Twilight in Babylon (19 page)

“What confirmation have you received that your assessment is accurate, Asa?” Kidu asked.

“Are you working with me or against me?” Puabi hissed at him. “Don’t offend the man!”

The
en
ignored her and stared at Asa.

Ezzi would almost believe in possession, to see the
en
today.

“I—I have no confirmation,” the old stargazer said. “I need none. I am the stargazer. What I say is truth. I alone perceive the judgments in the Tablets of Destiny. I bring those judgments to the attention of the
lugal
and the
ensi
and the council. They decide how to bribe or intercede with the gods. As I said, I am just fulfilling my responsibility by informing you a judgment is coming.”

Kidu pursed his lips. “Bring me a time schedule for this judgment, and the past records of your predictions. Leave us.”

They bowed out, while the
ensi
was still seated on
en
Kidu’s lap.

When the copper doors had shut behind them, Asa burst into a rage. Ezzi listened as the stargazer railed about the dangers of his job and the obstinacy of the temple. “They will bring death on us all,” he said. “Who does the
en
think he is to question me? His job is not to reason. Oh, they bring on themselves evil. Desolation and darkness.”

“That was a very nice phrase, sir,” Ezzi said.

“Thank you, boy. It took me double hours to find the exact words, to convey the message. Now it falls on deaf ears.” His fury was almost spent. “I guess the humans didn’t listen to Ziusudra either. For 120 years they ignored him.” Asa stopped. “Find a sledge, boy. I need to rest.”

The other stargazers followed at a distance. Asa had lost favor, and no one wanted to be associated with him. Ezzi hailed a sledge and helped the old man in, gave the driver directions and assured his employer he wouldn’t be far behind. He watched them ride off, then turned back to the temple complex, seeking out the Office of Records.

*      *     *

“Gentleman Nimrod, sir.”

Cheftu nodded. It didn’t matter—he was too angry to think. Was it his fury, or Kidu’s? It was of no consequence where it began; it consumed him. He looked up to see a hairy man walk in. The man was dressed as a fisherman, he even smelled like a fisherman, though he wore a seal at his waist and had the manner of a prince.

Scars marred his hands, and the pointed claw of a bear had once grabbed his shoulder. A blade had cut his forehead, narrowly missing his eye, and, when the man bowed, Cheftu saw the white dots of a bite mark on his back. The man’s name meant mighty hunter. Obviously, he was lucky.

Nimrod looked at him. “Greetings, brother of the mountain,” he said. “How do the gods bless you today?”

Nimrod, Kidu’s wrestling partner, the first male human who had befriended Kidu. Would Nimrod know Kidu was gone? How could he? What would he do?

“It is an infuriating day,” Cheftu said, unable to hide the passions stirred so easily in Kidu. The man had no self-control.

“Shall we have a match, brother?” Nimrod said with a smile. “Then we can wear away your anger.”

Both men stripped to loincloths, fastened heavy leather belts around their waists, and stepped close. Cheftu knew from Kidu’s memories that they would embrace, hold their opponent’s waist, and fight to topple him. They must keep both hands on the belt at all times, and their heads side by side. Nimrod was slighter than Kidu was, but Nimrod was sinewy and strong.

They strained with each other until they were wet with exertion. The scribe called the quarters of the match, and at the half, Nimrod whispered in his ear. “I hear Puabi has been asked to step down.”

Cheftu’s frustration would not be bottled any longer. He heaved at Nimrod and strained to pull him off his feet. In one burst of energy, Cheftu did, and both men fell to the floor. They sat up, sweating and panting. The scribe left for beer and Cheftu watched the perspiration drip from his forehead onto the reed matting.

“Kidu, we are friends,” Nimrod said.

Cheftu’s anger was spent. “How good a friend?”

Nimrod leaned over, his voice low so only Cheftu could hear. “Close enough to know that you are in danger. The stars don’t favor Puabi, and when the new
ensi
is elected, that will be the end of you.”

Cheftu said nothing, could say nothing, except marvel.

“The
en
isn’t a position you retire from, like
lugal,
” Nimrod said. “It’s one you die to get out of.”

The scribe opened the jar of beer and handed both men drinking tubes. When they had finished the jar, Nimrod rose to leave. “When the time comes and it is reasonable for you to flee, I will help you,” Nimrod said. “I owe you that debt.” He touched the scar on his shoulder.
Kidu had saved Nimrod’s life.
An impression of heat, blood, and fear passed through Cheftu.

He mopped sweat from his eyebrows. “Thank you.”

Nimrod walked away, then turned and looked over his shoulder, as though he wished to speak. “Your eyes,” he said. “They’ve always been so light?”

Don’t lose the one comrade you’ve made,
Cheftu thought. “I didn’t know you were the kind of man to notice,” Cheftu gibed.

Nimrod paused, then laughed.

Now all Cheftu had to do was find Chloe.

*      *     *

“Asa the Stargazer?” the scribe said. “Past Predictions?”

“Yes please.”

“For whom do you request these documents? I can’t let just anyone break open the envelopes.”

“I request them for Asa, who requests them for the
en.
”

“Kidu? Do you have proof of this? His seal?”

Ezzi shook his head. “I just came from a conference with him, though. He—”

The scribe shook his head. “No seal, no records.” He looked beyond Ezzi. “May I help you?”

Another scribe, with the temple seal around his arm, stepped to Ezzi’s side and addressed the record keeper. “Asa, the Stargazer. All his predictions and the following years’ crop reports.”

The record keeper looked from Ezzi to the scribe. “It will take me days to find them, sir.”

The scribe slid a carnelian seal toward the man. “Then start looking. This request is from
en
Kidu.”

The record keeper looked at Ezzi. “Do you know each other?”

The scribe turned to Ezzi. “No.”

“He asked—”

Ezzi reached out and knocked over the scribe’s jar of beer. “I’m sorry!” he cried. “Here, let me wipe that for you.”

The record keeper moved the drying clay documents out of the way, then mopped up the beer with his cloak. He glared at Ezzi. Then he looked at the scribe and scooped up the seal. “I’ll look for them and when I find them, I’ll send for you to bring a scribe and a wheelbarrow.”

The scribe thanked him and left.

“You can just follow him out,” the record keeper said to Ezzi.

“I feel so bad about spilling your beer,” Ezzi said. “Let me help you this afternoon, it will ease my humanity.”

The record keeper looked long and hard at him. “Do you know how tablets are filed?”

Ezzi pointed to the border of his cloak. “I’m an Old Boy,” he said. “Just guide me in the right direction, and I’ll reason it out.”

The record keeper sighed and lifted the countertop up to let Ezzi pass. “Come along then. I’ll show you what to file, go change my cloak, and be back before you’ve sorted all the accounts for the first month.”

“Or, I could help you find those tablets the
en
wanted,” Ezzi suggested. “He’d be very pleased if he received them today, I’d wager.”

The record keeper nodded. “Truth. That’s an excellent idea.”

Ezzi followed him into the storeroom. Tens of thousands of tablets were stacked on wooden shelves: twenty deep, three shelves to a row, and four rows across the room. All the information of Ur was here. Births, deaths, and marriages. Divorces, adoptions, and mergers. Registered ships, the annual yields of all the crops, tax records for every freedman, slave, client, and gentlemen, and deeds to all the properties in the commonwealth.

Every document’s double was also left here, filed on these shelves in case a justice needed additional proof for a claim.

“There are eighteen more rooms,” the record keeper said. “Asa began stargazing… hmm… It will be back here,” the scribe said, walking through the first three rooms. Dust hung in the air, and sunlight poured down from the high windows. “There,” he said, waving to a series of eight rows, five shelves per row, fifty documents per stack, eight stacks per shelf. “Are you sure of this? You don’t mind helping?”

“My humanity would be appeased,” Ezzi said.

“Very well. I’ll close up the front and be back before you know it. I keep a jar of beer behind the desk in case you get thirsty.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ezzi said. “Take your time.”

He waited until the door’s bolt fell, then tied his cloak tighter, to free his arms, and began to flip through the stacks looking for the phonetics of Asa’s name and the symbols of star and eye: stargazer.

En
Kidu, come quick!” an acolyte, panting from his run, said.

Cheftu, alerted to something in the boy’s expression, followed him out, barefooted. Twilight had fallen, the quick light that precedes night’s fall and promises tomorrow will come. The night was lit with a thousand falling stars.

They zoomed overhead in arcs, streamers of red and orange and blue and yellow lighting the sky before they vanished. “Where are the citizens?” Cheftu asked.

“Most are hiding in their homes,” the boy said, from his crouched position.

Cheftu could see Venus, the star of Inana; Jupiter, who protected him and the
lugal,
and the first pinpricks of the constellations, all dimmed by the brilliance of the meteor shower. Was it close enough to damage the fields? What did this sign portend to these people? Tomorrow was his first duty as
en.
Was this a sign of disapproval or anger? Puabi declared weather and crops were her responsibility—how did this affect her? Cheftu told the trembling boy not to be afraid. “The gods shower us with gifts.”

“They do?” the boy said, arrested by the thought.

“They do. In fact, I want you to go retrieve one of them.”

“You do?”

“See how they fall?” Cheftu said, pointing to the tail of a particularly colorful falling “star.” “Go outside of the city, search the fields, and return with a sky stone for me.”

“Me, sir?” the boy asked.

Cheftu estimated the boy was just about nine years old. His voice was high, and he was slight, but like all the males of the temple, his face was perfection, his body without flaw. He would be a dazzlingly handsome man someday. His black eyes were curious. “I can just… pick it up? Off the ground? It won’t… hurt me?”

If he was hurt or disfigured, he would lose his position in the temple for life.

“Take a waterskin with you,” Cheftu said. “Check the stone’s heat by pouring water on it.”

“Like rocks beside the cooking fire?” the boy asked.

“Exactly.”

The shower continued, but it was less dramatic than before. Just a few shooting stars. The clients, gentlemen, freedman, and slaves would step outside now, and the deliberations of the council would begin. Soon, if the mob got scared enough, they would come for Puabi. “Go now,” Cheftu said. “Be quick, be thorough, and be discreet.”

The boy bowed and dashed off.

*      *     *

Shama pressed the heated brick against the felt and steamed the pleat. Rudi and Puabi sat in chairs, slaves fanned them, and the
en
paced back and forth.

“You’re going to wear out the rug, Kidu.”

“He’s sly, the old fox,” the
en
said. “Clever.”

“He took the records. What does it matter?” Puabi asked.

Shama looked up to see Rudi roll her eyes. “Better to be worried about the stars falling last night,” the stargazer said.

“What matters,” Kidu said, “is that with no proof Asa’s predictions have been wrong in the past, the
lugal,
the council, might believe he’s right this time.”

Shama wondered at the
en
—was it the weight of the official responsibility that brought about this great change, or the lack of women and drugs, or something more sinister. Although possession, in his case, was an improvement.

“Which means the
lugal
can legitimately and legally ask for you to step down,” Rudi explained to her sister.

“How did he get the records?” Puabi wailed. “You’re the
en
! My consort! My protector! How could you let this happen to me?”

Shama looked back to his felt, moved the skirt around, pinned the next section into place, and reached for the tongs. The brick hissed as he laid it on the water-soaked fabric, and in his head he sang a song. Many years ago, he’d discovered this song was exactly the right length of time to assure a flat pleat. Any longer, and he’d have scorched the felted wool.

“They are public records,” the
en
said. “I’m a priest, not a justice.”

Puabi plucked at her necklaces and pouted.

Shama was disappointed in his lady’s behavior. For years she had availed herself of the benefits of her position. She had enjoyed its bounty, now she would suffer beneath its lash. Nothing came free from the hands of the gods—there was no mercy.

Except, perhaps, from the god of gods. But he would never be involved in this insignificant tussle.

Rudi leaned forward and placed a freckled hand on her sister’s wool-covered knee. “I’ve seen the stars, too,” she said. “There was the blood moon, the new star, the lunar eclipse, but it doesn’t—”

Puabi jerked away, refused to look at her sister or lover.

Shama picked up the tongs and placed the brick back in the fire. He blew on the new pleat, brushed away pieces of crumbling clay, then removed the pins.

“Floods happen,” Puabi said. “The fields are growing well. Healthy and strong. There is no reason—”

“We have stars falling out of the sky,” Rudi said. “Here, look at this.”

Shama leaned over to see what she held in her hand. It looked like a large, dark clod of dirt.