Turtledove, Harry - Novel 12

by Between the Rivers (v2. 1)

  “Yes, I did see that,” Habbazu said, nodding. “The weakening of the gods’ powers worked to their advantage then. It would work to my disadvantage, did I try to, ah, visit the house of Dimgalabzu by stealth.”

  That Habbazu might hesitate before trying to rob a smith’s house did not mean he would not try, not after he had robbed a god’s temple. Sharur found another question to ask him: “When you lay down to sleep last night, did you have strange dreams?’ ’

  The master thief had been on the point of saying something else. He stopped with his mouth open, looking extremely foolish for a moment. Then, gathering himself, he replied, “Since you ask it, I shall answer with the truth, and the truth is that, yes, I did have strange dreams when I lay down to sleep last night.”

  “As did I,” Sharur said, nodding. “Tell me something more, then: were these dreams you had when you lay down to sleep... crowded dreams?”

  “Crowded dreams indeed,” Habbazu said. “The very word I should have used. As best I can recall, I have never had such crowded dreams in all my days.”

  “And in these dreams,” Sharur persisted, “did those who crowded them insist that you restore to them something they said was theirs?”

  “So they did,” Habbazu said. “Aye, master merchant’s son, so they did. They grew quite insistent, as a matter of fact. They also promised great rewards if I restored to them something they said was theirs. And then”—he frowned— “it was very strange.”

  “How so?” Sharur asked. Here, for the first time, the words of the master thief took him by surprise.

  Habbazu’s frown deepened and grew quizzical. “It was very strange,” he repeated. “In my dream, I was in converse with this crowd, as I say. At times, they threatened me; at times, they sought to cajole me. And then—all at once, it was as if the lot of them let out a great gasp of fright and fled. I do not know what might have frightened them. Certainly, I did not frighten them. I did not know any way to frighten them. But frightened they were. And frightened I was, too. I also let out a great gasp of fright. When I opened my eyes, I found myself alone on my sleeping mat.”

  “Ah.” Now Sharur smiled. “I think we must have been dreaming our crowded dreams at the same time, master thief.”

  “Why do you say this, master merchant’s son?” Habbazu asked. “Did the crowds in your dream also take fright?”

  “They did—and I made them take fright,” Sharur answered. “We were speaking of my possibly restoring something they said was theirs, and we were speaking of my possibly keeping something they said was theirs. Then, in my dream, I asked what would happen if I broke something they said was theirs. They took fright. When I opened my eyes, I, like you, found myself alone on my sleeping mat.”

  “If you ... broke something they said was theirs.” Habbazu spoke the words slowly, as if he had trouble bringing them out. His face bore an uneasy mixture of admiration and dread. “Son of Ereshguna, this I will tell you, and tell you truly: only a Gibli could think of such a thing.”

  Ereshguna. who had been some time silent, spoke up: “Only a Gibli of my son’s generation could think of such a thing. My heart stumbled within me when I first heard this notion, too.”

  “And, you having heard it more than once, what does your heart do now?” Habbazu asked.

  “It still quivers,” Ereshguna replied, “but it no longer stumbles. We of Gibil have a way of growing used to new notions.”

  “That I have seen.” By Habbazu’s tone, he did not intend the words as a compliment.

  Ereshguna studied him. “Do you know, master thief, that you have shown yourself capable of growing used to new notions as quickly as most Giblut?”

  “Have I indeed?” Habbazu considered that. “Well, perhaps I have. What of it?” He looked a challenge at Sharur and Ereshguna.

  Sharur took it up. “What of it? you ask. Let me ask you a question in return: suppose that, after all this business is done—however it may finally end—you return to Zuabu. Will you feel easy, living once more under the rule of Enzuabu? Will you feel comfortable, living once more under the strong hand of your city god?”

  “Enzuabu is not Enimhursag,” Habbazu said. “He is the lord of Zuabu. He is the ruler of Zuabu. He is not the toy-maker of Zuabu, compelling men to move here and there as if they were tiny clay figures.”

  “I never claimed he was,” Sharur replied. “I do not claim he is. What I asked was, Enzuabu being as he is, will you feel easy, living under his rule? When he orders you to rob this one or to leave that one alone, will you be glad to obey him as you have always obeyed him?”

  “He is my god,” Habbazu said. “Of course I shall obey him.” Then he realized that was not quite what Sharur had asked. “Of course I shall be glad to—” he began, and then stopped. He gave Sharur a sour look. Sharur saw the pans on either side of the scales in his mind swinging up and down, up and down, and finally reach a balance he had not expected. Habbazu’s expression grew more sour still. “I have associated too long with Giblut. I have had too much to do with the ways of Giblut. Giblut and the ways of Giblut have corrupted me.”

  Ereshguna and Sharur both smiled. “You have associated too long with free men,” Ereshguna said. “You have had too much to do with the ways of free men. Without quite knowing it, you have become a free man yourself.”

  “If that is what you call it, perhaps I have,” Habbazu said. “I would not presume to argue with my host.”

  “Well, then,” Sharur said, “in that case, does your heart still stumble within you at the notion of breaking something those in your dream said was theirs?”

  “Of course it does,” Habbazu answered at once. “If you were not a mad Gibli, your heart would stumble within you, too. To be free, or largely free, of your city god is one thing. To strike a blow against those in my dream”—he would not say, and Sharur could not blame him for not saying, to strike a blow against the gods—“is something else again. No wonder, then, that my heart stumbles within me.”

  “No wonder,” Ereshguna agreed. “Let me, then, ask a different question: regardless of whether your heart stumbles within you, do you think we should go ahead and break something those in your dream said was theirs?”

  “Truly, that is a different question.” Habbazu plucked at his beard as he thought. At last, he said, “Perhaps it might not be so bad, if we could be sure of escaping the wrath of those closer to us.”

  “We cannot be sure of that,” Sharur said. “We cannot be sure of any such thing. We can only hope—and act.”

  “If we do break something those in my dream said was theirs, I can never go back to Zuabu,” Habbazu said. “I can never go back to Enzuabu. How can I tell the god of my city I have disobeyed him? How can I tell him I have chosen my own will, my own path, rather than his?”

  “You were the one who said Enzuabu was not Enimhursag,” Sharur replied. “I believed your words. I accepted that you spoke rightly. Do you tell me now that you were mistaken?”

  Habbazu shook his head. “Enzuabu is not Enimhursag, to rule every tiny thing in the city. But neither is Enzuabu Engibil, to do as near nothing in the city as he can. When he lays down a command, he expects obedience.”

  “Well, so does Engibil,” Sharur said. “The difference between them is, Engibil lays down a command but seldom.”

  “And besides,” Ereshguna said, “have you not obeyed the command your god laid down, master thief? Have you not stolen from the temple of Engibil something those in your dream said was theirs?”

  “I did steal it from the temple of Engibil, yes,” Habbazu said, “but I did not bring it to Enzuabu. He will fault me for failing to fulfill the greater part of the promise; he will not shower me with praises for fulfilling the lesser part. I shall live out my days in exile from my city.”

  “You shall live out your days a free man, or a man as free as he can hope to become in a world wherein gods hold the upper hand whenever they care enough to use it,” Ereshguna said.

  “In other
words,” Sharur said, “you shall live out your days as a Gibli.”

  Habbazu’s eyes twinkled. “Master merchant’s son, I hope you will forgive me, but I prefer your father’s way of putting it.”

  “Go ahead—mock this city after you have fought for it in war,” Sharur said, laughing. He quickly grew more serious. “If, now, we break something those in your dream said was theirs, we also help to make into free men those who live a long way away from the land between the rivers.”

  “If they live a long way away, why should I care about them?” Habbazu asked. “I did not care much about you Giblut until Enzuabu sent me to this city to rob the temple of the god.”

  “And now, though you did not care much about us Giblut, you are practically a Gibli yourself,” Ereshguna said. “Did this not teach you that you should not neglect folk for no better reason than that they live a long way away?”

  “It did not,” Habbazu admitted. “Perhaps it should have.”

  “Shall we go, then?” Sharur asked. “Shall we recover from the house of Dimgalabzu something those in your dream said was theirs?”

  That was the question Habbazu could neither evade nor avoid. He sighed. “Aye. Let us recover this thing.” He sighed again. “And, once it be recovered, I shall, as you say, begin to become a Gibli.” He sighed once more after that. “Well, no help for it, I suppose.”

  Dimgalabzu bowed to Ereshguna. He bowed to Sharur. In some surprise, he bowed to Habbazu. After the men had exchanged polite greetings, the smith said, “I did not look to see you here in Gibil, Burrapi.”

  Habbazu gave an airy wave of his hand. “A man who is always where you look to see him is a boring sort of man. Would you not agree, master smith?”

  “I ''had not thought of it so.” Dimgalabzu’s expression was bemused. “Perhaps you speak the truth, or some of the truth. Still, I did not look to see you here, not with ...” His voice trailed away.

  Sharur had no trouble completing the sentence Dimgalabzu was too polite to finish. Not with Kimash’s men looking for you, was one likely way it might end. Another, as likely, was, Not with the god of Gibil pursuing you.

  “Father of my intended, the man from Zuabu is with us for good reason,” Sharur said. “He has good cause to be here.”

  Dimgalabzu folded thick arms across his wide chest, which was shiny with sweat. “I would hear of the good reason the man from Zuabu has to be with you,” he said. “I would learn of the good cause he has to be here.” Behind his thick beard, his features revealed nothing.

  “He came with me after our first fight with the Imhursagut, helping me to guard an Imhursaggi prisoner I was taking to Ushurikti the slave dealer,” Sharur said. “While we were in the city, he and I, we left something here in your house for safekeeping. Now we have come to get it back.”

  The smith’s bushy eyebrows rose. “You left... something ... here ... in my house for safekeeping?” he rumbled. “What was this thing, and why did you presume to leave it here in my house?”

  Neither of those was a question Sharur much cared to answer. Of the two, he preferred the second. “Father of my intended,” he said, “we presumed to leave it here in your house not least because your house is the house of a smith.” He watched Dimgalabzu bite down on that until he had chewed it up and extracted all the nourishment from it. The house of a smith, by its very nature, was a house into which a god had trouble seeing. Dimgalabzu did not need long to figure out why Sharur and Habbazu might have chosen such a house for that which they wanted to leave in safekeeping. His eyes widened. “This thing you left here in my house for safekeeping,” he began, “is it... ?”

  Ereshguna held up a hand before Dimgalabzu could finish the question or Sharur could reply to it. “Some things are better left unasked,” Ereshguna said, “even in the house of a smith. Some things, too, are better left unanswered, even in such a house.”

  The words, taken alone, were remarkably uninformative.

  Yet Dimgalabzu had no trouble drawing meaning from them. The smith was not a young man, but he was a man of the new. He did not rush out into the Street of Smiths shouting that the thing stolen from the temple of Engibil now lay hidden in his house. In a quiet, thoughtful voice, he asked, “Why had I not heard you left something here in my house? Why did Gulal my wife not tell me? Why did Ningal my daughter not tell me? Why did my slaves not tell me?”

  “Gulal your wife did not tell you because she did not know, or so I believe,” Sharur said. “Your slaves did not tell you because they did not know. Ningal your daughter did not tell you because I asked her to tell no one.”

  Dimgalabzu’s eyebrows rose again. He plucked at his elaborately curled beard. “Ningal my daughter obeyed you very well,” he said. “Ningal my daughter obeyed you better than she is in the habit of obeying me.” His chuckle was a rumble deep down in his chest. “Ningal my daughter obeyed you better than she is likely to be in the habit of obeying you when she becomes Ningal your wife.”

  Ereshguna chuckled at hearing that, too. So did Habbazu. Sharur ignored them. He ignored them so ostentatiously, they laughed out loud. He also ignored that, saying to Dimgalabzu, “Father of my intended, you asked why you did not know I had left something at your house. I have told you.”

  “So you have,” the smith said. “So you have.” He plucked once more at his beard. Sharur waited to see what he would do next. Ereshguna and Habbazu also stood quiet, waiting. Dimgalabzu asked, “When you get this thing back, what will you do with it?”

  The question made Ereshguna flinch, ever so slightly. It made Habbazu look away from both Dimgalabzu and Sharur. Sharur answered, “I do not yet know. We shall have to see what looks most advantageous.”

  Dimgalabzu grunted. “Since I do not even know what sort of thing this is, how can I judge whether your answer is good or bad?” He sighed. “Only one way to find out; I suppose. Ningai!” As Sharur had found on the battlefield, the smith could raise his voice to a formidable roar when he so desired.

  “What is it, Father?” Ningal’s voice came from above. A moment later, she hurried down the stairs, a spindle still in her hand. When she saw Sharur and Ereshguna and Hab- bazu, she nodded to herself. After sending a quick smile toward Sharur, she said, “Ah. I think I know what it is.”

  “Do you, my daughter?” Dimgalabzu said. “Do you indeed?”

  “I think I do, yes,” Ningai said brightly, pretending not to notice her father’s tone. She turned to Sharur and went on, “The servants of Kimashdid come to this house while you were fighting the Imhursagut. I told them I knew nothing. The priests from the temple of Engibil also came to this house while you were fighting the Imhursagut. I likewise told them I knew nothing.”

  “It is good.” Sharur bowed to her. “I am in your debt.” Habbazu bowed to Ningal. “We are all in your debt.”

  “I do not yet know whether this is so,” Dimgalabzu said. He rounded on Ningal. “My daughter, why did you agree to hide this thing, whatever it may be, in our house? Why did you agree to tell no one of it?”

  “I could not ask you what to do, Father, for you were in the field against the Imhursagut.” Ningai looked and sounded the picture of innocence and obedience—unless one noticed, as Sharur did, the sparkle in her eyes. “After a woman leaves her father’s home, she owes obedience to her husband. Being my intended, Sharur is almost my husband, and so I obeyed him in your absence—all the more so because he asked nothing dishonorable of me.”

  “Why did you not ask your mother?” the smith demanded.

  “How could I, Father, when Sharur asked me to speak to no one?” Ningal said in tones of sweet reason. “I would not have been obeying him had I done so.”

  “You are not yet Sharur’s wife,” Dimgalabzu said. “You have not yet gone to live in the house of Ereshguna.” He muttered something his mustache muffled, then shook his head like a man bedeviled by gnats. “Let it go, let it go. We could argue for long and long, you and I, and we would end up where we began,” Glancing over to Sharur,
he asked, “Do you see how this goes, intended of my daughter?”

  “Yes, I see,” Sharur answered. “Once we are wed, though, everything will be smooth as fine clay, smooth as rock oil between the fingers.”

  Dimgalabzu, Ereshguna, and Habbazu laughed uproariously. Sharur and Ningal looked miffed. “Let it go,” Dimgalabzu said again, still laughing. He turned to his daughter. “Very well, you obeyed this fellow, with his words smooth as fine clay, his words smooth as rock oil between the fingers.”

  “Do not mock him, Father!” Ningal said. “Do not mock his words!”

  “What is a young man for, if not to be mocked?” Dimgalabzu held up a hand before Ningal could say anything. “Never mind, never mind. Since you obeyed him, since you secreted away this ... thing, whatever it may be, find it now and give it back to him, that he may take it away from here, that we may do our best to pretend it never was here.”

  “I shall obey you, my father,” Ningal said. Her tone of voice remained in perfect accord with her words, but her expression warned that she was less serious than she sounded.

  She picked up a stool and carried it over to the wall, into whose clay several shelves had been set. The highest of those, well above the height of a man, was too tall to be convenient, not least because one had to stand on a stool to see what was at the back of the shelf. One of the things at the back of the shelf proved to be the Alashkurri cup, which Ningal now brought down.

  “Let me see this thing,” Dimgalabzu said. Ningal’s eyes swung to Sharur to make sure it was all right before she handed the cup to her father. The smith examined it, then gave it back to her. “I had expected something all of gold and silver, encrusted with precious stones. Why so much fuss, why so much mystery, over a foreign cup of cheap clay?”

  “I will answer if you insist,” Sharur said, “but I hope you do not insist, for naming certain things draws notice to them.”

  Dimgalabzu grunted. Sharur’s answer was not an answer, and yet, in a way, it was. The smith thought for a while before finally saying, “Very well, then. What you tell me does not surprise me, not considering what I saw and heard at the encampment close by the border with Imhursag. You shall tell me in full one day, but not today.”