“It is good,” he said. “I have had three women ask me for this paste in the last two days, and I have been embarrassed to go without.” Contented, he took the powder, which he had stored in his own little jar, and departed.
Another man pushed past him into the house of Ereshguna, a stalwart fellow of about the age of Sharur’s father. Sharur did not recognize him till he took off his straw hat and fanned himself with it. “Ah,” Sharur said, bowing as he might have to any new customer. “You have not honored us with your presence for some little while, Izmaili.”
“And yet you remember the name I give myself. No wonder you are a master merchant’s son, soon, no doubt, to be a master merchant yourself.” Izmaili—-as Kimash the lugal preferred to call himself when he went out into Gibil without the trappings that made him as nearly divine as a man could be—smiled and nodded.
“You are kind and gracious,” Sharur said. “How may I serve you? Would you like some cosmetic powder, as the druggist before you did?”
“I thank you for the thought, but no; I have come to the house of Ereshguna for a rather different reason.” Kimash’s voice was dry.
“I am your servant, as I am the servant of any man who comes to the house of Ereshguna to buy or to sell,” Sharur replied.
“I fear I have come neither to buy nor to sell,” Kimash said. ‘‘While another sits where I often do”—an allusion to the impostor who occupied the lugal’s high seat while he in turn impersonated an ordinary man—“I have come to pass the time of day, to gossip.”
“Shall I bring you beer, then, Izmaili?” Sharur asked. “Shall I bring you salt fish? Shall I bring you onions? Would you care to drink while you pass the time of day? Would you care to eat while you gossip?”
“I would be grateful for beer and for salt fish and for onions,” Kimash said, though in the palace he was no doubt used to the daintier viands the man who took his place on the seat might now enjoy. Sharur fetched the beer and food with his own hands, not wanting to summon a slave who was liable to recognize the lugal and do some gossiping of his own, gossiping that could get back to Engibil’s ears.
Kimash drank beer and ate salt fish and onions with every sign of enjoyment, as if he were a shopkeeper or an artisan or a peasant rather than likely the single most powerful man in the land between the rivers. Sharur ate and drank with him, and presently, when the beer in his cup had nearly reached the bottom, he spoke to Izmaili who was Kimash as if he were a shopkeeper or an artisan or a peasant who had come into the house of Ereshguna: “So. What have you heard? What do you want to know?”
Kimash smiled again. He bit into an onion and breathed odorous fumes into Sharur’s face. “What have I heard? I have heard that something once missing is now gone for good. What do I want to know? I want to know whether what I have heard is true.”
“Ah,” Sharur said, and then said nothing more for some little while. At last, doing his best to remain casual, he went on, “And where might you have heard such a thing as that?”
“I heard it from someone who labors in the house from which the thing disappeared,” Kimash answered elliptically. Burshagga told him, having learned from the god, Sharur thought: Burshagga or some other man of the new among the priesthood. If breaking the Alashkurri cup had alarmed Sharur’s grandfather’s ghost, what must it have done to Engibil? What must it have done to gods throughout the land of Kudurru? The ghost had said no one, ghost or demon or god, would be able to tell whence the cry of anguish from the Alashkurri gods had come, for which Sharur was heartily glad.
He answered, “The man who labors in that house did tell you the truth, as a matter of fact.” How would Kimash respond to that? The lugal had sought Habbazu in the same way as had Engibil; he had sought the master thief as if he were a servant of the god.
But Kimash slowly clapped his hands together—once, twice, three times. “It is good,” he said. “It is very good. The gods who suffered this are not our gods. The gods who suffered this dwell far away. But with men in one place freer, men everywhere breathe more easily. My greatgrandfather was an ensi, through whom Engibil spoke. Great-grandfather was a priest, to whom Engibil gave orders as Enimhursag gives the Imhursagut orders today.”
He did not directly name himself, or what he was, or how he did what he did. Sharur spoke with similar care: “Today the lugal speaks in his own voice, but must ever be wary, lest the god seek to seize once more the power he has let slip between his fingers. But how will things be in the days of the lugal’s great-grandson? And how will things be in the days of his great-grandson?”
“Even so,” Kimash said softly. His eyes glowed. “Even so. How will things be in the days of his great-grandson? Who then will be wary of whom?”
“That is surely an... interesting question,” Sharur said. He imagined Engibil reduced to the status of a demon of the desert, or perhaps to that of a small god like Kessis or Mitas, able to change a man’s luck for good or ill but not much more—certainly unable to aspire to the rule of a city. He imagined lugals ruling in other cities in the land between the rivers. He imagined even stubborn gods feeling men . from their own cities chopping at their heels as Sharur had chopped at Enimhursag’s heel during the second battle against the Imhursagut.
Kimash said, “The road will not be easy. The road will not run straight. The gods will see in which direction it runs. They will try to turn us back along it. They are strong. They are dangerous. They may yet win. If Engibil truly did choose to rise up in wrath now, who knows whether we Giblut could hope to withstand his anger and his might?”
“So the lugal feared earlier this year,” Sharur said, continuing to speak of Kimash as if he were someone else. “But, from what I have heard, the god had not the will to rise up in wrath, even if he had the strength.”
“What you have heard and what I have heard are one and the same,” Kimash said. “Distracting the god has always been the lugal’s greatest need. I do hope, though, that distracting the god shall not always be the lugal’s greatest need.”
“Might... ah, Izmaili, I think it may not be so,” Sharur replied, and told the lugal wdiat Tarsiyas had indiscreetly revealed about the thing in which Engibil had secreted away so much of his power.
“Well, well,” Kimash said. “How interesting.” For a moment, Sharur was disappointed at getting no stronger response. Then Kimash leaned toward him and demanded, “Do you know what sort of thing this is? Do you know where it may be found?”
“I know neither of these things,” Sharur answered. “I do not think I was meant to know such a thing even existed. The Alashkurri god spoke of it in a temper to a goddess. But I heard. In my dream, I heard. And what I heard in my dream. I remember.”
“Well, well,” the lugal said again. “This is no small matter you have set before me. I am glad I am only an ordinary man, and do not have to concern myself with such.” His smile declared how far apart lay the words that came from his mouth and the thoughts that formed behind his eyes.
Sharur had thoughts of his own, too. He turned one loose: “I wonder how a man who is not an ordinary man, a man who does have to concern himself with such, would go about finding this thing, whatever it may be?”
“Right now, I do not know. Right now, I can not guess,” Kimash said. “But such a man will surely concern himself with such a thing before any great stretch of time has passed.”
“This I believe,” Sharur said. “Even searching for such a thing without great hope of success, a man might make a better bargain with a god than otherwise.”
“Truly you are a master merchant’s son,” Kimash said. “Truly you shall soon become a master merchant yourself.”
“That is a generous thing for a person of no consequence such as yourself, Izmaili, to say,” Sharur replied with a bow. Kimash, recognizing that he had in fact been addressed in his proper rank, graciously inclined his head.
Sharur started to say something more, but then paused, weighing whether he should. Kimash noticed, but misunder
stood his reasons. In a cautious voice, the lugal asked, “Has the god seized your wits, son of Ereshguna? If it be so, can you find some way to let me know it is so?”
“It is not so,” Sharur declared. “I am sorry if I alarmed you, but it is not so. On the contrary. I have another thought you may perhaps find worth hearing.”
“I listen.” Kimash inclined his head once more.
“Hear my words, then,” Sharur said, exactly as if he were speaking to Izmaili the man of no particular consequence rather than to Kimash the lugal of Gibil. “The great gods of the Alashkurrut had this thing, into which they poured a great part of their power for what they thought to be safekeeping. The great gods of the Alashkurrut likewise let slip that Engibil has such a thing, into which he has poured a great part of his power. Could it be that all gods have such a thing, into which they have poured a great part of their power for what they think to be safekeeping?”
Kimash stood some time still and silent. Then he stepped forward and kissed Sharur on both cheeks. “It could be. It could be indeed.” His smile might have appeared on the face of a lion spying a fat gazelle that did not spy it in turn. Slowly, he went on, “I wonder if Enimhursag has such a thing, into which he has poured a great part of his power for what he thinks to be safekeeping.”
That same smile stole across Sharur’s face. “If Enimhursag has such a thing, I wonder who would be more eager to find it and destroy it: we Giblut, or the Imhursagut the god has oppressed for so long?”
“If the Imhursagut were more like us Giblut, my wager would be on them,” Kimash replied. “As things are...” He shrugged. “Perhaps they could do with suitable instruction.”
“Provided, of course, that an Imhursaggi will listen,” Sharur said. “Provided that an Imhursaggi will profit from instruction. Such a thing is possible, I suppose, but by no means sure.”
“Indeed not,” Kimash said. “In their resolute stupidity, the Imhursagut very7 much resemble their god, just as the Zuabut resemble Enzuabu in their inveterate thievery.” He paused and looked thoughtful once more. “I wonder why we Giblut do not resemble Engibil, who is as lazy and lackadaisical as Enzuabu is thievish and Enimhursag stubborn and stupid.”
“Folk whose god is lazy and lackadaisical needs must do for themselves what that lazy, lackadaisical god will not do for them,” Sharur replied. “We are as we are because Engibil is as he is. And, because Engibil is as he is, we now draw near the point where we can live without him.” He lowered his voice to a whisper for that last sentence—the Giblut might have been drawing near sufh a point, but they had not yet reached it.
“My great-grandson,” Kimash murmured. “His great-grandson.” He raised an eyebrow at Sharur. “Remember, son of Ereshguna, my great-grandson could be your grandson.”
“That could be, yes, but for him to do as you do”—to sit on the throne of Gibil, Sharur meant, but would not say—“your male line would have to fail, which I pray it may never do. And, now that Engibil has assented to the match my family made for me, I am, as I have told you, content and more than content with it.”
“I had gathered that your match was among other things a love match. Now I see it must be so indeed,” Kimash said. “Only a love match would make a man turn away from power when it is offered to him like a pot in the market square.” He seemed to remember himself and the role he had assumed. “Fortunately, I, Izmaili, a person of no particular account, do not need to concern myself with such things.” He bowed and departed.
Sharur stared after him. He had expected the lugal to be more annoyed at the destruction of the Alashkurri cup, but Kimash had accepted that without a qualm once it was accomplished. He had also accepted Sharur’s avoidance of a marriage alliance more readily than Sharur had thought he would.
Maybe the thought of truly bringing Engibil to heel once and for all pleased the lugal more than any lesser disappointment bothered him. Had Sharur dwelt in the palace rather than in the house of Ereshguna, he knew how much that thought would have pleased him. As a matter of fact, it pleased him quite a lot even though he did dwell in the house of Ereshguna. And the thought of truly bringing Enimhursag to heel once and for all pleased him even more.
Ushurikti frowned. “Are you sure you wish to do this, master merchant’s son? You consigned these slaves to me for sale. I shall have to charge the house of Ereshguna not only for their maintenance while in my hands but also for a part of the price I could have expected to realize from such sale.”
“Unless it be a very large part, I shall not object,” Sharur replied. “Unless it be an extortionate part, I shall not complain.”
“We can settle that in due course,” the slave dealer said. “First, though, tell me, if you would, why you have suddenly decided to set these two Imhursagut free instead of profiting from them.”
“I have a message I wish to send back to Imhursag, and they are the fitting ones to bear it,” Sharur said.
“You must be the judge of that, of course,” Ushurikti replied, “but you must also recall that they are at present laboring in the south for the mighty lugal, and are not here at my establishment.”
“I do indeed recall that,” Sharur said, “but they are laboring in the south for the mighty lugal because they are slaves, or are presumed to be slaves. If you send a runner to the south with word they are in fact to be freed, will the runner not be likely to return to Gibil with them trailing after him as sheep trail after a wether?”
“Likely he will, master merchant’s son.” Ushurikti looked calculating. “As you are doing this of your own will, it is just that you send a runner to the south and you pay him to bring Duabzu and Nasibugashi back to Gibil.”
“Let it be done as you say,” Sharur answered resignedly. Ushurikti instructed the runner where in the south the two Imhursaggi captives were laboring for the lugal. Sharur gave him a clay tablet to show to whatever foreman Kimash had set over them, authorizing their release. He rolled his stone cylinder seal over the bottom of the damp tablet, confirming it had come from him. The runner trotted off, his sandals kicking up puffs of dust as he went.
He returned three days later, with the two Imhursagut trailing after him just as Sharur had foretold. When Ushurikti sent word they had arrived, Sharur hurried over to the slave dealer’s establishment. There he found the men he had captured, both of them anxious to learn what he would do with them. .
“Can it be true?” Duabzu asked. “Can you really intend to set us free?” Now that he had tasted the life of a slave, he was no longer so eager to endure it as he had been when Sharur spared his life on the battlefield.
“Have we then been ransomed?” Nasibugashi added. For an Imhursaggi, he seemed, as he had always seemed, uncommonly alert and aware of the consequences of actions in the world around him.
“You are to be freed,” Sharur replied, and both Imhursagut cried out. Sharur went on, “You are not to be ransomed. I set you free without being paid even so much as a barleycorn.” They cried out again, this time in astonishment. Sharur held up a hand. “I have one condition, and one only, I set on your freedom: you must both deliver and spread widely through Imhursag a message I shall give you.”
Duabzu got down upon his belly and touched his forehead to Sharur’s foot. “In the great and mighty and terrible name of Enimhursag, I swear I shall obey you as a son obeys his father.” Nasibugashi swore the same oath, though he did not humble himself before Sharur in the same way.
“It is good,” Sharur said. “Here, then, is the message: somewhere in the land of Imhursag is some small, hidden thing into which Enimhursag has poured a great part of his power for safekeeping. I do not know what it is. I do not know where it is. I do know that, should it be broken, a great part of Enimhursag’s power will be broken with it. Deliver and spread widely through Imhursag this message I have given you, as you have sworn to do.”
Duabzu looked appalled. “But this is a message that might prove dangerous to the great god. This is a message that might bring harm t
o the mighty god.” By way of reply, Sharur smiled at him. That only made him look more appalled. He had sworn an oath by the god he loved, the god who ruled him absolutely, but to fulfill it he would, as he said, have to endanger the god.
Nasibugashi said, “I see now what I have seen again and again since being deceived into entering Gibil in the first place: this city has a larger store of clever men, men who are ready for anything and to turn anything to their advantage, than does Imhursag. Imhursag would be a better place if we had more men of this sort.”
“Imhursag would be a place more like Gibil if we had more men of this sort.” Duabzu’s shudder plainly gave his opinion of that.
To Nasibugashi, Sharur said, “I do not know whether you will take this for good or ill, but you strike me as being more nearly a man of this sort than most Imhursagut I have seen.”
“I do not know whether to take this for good or ill, either,” Nasibugashi replied.
“Enimhursag will surely know whether to take this for good or ill.” By Duabzu’s tone, he had no doubt how the god of Imhursag would take it. Sharur suspected Duabzu was right, too. If Enimhursag saw what Duabzu and Nasibugashi carried in their minds, his wisest course might be to strike them both dead the instant they crossed into land he ruled.
But, while that might keep Enimhursag safe for the time being, it would also make Imhursag fall further behind Gibil not only in the art of war but also in the art, if art it was, of producing men such as those to whom Nasibugashi had alluded. If Imhursag fell further behind Gibil, sooner or later the Giblut would be in a position to overrun their rivals and find for themselves the thing into which Enimhursag had poured a great part of his power for safekeeping. And when they did ...
Sharur would not have wanted to be the god of Imhursag, nor to be faced with the choices the god of Imhursag was facing. When he remembered the choices with which the god of Imhursag and the other gods had faced him, though, he was far from altogether sorry to confront them with worries for a change.
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