Sharur dipped up a cup of beer with his own hands and gave it to Inadapa. “I listen,” he said, and spooned up more porridge.
Inadapa drank and nodded approval. “The house of Ereshguna brews good beer, as I have known for long and long. Kimash the mighty lugal has ordered me to bring you before him as soon as may be.”
“I obey the lugal. I obey the lugal’s steward.” Sharur ate one more mouthful of porridge, then rose from his stool again. “Let us go.”
“Kimash the mighty lugal will be glad for your obedience.” Inadapa hastily finished the beer Sharur had dipped up for him, smacked his lips, and echoed the younger merchant: “Aye, let us go.”
When they got to the lugal’s palace, it was as it had been on some of Sharur’s earlier visits: workmen swarmed everywhere, some with bricks, some with mortar, some building scaffolding of reeds to support brickwork already made or to support artisans running up new brickwork.
“Kimash the mighty lugal no longer stints himself, I see,” Sharur remarked. “It is good.” He meant what he said; the time when Kimash had gone easy because Engibil was reasserting himself had been difficult and alarming for all those in Gibil who favored the new and flourished because of it.
“Truly it is good.” Inadapa’s nod was emphatic. “The mighty lugal rejoices in his munificence and in his strength.” What that meant was that Kimash rejoiced in Engibil’s weakness and preoccupation, but his steward was far too canny to let himself say—probably far too canny even to let himself think—any such thing. .
“For what purpose has the mighty lugal summoned me to his palace?” Sharur asked, as Inadapa led him through the maze of passages within the palace.
“Whatever the purpose may be, the mighty lugal did not see fit to enlighten his lowly servant as to its nature,” Inadapa answered. “Soon you shall come before him. Soon he shall tell you his purpose. Soon you shall hear it from his very lips.”
“Soon I shall hear it from his very lips,” Sharur agreed. Perhaps Inadapa was merely doing as he usually did when bringing men before the lugal. Perhaps Kimash did not want Sharur to know ahead of time why he had been summoned, in the hope that he would not be able to prepare plausible answers for the questions the lugal intended to put to him.
In the throne room, Kimash sat on the raised seat covered in gold leaf. Sharur went down on his face in the dust before him. “I am here at the mighty lugal’s command,” he said, not raising his head. “I have come at the mighty lugal’s order.”
“Rise,” Kimash said. “You are as obedient as you should be. You are as obedient as every Gibli should be.”
“I am pleased to obey the commands of the mighty lugal,” Sharur said as he got to his feet, better to obey your commands than those of the god, he thought He would not let himself say that, but it was there, and Kimash no doubt knew it was there.
Kimash clapped his hands. Inadapa hurried back into the throne room. “Fetch us beer and roasted grasshoppers,” the lugal said. Inadapa bowed and hurried away, returning shortly with the food and drink. After crunching his way through a skewer of locusts, Kimash asked, “Have you seen either Habbazu the Zuabi thief or Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary since your return to Gibil?”
“Mighty lugal, I have not,” Sharur answered truthfully. A thoughtful look on his face, the lugal started on a second skewer. Presently, he said, “You convinced Engibil that you know nothing of the theft from his temple.”
“He asked me questions,” Sharur said. “Because of his power, I had to answer them with the truth.”
“There is truth, and then again there is truth,” Kimash replied, sounding very much like Sharur’s father. “And, gods being as they are, Engibil no doubt relied too much on his power and too little on the common sense that men, having no such power, must develop and cultivate. The ‘truth’ a god will accept does not always stand up under a man’s inspection.”
“Here, though, all is well so long as the god accepts it,” Sharur said.
“Perhaps, and then again perhaps not.” The lugal chose to use his previous phrasing once more. “Engibil is satisfied, aye, but I still wonder whether you and the other men of the house of Ereshguna and the two Zuabut, the thief and the mercenary, obeyed me as completely as I have the right to expect.” He stared down at Sharur from his high seat.
Sharur felt like a mouse on whom a hawk’s gaze falls from the sky. But he bore up under the lugal’s inspection. Kimash was but a man. Enimhursag had searched for Sharur from on high. After that, facing Kimash’s doubts, if not easy, was by no means impossible.
“From what I have seen, thieves, generally speaking, obey only themselves,” Sharur said. “And if Engibil is busy looking for a thief along the western border of Gibil’s lands, he will not be busy within the city of Gibil. He will not be busy trying to take the rule in Gibil out of the hands of the mighty lugal and into his own hands once more.”
“This is so,” Kimash said. “Aye, this is so.” Sharur pulled a locust off a skewer and popped it into his mouth. While .he was eating, his expression could not give him away. He could not deceive Kimash by feeding him truths that were useless or misleading, as he had done with Engibil. But he could distract the lugal and get him to think of other things than those perhaps dangerous to the house of Eresh- guna.
After eating another grasshopper and sipping at his beer, Sharur said, “The mighty lugal’s refreshments are of the finest.”
“For those whom it pleases me to honor, nothing is too fine, no reward too great,” Kimash said. “This brings me to another matter: indeed, to the other matter on account of which I had you summoned here. You will recall that, in exchange for your not pursuing the presence of the Alashkurri cup in the temple of Engibil, I promised you a marriage tie to any woman in the city of Gibil, this to include even my own daughters.”
“Yes, mighty lugal, I do recall that,” Sharur said with a sinking feeling.
“I am glad you recall it,” Kimash said. “The cup has stirred its own uproar, thanks to the Zuabi thief, but I do not think it is an uproar to threaten my position on the throne. And so, I am pleased to tell you that the promise of a marriage to any woman in the city of Gibil, this to include even my own daughters, still holds.”
“Ah,” Sharur said, and then “Ah” again. He wondered how, or if, he was to get out of this one without offering the lugal deadly insult. After some thought, he decided the truth offered his best hope. “You will recall, mighty lugal, that my oath to Engibil prevented me from making final. marriage arrangements for Ningal the daughter of Dimgalabzu the smith.”
“Yes, of course,” Kimash said. “That is,why, out of the kindness and generosity of my heart, I offered you a marriage tie to any other woman in the city of Gibil, this to include even my own daughters.” He bore down heavily on the last phrase; he plainly sought an alliance between his own house and the house of Ereshguna.
“The mighty lugal is kind.” Sharur bowed, “The mighty lugal is generous.” He bowed once more. mighty lugal is conveniently forgetful, he thought. Part of the reason for Kimash’s offer, as the lugal had himself admitted, was to bribe Sharur out of pursuing his own course of action and into pursuing that which Kimash desired.
“Take advantage of my kindness, then,” the lugal urged. “Take advantage of my generosity.”
Sharur sighed. He could not deflect the moment any longer. With yet another bow, he said, “Mighty lugal, were matters otherwise, otherwise even in the slightest degree, nothing would delight my heart more than doing exactly as you say. But with—”
“Wait.” On the instant, Kimash went from affable to thunderous. “Do you mean you refuse my offer? Do you mean you spurn my offer?”
“Mighty lugal, I mean nothing of the sort,” Sharur replied, though that was indeed what he meant. “As I told you before, the god prevented me from making final marriage arrangements for Ningal the daughter of Dimgalabzu the smith.”
“Even so,” Kimash said. “Those arrangements being prevented, w
hat could possibly keep you from accepting the offer I made to you?”
“Were those arrangements still prevented, nothing could keep me from accepting the offer you made to me,” Sharur replied, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. “But mighty Engibil, in his own generosity, returned to me from his hands and from his heart the oath I had made in his name, and will suffer me to pay bride-price for Ningal to Dimgalabzu from the store of wealth of the house of Ereshguna, not from the profit I unfortunately failed to make on my last trading journey to the Alashkurru Mountains.”
Kimash’s eyes went wide and round and staring. “The god ... returned to you from his hands and from his heart the oath you had made in his name?” He sounded astonished, as Enimhursag had before him on hearing the same news. “I can hardly believe it.”
“Believe or do not believe as best suits you, mighty lugal,” Sharur said. “But, whether you believe or do not believe, I speak the truth. Because I speak the truth, I cannot take advantage of your kindness. I cannot take advantage of your generosity.”
“Engibil returned your oath.” Kimash shook his head. He had the aspect of a man who had just come through an earthquake: shaken but doing his best to preserve his equilibrium, no matter what might happen next. “You realize I can enquire of the god whether you lie.”
“Of course, mighty lugal,” Sharur said. “Enquire all you like. Engibil will tell you I speak the truth.”
“Engibil returned your oath from his hands?” Kimash still did not sound as if he believed it. Perhaps he thought that repeating it over and over would help persuade him it was true. “Engibil returned your oath from his heart? Engibil keeps oaths. He holds oaths. He returns them not.”
“This time, mighty lugal, he did return my oath.” Sharur knew why the god had returned his oath, too, or thought he did. Just as Kimash had done, so Engibil had sought to distract him from pursuing the matter of the Alashkurri cup in his temple storeroom. As far as he was concerned, Ningal made for a far more attractive distraction than any Kimash had set before him. In terms carefully oblique, he said as much: “As I have long desired to wed Ningal the daughter of Dimgalabzu, I shall do so now that the great god, the mighty god, has in his generosity given me leave to pay her the bride-price as circumstances have compelled me to pay it.”
“A match with the house of Dimgalabzu will surely prove advantageous to the house of Ereghguna,” the lugal said. “But will it prove as advantageous as a match with the house of Kimash?”
A match with the lugal’s daughter would swiftly raise the house of Ereshguna high among the nobles of Gibil. But Sharur was sure it would not put the treasures of Gibil into his hands or those of his father. And what rose swiftly could fall swiftly, too. Sharur knew that only too well.
Bowing to Kimash, he once more picked his words with great care: “Mighty lugal, having long desired this match, as I said before, and having obtained for it the blessings of my father, of the father of my intended, and of Engibil himself, I very much hope to go forward with it.”
Kimash sighed. “You are a stubborn man. You are hard to turn aside. If you prove as stubborn in matters of the heart, if you prove as hard to turn aside in matters of your affections, the woman you wed will have little to complain of you. Before you settle once and for all time who that woman shall be, though, would it not please you to make the acquaintance of the daughters of the house of Kimash?”
Sharur bowed again, very low this time. Kimash was offering him an extraordinary concession, and he knew how extraordinary it was. “You are kind beyond my deserts, mighty lugal,” he murmured. “But I must tell you that, since Dimgalabzu and my father, since Gulal and my mother, have completed all arrangements for the wedding save only the nuptial feast, I do not see what point there might be to my meeting your no doubt lovely daughters. I think the meeting would be likelier to cause distress on all sides than to cause joy.”
“It could be so, son of Ereshguna; it could be so,” Kimash said with another sigh. “If that is the way you look on it, likely it will be so. Forcing a man to do what he truly does not wish to do is the surest way I know to make him into an enemy. Do as you wish, then, and may it be well for you, and for me, and for Gibil.”
“I thank the mighty lugal for his forbearance,” Sharur said. Only after the words had left his mouth did he realize that Kimash worried about making him an enemy. That the lugal should worry about him in any way was one more amazement out of many.
Instead of directly answering him, the lugal clapped his hands together. Inadapa appeared in the throne room in a way Habbazu might have envied: one moment he was not there, the next he was, or so it appeared to Sharur. Kimash said, “The two of us have finished our discussion. Escort Sharur back to the house of Ereshguna.”
Inadapa bowed. “Mighty lugal, as you say, so shall it be.” He turned to Sharur. “Come. I shall escort you back to the house of Ereshguna.”
“I thank you, steward to the mighty lugal.” Sharur bowed to Inadapa, and then again to Kimash. “And, once more, I thank the mighty lugal.”
Inadapa led him out through the corridors of the palace and out past the guards at the entranceway, who respectfully dipped their heads to the steward and to Sharur. Just outside the palace, Sharur and Inadapa had to wait while another gang of laborers and artisans went past. Only when the two men were walking up the Street of Smiths toward the house of Ereshguna did Inadapa say, “Do I understand correctly, then, that you shall not unite your house with the house of Kimash?”
“Steward to the lugal, you do,” Sharur replied. “Having made all arrangements to wed the daughter of Dimgalabzu the smith, I did not see how I could in good conscience break them.” Nor did I want to break them, though that is not your affair.
“And the mighty lugal permitted this?” Inadapa asked. He had been hanging around the throne room; he must have heard almost all, if not all, of what had passed between Sharur and Kimash. Yet now he sought confirmation, as if unable to believe what his ears had told him.
“The mighty lugal permitted this,” Sharur agreed. “In his forbearance, in his generosity, in his kindness, he permitted it.”
“I heard it,” the steward said. “I understood it. Having heard it, having understood it, I still have trouble believing it. For the mighty lugal to turn aside from a course on which he had settled is as untoward as for Engibil to give back an oath—which, from what you say, also came to pass. Truly, son of Ereshguna, your affairs of late have been extraordinary.”
“There, steward to the mighty lugal, I can only say that you speak the truth,” Sharur replied. If anything, the steward understated the truth: fortunately, he did not know all of it.
“Here we are, at the doorway to the house of Ereshguna.” Inadapa bowed to Sharur. “I now return to serve Kimash the mighty lugal once more, though I do not expect to be so amazed in his service again any time soon.” He set both hands on his ample belly, shook his head, and went back down the Street of Smiths toward the palace.
Sharur walked through the doorway. As soon as he was inside the house of Ereshguna, he was very glad Inadapa had not accompanied him on those last few steps, for there, talking animatedly with his father, stood Habbazu the thief.
“I greet you, master merchant’s son,” Habbazu said with a bow.
“I greet you, master thief.” Sharur politely returned the bow.
“Your father has told me you have not yet recovered the cup we gave to your intended to hold for us in the house of Dimgalabzu, unless you chanced to do so while returning from the palace of Kimash,” Habbazu said.
“My father speaks the truth, as he usually speaks the truth,” Sharur answered. “Nor did I recover the cup while returning from the palace of the mighty lugal.” He opened his hands to show they were empty. “I might have tried to recover the cup, but Inadapa, Kimash’s steward, accompanied me from the palace, and so I had no chance to go alone to the house of Dimgalabzu.”
“Yes, I can see how having the steward along would
make regaining the cup more difficult.” Habbazu’s voice was dry. .
“A bit, yes,” Sharur said, and the master thief smiled to hear his own tone so neatly matched.
Ereshguna said, “Before you came back from the palace, son, I had just asked whether Habbazu had recovered the cup you gave to your beloved to hold for you in the house of Dimgalabzu.”
“And I had just said no,” Habbazu added, “I did not feel so brief an introduction to your intended would have persuaded her to give me the cup in your absence, and I would have had a difficult time explaining my presence to Dimgalabzu her father.”
“Yes, I can see how that might be so, even if you have made his acquaintance as Burrapi the mercenary,” Ereshguna said. “Is that the same name you used when you met Ningal?”
“It is,” Sharur and Habbazu said together,
“Well, that is good, at any rate.” Ereshguna nodded approval.
To Habbazu, Sharur said, “Considering the trade you practice, you might have recovered the cup without meeting either Ningal my intended or Dimgalabzu her father.”
“I am, as you say, a master thief.” Habbazu bowed to Sharur. “I am a master thief who has the aid of Enzuabu, the master of thieves. But I would hesitate to steal from a smith’s house in Zuabu. Still more would I hesitate to steal from a smith’s house here in Gibil. Some of the protections I have from the god work less well around smithies than almost anywhere else.”
“Working in metal as they do, smiths deal with raw power of their own,” Ereshguna said. “Perhaps this power will become a divine power, but perhaps it will not. Because the powers of the gods are weaker around smiths and scribes—whose power over words is likewise not divine, or not yet divine—they were among the men whom Kimash set in the first ranks against Enimhursag, as you saw.”
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