Twilight in Babylon (7 page)

Kalam spewed beer, then inhaled, choked, and coughed until his face was as red as the border of his cloak. “That’s a new word,” he gasped out at Ningal. “You told her that word?”

“She used it first herself,” Ningal said as he slapped his aide on the back. “She knew it already.”

Chloe hated that she didn’t know what word they were talking about, but she kept quiet while Ningal wiped spewed beer off his bare shoulder and from his beard. “I think I’ll be requiring a bath before court,” he said to the slave.

“I’m so sorry, sir, but I thought that, well—” Kalam looked at Chloe, and she looked back. She refused to be intimidated by him. He’d laughed at her last night—she didn’t blame him, she’d been ridiculous—but she didn’t like that he could do it again.

“She did say it, Kalam,” Ningal told him. “Chloe wants to attend the Tablet House.”

“Oh. Is that all?” He smiled at her and adjusted his drinking tube again.

“Does that mean I can?”

Kalam’s glance was dismissive. “Utterly impossible.”

“Kalam is an Old Boy from one of the foremost Tablet Houses in the city,” Ningal said.

“It really is an Old Boy network?” Chloe said. She wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by it, but the feeling was resignation. “Women aren’t allowed, is that what you are telling me?”

“It’s not a matter of allowance,” Kalam said. “It’s that it’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“It’s not done.”

“Why not?”

Kalam looked at Ningal, a little bewildered. “Female humans don’t attend the Tablet House. Explain to her, sir. It’s just not done.”

Ningal looked at her, and Chloe knew she’d made a convert. “Chloe pointed out that they haven’t, not that they don’t.”

“But, sir—”

“I’m going to do it,” she said.

Kalam snorted. “This isn’t worth discussing. Are you ready for your bath, sir? I need to return the skirt to the
lugal.
”

“Does the
lugal
decide who attends school?” she asked.

“Tablet Houses,” Kalam said, “are private, not commonwealth, institutions. Though the lugal is an Old Boy, he is not a Tablet Father and doesn’t make those decisions.”

“Although if a female human were to attend,” Ningal said, “she would probably have to attain the permission from a
lugal.
”

“Sir!”

“If, theoretically, a female human were to attend.”

“It’s not a theory that… can even be theorized!” Kalam said. “It’s unheard of!”

“We theorize everything,” Ningal said. “If a human is struck, we theorize how much the fine should be. We theorize every single place a human can be struck, we theorize every way a human can be struck, we theorize the most outrageous possibilities because that is what a theory is. Theoretically, a speaking goat could attend the Tablet House, if it was amenable to the Tablet Father, the
lugal,
and the goat,” Ningal said.

“A speaking goat would be preferable to a female human in a Tablet House!” Kalam shouted.

“I’m ready for my bath,” Ningal said, and followed the slave out.

“I am late for my next appointment due to this, this… ludicrous conversation!” Kalam slammed his chair back from his beer jar.

Chloe leaped to her feet. “I’m so sorry I made you late,” she said. “I tell you what. I know it’s embarrassing for you to return the
lugal’s
kilt. I’ll do it. Then you don’t have to worry about being late, or facing him. I would like to apologize personally anyway.”

Kalam glowered at her, then consulted his clay tablet, which presumably carried the day’s duties on it. “He will be in the Temple of Sin at noon. When the sun is directly overhead,” he explained. “Don’t be late. The
lugal
hates lateness. It’s a sign of procrastination, and he hates procrastination even more. Justice Ningal and I will be in court all afternoon.” He straightened his cloak. “I guess you’ll be here by twilight?”

“I guess.”

Kalam adjusted his basket hat and nodded at the slave. Chloe followed him to the courtyard gate and closed it behind him. A slave ran out from the kitchens. “Kalam forgot the
lugal’s
skirt! He left it, and he won’t be back before—”

“It’s fine,” Chloe said. “I’m going to return it.”

“To the
lugal
?” she asked, aghast. “Weren’t you the one who threw up on him?”

Chloe felt her face heat. But when you threw up on the leader of the people, word was going to get out, and it was going to be embarrassing. It was just going to be an experience she’d rather forget. “Yes,” she said. “I won’t be eating before I go visit the
lugal.
”

The slave girl shrugged. “The kilt will be dry by then.”

“Good. Would it be possible for me to get another bath?”

“Two baths? In two days?” The slave girl’s expression showed she thought Chloe was being uppity; in fact, she muttered about living like a justice as she walked to the kitchen to heat the water.

Chloe couldn’t explain it, but she felt euphoric. School was a term she felt comfortable with and something inside her resounded with how right the choice was.
You just might have to move heaven and earth to get there,
a voice said inside.
You’d better decide what to wear.

*      *     *

“May I help you?” the scribe said. His head was bald, and his belly bulged. For some unknown reason he wore a kilt rather than a cloak. A cloak would have covered his stomach and looked far more dignified. Of course, it would have shown off his shoulders and arms. Chloe could see he had neither, beyond mere function. She smiled.

“I’m here with a delivery for the
lugal,
” she said.

The scribe didn’t even look up. “I’m sorry. The
lugal
leaves the office and goes for his afternoon consultation at the Temple of Sin at a few minutes past midday. You missed him by at least fifteen minutes. Good day.”

“I know, I got lost.”
Never apologize or make excuses when you’re late. Just make it up.
The scribe’s expression went from polite unconcern to disdain. “But that’s not your problem.”

“I’m glad you realize that.”

“When is he finished at the Temple of Sin? You see, I brought his skirt—”

“Oh. I remember you. The Regurgitating Refugee.” He scooted back from Chloe. She fought the desire to show him her middle finger. What use would showing him her middle finger be? He had two middle fingers, and he certainly wouldn’t be impressed that she had two, also. “Just leave it here.”

“Thank you, but I’d much rather see him. In person.”

The scribe leaned forward and beckoned her closer. “You’re new to town. I know this. So I’m going to help you. I work for the most powerful man in Ur, consequently, the most powerful man in the known world. He decides if the priests can build another stage for the temple, he decides how many fields will be barley and how many will be emmer. He decides what the rate of exchange is going to be! You, in case you aren’t aware, are no one. You can’t even keep your peasant stomach to yourself. So leave his skirt, and leave this office.” The scribe smiled brightly. “Is that through your stupid little head?”

Chloe just… stood.

“And if you think he would be interested in your marshy Khamite body or sharing his seed with you, know that his afternoon meeting is with the
ensi,
the high priestess of Inana. The incarnation of the goddess of love, you ignorant she-goat. Now get out of here before I throw you out.”

Chloe was completely speechless and mostly frozen. He ignored her. She couldn’t move; there was no feeling in her body and just the sensation of pins in her face. As if her face had fallen asleep and was just waking up. No words or pictures appeared in her mind. She was too shocked.

The scribe didn’t look up, but he spoke. “If your stinking carcass hasn’t left this office in a count of five, I’ll have your hand cut off for thievery.”

She bolted.

“Leave the skirt!” he shouted.

She didn’t even turn around, she just dropped the basket containing the skirt on the floor and ran down the steps and into the street. And smack into a wiry, hairy man. They went down in a tangle of legs and arms and long, black hair. Hers and his. “Watch where you’re going,” he said. “You’re so big, you could hurt a person.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“You’re the color of dirt; are you ill?” he asked.

Chloe didn’t look at him. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered, tears starting to sting her eyes. “Oh gods, not again.”

“Well, don’t do it in the street,” he said. “Come with me.”

Hot bile filled her mouth, and her body ran cold, then sweaty. Her hands were in fists, and his hand was around her wrist, dragging her behind him. “Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me,” he said, as they ran back up the steps into the offices.

“What?” she heard the shout. “You can’t—oh, by Nin—”

Chloe’s face was thrust into the dirt around a palm tree. She coughed up like a kitten, stomach acid and nerves, a little bit of beer from breakfast. There was nothing except her dress to wipe her face on, to clean her runny nose. It was revolting, but—what choices were there?

“Do you feel better?”

She looked up at the hairy man, and then beyond him.

The scribe, beer-bellied and bald, glared at her over the hairy man’s shoulder. Chloe looked around and realized she was at the
lugal’s
again, but in the interior office. She looked up at the shelves. The basket she’d just dropped was sitting there, with the freshly washed skirt inside.

“Scribe,” the hairy man called, while staring at Chloe. “Clean out this palm plant and repot it, would you? It doesn’t smell very good in here. Do you need anything?” he asked Chloe.

The scribe glared at her. She shook her head. The hairy man looked over his shoulder at the scribe. “Get to it.” The hairy man held out his hand and picked Chloe up off the ground. The scribe stalked into the
lugal’s
office to get the palm.

“Yes. Sir,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

*      *     *

“A new star?” the stargazer said. “What new star?”

His friend, lover, and confidant waved at the air. “Just a new one, you know I don’t understand those sorts of things.”

“You should, you’re the Tablet Father.”

“Exactly why we have experts, like you, to come in and teach those sections,” he said, patting the stargazer’s arm. He returned both hands and most of his attention to the mutton before him.

“Where did you hear this?”

The Tablet Father couldn’t chew and talk at the same time, so he stopped chewing and tucked the piece of mutton in the side of his mouth. “The old babbler at the temple said some boy came in and claimed he was a stargazer and he’d seen a new star.” The Tablet Father switched the mutton to the other side of his mouth. “Of course, no one else had, which caused quite a stir when they stared at the sky.”

“They saw a new star?”

“Apparently.”

“Where in the sky?”

The Tablet Father swallowed the piece of mutton, mostly whole. Gods hope he wouldn’t choke on it. “Somewhere, lower. I don’t know. It’s almost twilight, then you can look. If it’s there, I’m sure you’ll see it.”

“But I didn’t see it first.”

“Of course you did. Who is the
ensi
going to believe? Asa, the official stargazer of Ur, or some plowboy from the back alley?”
Of course,
the Tablet Father added to himself,
if the
ensi
actually knew the stargazer, then she’d undoubtedly believe the boy.
But his lover didn’t need to know. They’d been together a long time; they each had secrets best left buried. “Your wife did an excellent job on this mutton,” he said, swallowing another huge chunk. “That female human has the best eye for cuts of meat. Especially sheep.”

“Don’t talk to me about sheep,” the stargazer said.

“What’s wrong?” If his lover would start talking, the Tablet Father could actually eat in peace.

“She’s in lust.”

“Umm.”

“No sooner than I get her one thing she wants, she sees another. It’s exhausting, I tell you. It’s probably why I… missed the star, the new one.”

“Only by a night or two,” the Tablet Father said loyally. Between bites.

“That female human can nag. A regular goat, that’s what she is. Nagging and nipping. Always what she wants, what she must have. Why can’t we have what the people on Crooked Way have.” The stargazer groaned. “She just doesn’t realize that the incomes, combined, of a stargazer and a shepherdess who weaves part-time, don’t add up to as much as merchants and traders make.”

The Tablet Father would endure a lot of babbling to eat this well. His wife couldn’t boil water without setting the house afire. Their relationship was best as it was; she lived on the marshes with the children, and he stayed with whichever protector’s son was in his Tablet House, currently Kalam’s younger brother. His wife cared nothing for the city, and he was allergic to reeds. The stargazer wasn’t eating his meat—he’d pushed his plate away—so the Tablet Father picked the joint off his friend’s plate and started to nibble on it.

“They are the fattest, she says, that she’s ever seen. With tails like she’s never seen.”

“Sheep?”

“You think I’m talking about goats?”

The Father closed an ear while he scooped more of the succulent roasted meat onto his bread and into his mouth. This was the reason he didn’t have a beard—it was too messy when one enjoyed the table like he did. He swallowed a belch and ripped some more meat off the bone. “Are these a new kind of sheep?”

“What do you mean, a new kind? Sheep are sheep. They’re like humans. There is no new kind of human. Some of them just have fat rumps and some skinny. It’s not new, it’s merely variety.”

“So this is a new variety of sheep, the fat-tailed ones your wife likes? Why doesn’t she buy one? I know some people who—”

“Not at market, at the grazing fields. The common ones on the north side,” the stargazer explained.

The Tablet Father rarely stepped out of the city, and certainly not to the north. He grunted. “Those sheep belong to someone else, then.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said, licking his fingers. “I can—” He burped. Ahh, he could almost eat more, but with Asa looking at him disapprovingly, maybe not. “I can make some inquiries for you. Find out who owns them, what they want for them. That sort of thing.”