Pyrebound - 13.1

Thirteen: A Scholar in the Shadows – Pyrebound
The moonchildren occupy a curious place in human society; they do not farm, nor own land, and spend their lives in the desert. They are therefore totally dependent on the pyres and hearths to supply them with the necessities of life. Some tribesmen trade with the Dominion for their sustenance; others will raid hearths and rob caravans, or attack other tribes. In the Dominion, they are seen as essentially parasitic, since they produce no wealth and cannot provide for themselves.

Naturally, the moonchildren take a different view. The men of the Dominion are constrained to life in small spaces, and pollute themselves with indwelling. The moonchildren, who know more of magic and the way of the world, are the rightful superiors of men who live in cages.

The desk of Zasha zen-Tirnun was all metal, a cumbersome mix of steel and bronze riveted together with no regard for aesthetics. Ordinarily, a man of his status would have had a desk of imported wood, nicely worked and beautifully polished, perhaps with some decorative work around the edges. But Zasha was a sufficiently important man to need to worry about appearances in a different way from most. All his furniture was made by Misishins, when possible from Misishin materials.

Now Zasha leaned forward, resting his elbows on the gleaming top surface. “Thank you both for coming,” he said. “Though I would appreciate more warning next time, so we could prepare for a proper embassy. Rammash, it’s good to see you again. And—pardon me, how should I address you?”

“’Ensi.’ I am the ensi,” Ninshuma said. Mannagiri had chosen to leave her standing, though frankly the metal chairs weren’t much more comfortable. “We are here to negotiate. Don’t waste my time.”

“Of course, Ensi. You have made the urgency of your mission clear enough.” By demanding a meeting with Zasha as soon as their barque landed, then acting cranky and making increasingly bizarre threats until Zasha appeared. “So, let’s negotiate. What does Dul Atellu want from Dul Misishi?”

“Metal. This En said you sell metal. We will need some, so my bondsmen can keep growing my food. Their tools wear out.”

“Indeed,” Zasha said, flicking a bemused glance at Ram. “How much, and how often?”

“How should I know? As much as you were sending before. Just don’t cut off shipments, that’s all.”

“I see. Is there a reason I would wish to do so, ma’am—ah, sir? Ensi? It seems I’m not seeing the whole picture here.”

“He torched High Atellu last night,” Ram explained. “His lugal is dead, and probably everyone else you made an agreement with, so I thought we’d come and … make sure everything’s okay.”

“Are we going to have to do this for every pyre we trade with, though?” Mannagiri asked, as Zasha visibly struggled to absorb the news. “I have other things to do besides fly you around.”

“Not necessarily,” Ram said. “I wanted to come here because I know Master Zasha personally, and he might be able to give us special help.”

“Excuse me,” Zasha said, looking alarmed. “What sort of ‘special help’ did you have in mind?”

“You sell us ore below market rates, and we’ll let your boats past us without a toll, and waive fees for using Atellu’s facilities. Every other boat on the Teshalun faces a hefty charge.” The fate of noncompliant boats was unstated, but obvious. It was the least bloodthirsty arrangement Mannagiri would agree to.

“That seems reasonable,” Zasha said, deadpan. “We’ll have to discuss this in detail with our Lugal, naturally.”

Mannagiri stamped Ninshuma’s foot. “How many damned people are we going to meet? This girl has a full bladder, and it’s very distracting.”

“Let me get someone to help you with that, Ensi,” Zasha said. “Samunishi!” He looked relieved when a bondswoman showed up and escorted his unhappy guest away. “That,” he added, when both were gone and the door shut, “was not the payment I requested. Far from it.”

Ram gave him a bland smile. “It ought to make you plenty of profit. Way over twenty gold, even in the short term. I bet the prices of metal are up already, just from Karagi.”

Zasha grimaced, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dul Karagi. Yes. Well. That wasn’t exactly expected either. Do I need to tell you that I don’t want any credit for that, if the Lugal asks? Especially not from the mouth of your new friend. Or whichever other person’s mouth he’s using at the time.”

“Mannagiri wouldn’t dream of it,” Ram assured him. “He doesn’t understand any of this. He just wants to get all his handmaidens back home, and be done with it.” He was very eager to start shaking down cargo boats, actually. Darun’s assessment of his character seemed mostly accurate.

“So I gathered. And you? What are you after, Rammash? Replacing rusted sickles can’t be your real top priority.”

“I need to get my sister and her friend away from Atellu, in case things get messy. The two girls who came with us.” And who were now, hopefully, breaking some of the bad news to Mother, so Ram wouldn’t have to do it himself. Likewise Darun and her sister. He could face all kinds of danger, but he wasn’t that brave. “I’m sure you don’t need more kids underfoot, but Shimrun loves them, so you can use them as hostages for his behavior. He’s already agreed.”

“Shimrun being … oh, yes. Your ensi.” Zasha drummed the desktop with his fingers. “Demand for iron ore has in fact gone up, and will likely increase dramatically, if what you say about Atellu is true. The question being whether that lunatic will survive long enough to keep your promises. Or if our lugal will agree to them. The other pyres aren’t going to tolerate the kind of piracy you’re proposing, and an exception for us couldn’t be kept secret. Traffic on the Teshalun has always been free.”

“I know. The point is to keep Atellu’s income from dropping to zero overnight, so he can keep basic services running. We’ll try to come up with something better for the long term.” Ram didn’t expect Mannagiri to execute the scheme competently anyhow. Nor any scheme, really. Which made this meeting little more than a distraction for both of them. “Does it matter, from your perspective? You still get all the profitable chaos you were after.”

“And more. I asked for a drink, and you threw me in the Puruar. Hmph. Still, I grant that you’ve lived much longer than I expected. And done about as well as you could have. It seems you even singed the hunzempu a bit, even if you didn’t finish her off. Very well. I won’t promise to maintain your menagerie of brats, but I won’t kick you out of my pyre just yet. Please try to be a bit more discreet.”

“I can try for myself,” Ram said, swallowing his anger for Darun. “I can’t make any promises for Mannagiri.”

“You might as well promise for the lightning,” Zasha agreed. “Now, I was in the middle of something, and I’m sure you want to see your family. Can you find your own way to my house?”

“I’ll follow the girls’ spirits,” he said, and left. The layout of Dul Misishi took some getting used to; there was no neat boundary between residences most of the time, only tunnels and caves given over to specific uses for specific people. For security purposes, their lugal’s chambers were demarcated by guarded iron gates, sheltered deep inside the west bank of the central reservoir. Past those gates it was a short walk to the Tegnembassaga, or to the homes of the more prominent citizens. But only one lonesome dulsphere lit his twisting way to Mana and Rinti.

There were no guards or gates at the far end, only a simple privacy curtain spread before the hallway to Zasha’s sitting-room. Ram reached out and put his hand on its edge, but didn’t tug it open. He could hear Mana and Rinti chattering on the far side, with the odd murmur from Father. Not a sound from Mother, nor Tirnun or her sister. When they’d last been here, Darun had been healthy and beautiful, and he’d had the hope of a long life ahead of him. A stupid hope, to be sure, but a hope. Now—

He threw the curtain aside and went in, before he could run away. Father sat in the same spot he’d picked on their first visit, with baby Zemni tucked into the curve of his one remaining arm, fast asleep. Father spared him a glance and a smile as he came in, but no more than that; his daughter was two feet away, telling him a story far too rapidly for him to have a hope of understanding. Rinti chimed in with the odd word, but gave most of her attention to creating sparkles for Tirnun’s children to chase around the carpet. The bondswoman Jezrimin supervised from the back of the couch, right in front of the window. Next to her, sewing as always, was Mother.

She, too, looked up, giving her son a longer and sadder smile. But she also kept an eye on her needlework, and Ram stood nailed to the floor by fear and doubt until she put it aside and held out her hands. Then Ram had no choice, and no desire to do anything else but rush across the room and fall into her arms.

“Welcome home, Rammash,” she said, before he could wonder what to say for himself. “Thank you for bringing your sister back to us.”

“You’re welcome,” he said automatically, then felt a bit silly. He was kneeling on the floor; it was hard on his knees, but he didn’t move. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“For … for everything that’s happened. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but … “

“I have heard many things about you. Most of them terrible. But they couldn’t possibly all be true at once, and none of them matter. My son has returned, and brought his sister with him. He is welcome, and always will be. Everything else can wait.”

“Now get up, and sit beside me. There. Your brother, your father, and I are all in good health. The lady of the house is kind and gracious, and even her husband bears us well enough. There is nothing to complain of, for the time being.”

“Is with her sister. Please relax. Your fears for the future—have they ever changed what came to pass? I think not. Which means they are purely self-indulgent, and should be abandoned.”

“I know.” He looked at her face. “But I don’t think you take your own advice.”

“If I could not fret, I could do nothing at all. You are not so limited, and have no excuse. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” he admitted. “We missed breakfast.” Jezrimin rose at once to fetch some sort of Misishin mutton-pies from the kitchen. And for some time, they said nothing of consequence. Mother chided Erimana for messy eating, then Ram for addressing his handmaiden sister by the short form of her name. Ram started to object that he outranked her by that scale anyhow, but caught himself in time. Mother noticed, but pretended not to. Father broke the tension by jostling the baby just enough to wake him, and conversation mercifully shifted to the kind of pleasant inanities that prevailed (in Ram’s experience) whenever two or more women were in the same room with an infant.

“Wanted my arm back anyhow,” Father said to Ram, as he reached for his first pie. “It’s a shame don’t nobody seem to think of that, most times. You doing all right, boy?”

“You don’t even want to know, Father. Have you been carving anything lately?”

“Not a lot. That one don’t care to lie down quiet lately, so when he ain’t eating this here arm gets occupied. It’s a wonder I can—“ He jerked his head around at the sound of raised voices down the hall. Tirnun’s bedroom had a thick wooden door, not a curtain, but Ram could recognize her voice, and her sister’s at its most sarcastic. Then the door banged open, and Darun sauntered down the hall as if nothing had happened. She’d left her veil behind somewhere.

“Oh, good, food,” she said. “I did warn her not to start something while I was hungry. Her loss. Budge over there, Ram.” Mother frowned; there was plenty of room on the couch that wasn’t right next to her firstborn. That was yet another thing Ram didn’t feel like explaining. Father and Jezrimin were too busy staring at Darun’s face to notice. “Jezrimin, have you got any dip? The mutton’s a bit on the dry side.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Darun munched on contentedly. “Sorry, I know I’m not exactly appetizing to look at,” she said with her mouth full. “We’re working on that.” Whatever she’d argued with her sister about, Ram was reasonably sure she’d won it. It was good, in a way, to have her cheerfully confident and obnoxious again. But the door to Tirnun’s room was shut again, and no sound came from it.

“Are things okay with your sister?” he asked her, when the meal was over, and he found a moment to take her aside.

“Never,” she grinned. “But what else is new? I told her she’s going to have some shit to deal with if she gives you any trouble about this,” she said, gesturing to her face. “Oh, and that she’s not my mom. She didn’t take that well.”

“I don’t imagine she did. But she did take in my family, you know.”

“I’m sure she’s sold all your mom’s work since for five times cost of materials. Give me a little credit, Ram. I know that heifer, she always gets value in the end. She sure did with me. Would have been making big money off my husband, if I’d stuck around.”

“I don’t think it’s that straightforward. She really did—does—seem to love you, Darun. And little handwoven pieces don’t sell for all that much.”

“Oh, listen to the expert. You’ve had like two days with her. Anyway, don’t you have other things you should be doing?”

“Yeah. I guess I do.” The third part of his job here wasn’t urgent, as such, but there was no need for delay. “If Mannagiri shows up while I’m out—“

“I’ll let him know that we’ll be just fine here, and we’ll hitch a ride with the Misishin when we’re done, so he can just take all three of his girls back to Dul Atellu and catch up with his busy schedule of burning puppy-dogs for fun.”

“Right. See if you can do it before he gets a chance to weird out anybody important. To me, you, or Zasha.” From what Ram could tell, two of the handmaidens who brought them here were staying put by their barque, while the third seemed to be wandering about in no particular direction.

“Not likely, after he’s been out unsupervised this long. But sure, whatever. You know me, I’m a pro. Now get out of here.”

Ram looked around the room; Mother was trying to nurse a slightly fussy Zemni while Mana and Rinti talked at her. Father was less obviously occupied, but still focused on his daughter. Now was as good a time as he was likely to get. He kissed Darun on top of her head, then ducked out the door and down the stairs. He made it all the way down to the foyer before he heard big feet thumping on the stairs behind him, and winced. “Boy! Where you going off to?”

“Just taking a walk, Father. It’s the middle of the day, it’ll be fine.”

“A walk? Ain’t you learned yet about wandering around in this pyre? After what went down in Karagi, I can tell you for damn sure they ain’t got no less twitchy than they was before.”

“I know. But I have learned some in the past couple of months, honestly. I know what I’m doing.”

“But you don’t seem too inclined to tell your old man what that something is just now. That about the size of it?”

“Yes. It is. I’m sixteen, Father. I haven’t had you approving my every move the past couple of months, and I won’t have it when I leave, either. I’ll survive.”

“Yeah, I know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You just watch your ass, you hear? I don’t need to see you come back hurt.”

“I can’t possibly come back hurt, Father,” Ram said, turning back to the front door. Only fail to come back at all. And that was more probable than he would want to admit, on this particular trip, but he still had to do it. A man did what he had to.

He was out the door in moments, and walking briskly down the street towards the pyre’s entrance. He was in the nice part of the pyre—too nice. And, despite what he’d told Father, he really was looking for trouble. But it was a very specific kind of trouble, and for a good cause. It wasn’t like he wasn’t in plenty of trouble already.

They couldn’t control Mannagiri. They simply couldn’t. If they were willing to take a terrible risk, they might kill him—but Ram doubted it. He always had handmaidens around to defend him, and Ram was little better than a normal human at that distance from his own pyre. Even if he succeeded, larger events were plainly out of their control now, and getting worse. They were all captives of fate, in bond to a sick system that worked by rules Ram barely understood. Was there a way to change the rules? He suspected not. But he didn’t know. He needed help. And to find help, he first needed to be found.

Which made it Ram’s best bet to stroll as conspicuously as possible through Dul Misishi, the only place where he and Darun were known to have family or friends.

He walked down to the main gate, gabbled aimlessly to the gatekeeper long enough to be memorable and mildly irritating, and dipped into the harbor and conscientiously got in the way of unloading. He asked around for bars where travelers frequented, and visited more than a few. He asked odd questions, spoke too loudly, acted too friendly. He strolled through Misishi’s meager underground business district, browsed the flophouses, got chummy with everyone at the common hall. And everywhere he meant, he was sure to make a prominent mention of Dul Karagi, and to ask after Karagene visitors with no trace of subtlety.

Slowly, the day wore on. Ram got plenty of dirty looks, but nothing worse, nor more interesting. It had been more than a month since his last visit, and he wasn’t carrying Beshi; he was only a brash young outsider making a great nuisance of himself.

He wound up his day’s quest for notoriety at a shabby little joint that wasn’t quite openly a brothel; the servers were all barely-dressed bondswomen, who chatted too amiably with the mining and dockworking clientele, and from time to time disappeared with them. His server seemed surprised—almost offended—that he only asked her to recommend something from the menu. The place seemed to be managed by a single elderly handmaiden, who also did the cooking.

She wasn’t much of a cook, Ram decided after picking through his gristly delver stew. That wasn’t what people came here for, after all. So he left his meal unfinished, tossed what remained of his pocket change on the table, and left, resolving to continue his efforts tomorrow—which would be white day. Perhaps another trip to the theater was in order? He couldn’t believe Dul Karagi didn’t have someone staking out this pyre, after all that had happened.

He bumbled determinedly up through the dark and twisting passage that hid the eatery from the rest of Misishi, and was almost to the surface when a strong hand caught him by the back of his shirt and threw him against the wall. Before he could react, he felt the prick of a knife at his throat; looking down as best he could without driving it in, he saw it was a very large knife, wielded by a very large man with long hair and a headband. Even in the dim light, there was something unmistakably familiar about his long jaw and hooked nose. Three other men had come out of the shadows behind him.

Not a very comfortable situation—but it was more or less what he’d been looking for. He tried to feel pleased. “Hello, Bal. I was hoping I’d find you here. Is Imbri around?”