. Scholars argue about it. Some of the tablets are retellings of other tablets, only differing in style. Sometimes parts of the story change. In some versions Ennikar takes the honey from Cassa’s hives because he does not know that they aren’t wild hives . . .”
Handsome Ennikar helped himself
knew not cultivated from uncultivated
blessed from unblessed
Furious Cassa drove him off
sent her warriors against him stinging
until he fled honey smeared
“In other versions, he is about to help himself when he meets Cassa and she gives him the honey. Later he shares it with Immakuk when they meet on the road.”
I was nattering. I bit my tongue, and it was quiet again.
In the dark at the end of the next day, we arrived at the bridge just below Sherguz. The caravan sites on either side of the river loomed—black backdrops to the burning lights of the town, like truncated versions of the ziggurats in Ianna-Ir—but these were not temples, unless they were for the worship of trade. The sloping walls protected the warehouses and meeting grounds of the merchant caravans that moved along the emperor’s roads.
I was alarmed when the crew moored us, as usual, mid-river. When I asked why, the captain said we would move into the dock in the morning to avoid a fee from the town for the overnight docking. I went to look again at the rowboat floating on the black water and decided it was still wisest to wait until the next day and see what happened. If I could not get to shore, I would take the little boat the next night.
I wrapped myself in my smelly blanket and fell asleep only to wake to shouting. The Attolian stood over me, buckling his armor. There was a crashing roar and the shouting became screaming. I could smell smoke as the deck underneath me shivered.
“Up!” shouted the Attolian. “The ship is on fire!”
Before I could move, the ceiling overhead exploded and I threw myself under the sleeping bench. With my back pressed against the wall of the ship, I looked out from under the bench at a smoking spear that had buried itself in the deck where I had been lying.
I was still staring at it when the Attolian grabbed me by the ankle and ruthlessly dragged me out. He hauled me out onto the deck, where men were running past. The captain and his sons had given up saving the ship and were snatching at possessions before they leapt over the side. The rigging above us was all on fire, the sail a rippling sheet of flames flaring over our heads. The ropes holding a spar had burned through, and that was what had dropped to pierce the flimsy roof of the cabin, almo
st impaling me.
The Attolian pulled me to the side of the ship. Unlike the sailors, I couldn’t go into the river. “I can’t, I can’t—” I shouted as we got closer to the railing, but I didn’t have any choice. The Attolian jumped up onto the railing and pulled me up as well, in spite of my desperate struggle to get free. I felt my shift tear and I almost slipped away, but the Attolian adjusted his grip, cursing, and threw me into the water. I was screaming as it closed over me and directly inhaled an entire lungful.
Sprawled underneath the surface, I didn’t know at first which way was up. I clawed my way toward the moonlight, coughing out water and gasping for air before I sank again. I felt the pressure wave as the Attolian landed with a huge splash nearby. I was still flailing when his hand caught me under the arm and lifted me up. Clutching at him, I gasped, “I can’t swim! I can’t swim!”—first in Mede and then in Attolian. I would be more proud of my ability to translate during such a crisis if the Attolian hadn’t calmly suggested I stand up.
The water came only to my chin, not even to his shoulder. When I’d stretched for a footing and found it, I glared at him from the corner of my eye.
“Good thing it isn’t deeper,” he observed.
If he had previously displayed any sense of humor, I would have suspected him of laughing at me, but what he said was no more than the truth. In his armor he would have sunk like a stone, swimmer or not.
“I’m sorry about the captain’s ship,” he said, watching the burning boat, and if he didn’t sound very sorry, it was the only sign of how much he’d hated being cooped up in the tiny cabin.
Thick as Thieves Page 4