Thick as Thieves

by Megan Whalen Turner

  The Attolian crouched nearby, his hands on his knees. He looked between the rocks to the shining gold plaque and said, “Perfection.” I ducked my head, more proud of myself than was probably warranted.

  Then we hurried down the road, afraid of who might have heard the rocks coming down, hoping that we were moving away from any Namreen, not toward them, and that any footprints we left would be obscured by the other traffic. Fortunately the road did move more north and east for a while, so we were no farther south from our goal, at least, and after we’d traveled some distance, we again took to the rocky hills and hid for the night among them. We still had no fire. There was some dried grain in the slavers’ bags, and we had water to soak it but no pot to pour it into, so we chewed it as it was. I thought longingly of the slavers’ pot, stupidly left behind. Still, I had little to complain about, and any consideration of the poor slave we’d just buried under a rockfall would have silenced my complaints anyway. I think the Attolian sensed the bleakness of my mood. After he’d licked the last flecks of grain from his hand, he asked for another story of Immakuk and Ennikar.

  It took a minute to gather my thoughts. “So, Ennikar and the witch of Urkull,” I said. I thought he would like that one. “Ennikar in trouble with a maid again.”

  “What a surprise,” said the Attolian.

  Immakuk climbed the steps of the temple

  climbed to the altar of the people

  climbed to the altar of kings

  climbed to the altar of priests and climbed onward.

  Immakuk climbed to the heights of Shesmegah

  prostrated himself there

  begged the goddess her goodwill

  begged her aid

  Wise Immakuk said she

  Speak to the goddess tell her your need

  Said Immakuk Brave Ennikar suffers

  suffers and is weak with suffering

  Angry is the god Tenep

  Ennikar begat Tenep’s anger

  He is the cause

  Tenep who made the rain and the river

  Made the cow and the calf

  Made the grain and the nut

  The tree and leaf the house and the hearth

  Tenep who is mild in her aspect

  Who is gentle before the other gods

  Who is good natured above all other gods

  And kind to us

  Has changed her face

  Has shown us the face of her anger

  Tenep’s anger falls on us all

  The river is stifled

  The grain is stifled and the nut is stifled

  The cow ignores her calf

  The tree bears no leaves the hearth no fire

  The witch of Urkull

  Came to Brave Ennikar

  Came to the city from the forests

  Led him away from the city led him into the grain

  Enticed him there and enchanted him

  Persuaded him cajoled him inveigled him

  Induced him to steal the sphere of light

  Tenep’s sphere and its power Ennikar took it

  Gave it to the witch

  Now Tenep’s anger falls on us all.

  Wise Immakuk you ask my aid

  Who am I against the anger of great Tenep

  I who was once mortal as you?

  Goddess yours is the way of gentleness

  Lead great Tenep away from her anger

  Show us the road to mercy and forgiveness

  Turn Tenep’s face of kindness toward us again

  Where is Ennikar who is the cause

  Of Tenep’s anger?

  Where is he?

  He lies in fever stifled by great Tenep

  The witch of Urkull where is she?

  The witch of Urkull cannot be found

  The sphere of Tenep cannot be found

  No mercy can be found no kindness no forgiveness

  Shesmegah who knows the road to mercy

  Shesmegah goes to Cassa to ask her bees

  Cassa’s bees hunters and seekers

  To seek everywhere find the witch

  Shesmegah puts away her kindness puts away her forgiveness

  Sends the bees to sting the witch sting her

  Her feet and hands until she comes to Shesmegah

  Why? asks Shesmegah

  Why cajole inveigle induce Brave Ennikar

  From the path of the good from the way of the right

  From the light of Tenep into the darkness of her anger?

  Why does the cow ignore her calf why is the river stifled?

  Why does the tree bear no leaf and the hearth have no fire?

  Brave Ennikar the witch of Urkull did possess him

  Loved him in her forests until

  Shesmegah in her pity for Wise Immakuk turned his

  path to Ennikar

  Turned Ennikar’s path from the witch

  Grieved the witch

  Longed she for Brave Ennikar

  Came to the city enticed him into the grain

  Led him from the light into the darkness of Tenep’s anger

  Foolish witch lost her love

  Find your love witch said Shesmegah see it waits

  In Ennikar’s heart the path is there follow it

  Your love is waiting for you

  Give Tenep her sphere and enter

  Ennikar’s heart It will be your heart and his then

  Shesmegah showed her the road to Ennikar’s heart

  The path of forgiveness led her to it

  The witch gave up the sphere and Tenep

  turned her face of kindness to the world

  The cow took care of her calf the tree opened its leaves

  The rain filled the river and love filled Ennikar’s heart

  The witch felt his love and carried it with her to the forests

  Ennikar followed

  His path led him away from the city to the forest and he

  stayed there

  Seven months until the moon called him back to the city.

  “In trouble with a maid, indeed,” said the Attolian.

  “So, so, so,” I said. “Who would be so foolish?” Together the Attolian and I raised our eyes to the heavens, both of us the picture of sweet propriety. Then we looked at each other and waited to see who was going to speak first.

  “It so happens,” said the Attolian, “that sometimes a young soldier comes to the city from deep in the country and he meets a man in a wineshop who offers to show him the town and introduces him to a ‘lovely girl.’ And after the lovely girl has soaked him for all the money in his pocket, the man will offer the soldier a loan. The really naive ones get into so much debt to their ‘friends’ that they have to ask for a touch from the guard’s treasury, from funds set aside by everyone in the cohort for emergencies like this. Until the money gets paid back, they eat their meals standing up in the dining hall.”

  I wondered if the Attolian had ever been a backward boy from the country eating his meals standing up. When I saw the flush creeping up past his collar all the way to the roots of his hair, I knew he had.

  I said, “I fell in love with my master’s favorite dancing girl.” If he was willing to admit to an embarrassing indiscretion, I could do the same.

  “Eh?” said the Attolian, as if he thought he’d misheard. I repeated myself.

  He said, “Surely that was—”

  “—Spectacularly unwise,” I agreed.

  I expected a laugh, but the Attolian asked very seriously, “Did she love you?”

  I nodded. Marin had, I was sure of it. “She loved my master as well, though.” That was misleading. “She saw something to love in everyone. She was . . .” I really couldn’t explain. “She was beautiful in spirit, like Shesmegah. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted to give her the happiness she deserved, and I asked her to run away with me.”

  “Is that when you were flogged?” He put up his hands. “I’m sorry. Never mind.”

  “No, no fear,” I said. It was easier to talk abo
ut flogging than about Marin. I almost wished I hadn’t spoken of her, but it was both bitter and sweet to say her name again. “I was flogged years ago for taking a piece of cake from my master’s plate.”

  “He flogged you for cake?”

  “Not really. He knew I wouldn’t have touched his cake. He flogged me for being too full of myself.”

  “Marking an expensive slave seems—poor economy.” His voice was low and edged as it hadn’t been since Sherguz.

  I shifted and looked away, uncomfortable with his anger even if it was not directed at me. “The emperor’s personal slaves are more powerful than almost any free man in the empire. He relies on them and they must be . . . perfectly trained. It was a painful lesson, but necessary. It made me more valuable.” In light of the remchik incident, it was a lesson I needed to relearn from time to time.

  “The emperor’s very powerful personal slaves are killed when he dies, aren’t they? Replaced by the slaves of the new emperor?”

  “The new emperor chooses a few to be freed and serve in his household. Not all die.”

  “Most do?”

  I shrugged. “We all die someday.”

  After a long uncomfortable silence I abruptly said, “My master could be very kind.” I had no idea why I needed to defend him, but it was true. Part of being capricious was that quite often he had been capriciously kind. “Once I dropped a figure of Tenep made by Sudesh. It was a gift for the emperor’s birthday, very rare, and I had no business touching it, but I’d wanted to hold her just once.” I cupped my hands, remembering, how strong and how beautiful Tenep had seemed, flawless, because my master and I had conspired to have the figurine stolen from the workshop before any part of it could be broken by Sudesh. Then she had slipped through my fingers and smashed into three pieces on the floor.

  Still ashamed of myself, I admitted to the Attolian, “I thought of blaming someone else, but my master came into the room just then.”

  “And?” said the Attolian.

  “He laughed. He said I may as well have the pieces glued together and keep it. It was of no use to him anymore.” I wondered what had become of the little figure of Tenep. I had packed her very carefully every time we traveled to be sure she was not damaged further. “He almost killed me when he overhead Marin and me talk about running away, but he wouldn’t have hurt me so much if he hadn’t loved her, too.”

  The next morning, when the houseboy had come in, he’d seen me lying on the floor and said, “Is Kamet dead?” I still remember how my master had leapt from his bed and sent for his own doctor to care for me. How upset he had been and how carefully he had watched over me until I was better. “He felt very bad,” I said.

  “Of course he felt bad,” said the Attolian. “He nearly did himself out of a well-trained secretary.”

  I wanted to believe it was more than that. “He sold Marin.” When I had recovered and rose from my bed, she was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” said the Attolian.

  His sympathy made me as uncomfortable as his anger, and I shrugged. “He could have kept her. I was more important to him than a dancing girl.”

  “More valuable,” corrected the Attolian.

  I conceded. I was much more valuable than a dancing girl, but I knew what it had cost him to let her go.

  A year later he had made up a silly excuse to visit a vineyard in the country, and I’d seen Marin there. He’d sold her to a man he knew would be kind to her, one who would free her and make her his wife. We didn’t have a chance to speak, we only exchanged a glance as she carried in a tray of coffee, but I could see that she was happy. I told the Attolian this, but he just shook his head. Maybe he was right. Maybe I gave my master too much credit for his kindness. Maybe he had gotten rid of Marin to keep me focused on my work.

  There was another uncomfortable silence. The Attolian broke it, with characteristic consideration. “I think the Mede ambassador in Attolia has a piece by Sudesh. He’s the artist who always breaks some part of his figurines after they are made?”

  “Yes, that’s him. He breaks them to appease the gods who might be angry at him for striving to match their perfection.”

  “The ambassador’s statue is missing its right hand. The king often remarks on it, hinting that the ambassador should offer it to him as a gift. The ambassador watches it like a hawk, afraid the king will steal it.” He admired his fool king, and yet he generously held him up for my ridicule.

  I obliged. “At least my master had a sense of decorum,” I said. And the awkward moment passed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Well,” the Attolian observed, “they are green hills at least.”

  We had made our way through the valleys and ridges of loose rock, climbing higher after each descent until we’d reached a ridge where we could see across a patchy plain to the mountains on the far side. The Taymets. It was true, their lower slopes were misted with green, unlike the ground behind us, so they had at least some soil covering them, but their summits weren’t green—they were shining cloudlike white. Their winter snows never melted.

  It was impossible. I looked at the Attolian. He had to know it.

  “There will be water on the far side of the plain,” said the Attolian. “I think I see a lake.”

  The idea of washing was a pleasant distraction, but an improbable one. The plain below was barren, only the lightest stretches of scrubby plants, and the ground was a mottled gray and white.

  “It’s a salt pan,” I explained. “If there is a lake out there, it will be filled with salt. We’ll have to find a stream of snowmelt if we want fresh water.”

  The Attolian hefted his waterskin. It was half empty. We’d filled them earlier that day at a small spring he’d found by following animal tracks to it. My skin had a little less water, though I’d been trying to drink no more often than he did.

  “It’s flat ground,” he said, “so we can make good time across, but we’ll need the skins full.” He told me to wait and rest while he checked for another spring nearby—or, if that failed, went all the way back to the spring we’d found earlier. “I’ll set a snare before I go. We haven’t seen any Namreen since we buried the goat. I think we can cook this time.” He was trying to reassure me.

  The raw goat liver we’d eaten hadn’t been that bad. On the other hand, the raw caggi we’d had that morning had been so disgusting that once I’d choked it down, I almost brought it right back up again. I agreed that cooked caggi would be highly tolerable by comparison.

  We waited until night was falling and then headed out onto the plain. We made good time and stopped when we found a group of rocks that would shelter us from the sun and from the eyes of any watching Namreen during the day. The sky was just lightening when I fell asleep. I woke in broad daylight and found the Attolian staring out over the salt pan.

  “There are buildings,” he said. “We’ll make for them when the sun sets.”

  We dozed the rest of the day, and then headed toward what turned out to be an abandoned farm. There was a ring of flat stones set in the ground that might have been the top of a well. It needed no cover to keep people from falling into it, though, as it was filled to the brim with sand. The night was not yet over, but we decided to save what water we had and to rest inside the stone walls of the empty farmhouse until the next evening. We started walking again as the sun was sinking toward the west, and our shadows seemed to stretch as far as the horizon on the other side of the world. By dawn the Attolian could see what he thought might be inhabited farms ahead, supported by the seasonal runoff from the hills. We kept moving as the sun grew brighter and brighter on the salt and around us darkness seemed to rise in shimmering waves from the ground. I stumbled over a clump of dry weeds. The Attolian took my arm to steady me.

  With the sun high overhead, we cautiously approached a shepherd out with his goats. Our water was gone, and we hadn’t eaten in two days. The goats were nibbling a bare sustenance from the scrubby grass we had seen more and more of as we left the s
alt behind. The shepherd was standing in the sparse shade cast by a few dry willows. We moved closer, stopping a stone’s throw away to call our greetings.

  I explained that we were heading north and hoped to buy food and water. I gestured at the Attolian, and he pulled a coin from his purse and gave it to me to hold up as a sign of our commercial intentions. After wary consideration, the shepherd pointed us toward the farm and said that his brother, Hemke, might let us use the well.

  Reaching the farm buildings, we stood in the yard, formed by the main house and its various dilapidated outbuildings. We held our hands away from our bodies, the Attolian’s far from his sword, and waited until a man stepped from a slanting ramshackle goat shed and roughly asked what we wanted. We waved back toward the shepherd and said he’d told us to seek out Hemke if we wanted to use the well.

  “I am Hemke,” said the farmer, “but the well’s not deep. It only provides for us.”

  “We can pay,” I said, holding out the coin the Attolian had given me.

  Grudgingly Hemke, still not coming any closer, agreed we could take a single skin full of water. “There’s little to spare,” he said, “and we can’t drink a coin. You can go east and find water at the emperor’s road.”

  We couldn’t do that, and with so little water we’d be in trouble even if we made it to the hills. We had no way to know how long it might take to find a stream carrying fresh water.

  The Attolian meanwhile had turned to look at an unused hearth at one corner of the yard. “Ask if we can offer him something more useful than a coin.”

  “You think he maybe needs a letter written?” I asked, skeptical.