Twilight in Babylon (27 page)

Ningal was living with Chloe. Cheftu didn’t dare write her a note, or send a word. No way to show her she was in his thoughts. After seven years, she had to trust that.

Unfortunately, she was not in his bed. The fantasy that he would wake up with her was what had finally enabled him to sleep. Now, in his deepest consciousness, he heard a gentle sigh.

In his room.

Chloe, that ever-resourceful woman, had found her way to him. He smiled in his sleep. The hands on him were strong and sure. And extremely adept. Cheftu floated on a sea of feeling remarkably good as the woman ministered to his flesh.

“Anything you ask,
en
Kidu,” she whispered. “You are the keeper of life and death. I would please you with the last breath of my body, in any way you wish.”

Not Chloe.

He’d never heard her voice before, in fact he’d never heard her accent. And her smell was unlike the heavy perfumes and incenses of those who sought him through the temple’s channels.

She wasn’t Chloe, though his body and mind cared far less about that than his integrity and soul did. With effort he sat up and pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” he said, though even to his ears his voice lacked any enthusiasm or conviction. “What do you want?”

“Take me in place of Puabi,” she said. “I wish to die as the
ensi.
”

Cheftu blinked, as he summoned alertness from his body. “What do you speak of?” He couldn’t see her clearly in the dark, but he could sense her presence. Underneath her confident sexuality lay terror.

“Puabi will not die, I know this. I also know you need someone who wants to, who is willing, to serve in her place. I have come to offer myself.” She slid down flat, sinuously slipping to lie beside him. “Anything you want,
en,
I will give. Just take me in her place. Please.”

This was the second volunteer for a remarkably awful job. “Did someone put you up to this?”

“No.”

Her breath touched the skin of his chest, while the heat of her body pulsed next to him in the bed. Cheftu jumped out of bed. “I will consult with the stargazers,” he said in a hurry. “I will let you know. What’s your name?”

“Ulu,” the woman said, sliding across the bed toward him. “I will stay here while we await the dawn.”

“Ulu?” Cheftu said, surprised. “Your offer has already been accepted.”

“What?” she said, the sexy tone dropped.

“Puabi has already decided to let you sacrifice for her. Ezzi, I believe, suggested your name.”

He didn’t hear anything from her for a moment—not even breath. Her body seemed to grow cold.

“Ulu?”

“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was a hundred years older. Resigned. The tone of a slave who has been beaten into submission.

“Nothing. You may go home. I’m sure the stargazer will send for you soon.”

“I have no home,” she whispered, then slipped away.

*      *     *

Ningal came home late, sated from a visit to the temple after he left the company of the
en.
His old bones felt rejuvenated, his flesh at ease. Now he would be able to think reasonably about his problems, instead of like a fiery youth. The problem was Chloe.

Years had passed since his wife’s breath had left and not returned. Though he had missed the hubbub of activity she had stirred, he had grown used to calm and quiet. The slaves were well mannered and efficient, his forays into court kept him apprised of the goings-on in the community. He’d had his offspring, and theirs and theirs. The earth would not pass away without record of Ningal.

Chloe made him feel alive. He looked forward to the day, just because she would learn something new and be amazed by it. He anticipated her return at twilight, when her leggy shadow was even longer and the mingled scents of sesame and pomegranate would float on the evening air. What would it be like to see her eyes shine with passion, or hear his name on her lips? What joy would it be to wake with her, to gaze at that face, to see those luminous eyes as dawn broke?

His hours at the temple tonight had proved he still could sate her as a man. His wealth was exceptional, even in Ur, and his bloodline impeccable. Should she desire children, he could give them to her. For a second his heart seized at the thought of a tiny girl with Khamite hair and one green eye and one brown, chewing on the end of her finger as she spoke to him, called him father. May the gods wish it, he thought fervently.

He stepped into the courtyard; it was quiet. At the top of the stairs, Chloe’s room was dark. She was resting yet. He’d never gone to her portico, the rooms she’d made her own, for he’d never known what he had to offer her, or really what he wanted from her. Now, he did. He put his foot on the first step.

Should I do this when wine yet floats in my blood,
he thought.
When another woman’s scent clings to my cloak?

He stepped away. Chloe deserved more. In the morning, he would speak to her and be sure they were going to share the evening meal together. He would be clean and shaved and sober. She deserved as much. Then, perhaps, he would climb these stairs, her hand in his, pulling him along.

Ningal smiled in hope and went to his own bed.

*      *     *

“I’ve graduated to animals?” Chloe asked the Tablet Father. After the week she’d missed, she still remembered all her forty humans.

“Because of this, uh, illness of yours,” the Tablet Father said, “I think you should stay at home, close to the care of Justice Ningal. List the animals, then when you are finished, come show them to me.”

Chloe nodded, shouldered her basket of clay—since her head was healing, it didn’t seem smart to balance things on it—and set off back home. It was early yet, the streets were empty. With the decrease in food had come a decrease in activity.
I did my part,
Chloe thought.
I didn’t eat for a few days.

All of this served to keep her mind off the most pressing question: Where the hell was Cheftu and what was going on?

Most men would love a position where their job was to sleep with other women. Cheftu wasn’t like that, never had been. Puabi’s jealousies must be fierce, Chloe thought as she cut through the alleyway that led to the back door of the Crooked Way mansions.

Other footsteps didn’t disturb her. It was broad daylight; she was ten steps from home. Her mouth was covered before she could scream. All she heard was a whisper in her ear. “You won’t make a fool of me again, little Khamite morsel.”

*      *     *

Puabi was singing, a curious reaction from a woman who was condemned to die. If she didn’t at least attempt pretense, no one was going to believe in her substitution. Shama watched her carefully. When did the girl who had been the darling of her venerable grandfather Ziusudra become so self-centered and self-serving? When did she turn her back on the behavior asked by the god of gods.

Kidu entered the room, without knocking. Puabi smiled at him and wrapped her arms around him for a kiss. Shama saw the big blond endured the embrace, but did not enjoy it. He freed himself from her grasp. “The commonwealth is mobilized,” Kidu said.

Puabi leaned back against her pillows and stretched. “Good.”

“What are you taking?”

“Taking?”

“On your journey to the skies?” he said.

She laughed. “I have a sub—”

“Silence yourself!”

She waved at Shama. “He’s nothing, a deaf, mute old man. Besides, he knows.”

Shama focused on cleaning her sandals, but his ears burned with embarrassment. Puabi used to love him, protect him, trust him.

“You are shameful,” Kidu said, then looked around the room. “Shouldn’t you be packing?”

“I have already.”

The
en
looked around the room; baskets and bags were strewn haphazardly as Puabi had moved from task to task, never finishing the first one. “Not for your trip to Dilmun, for the tomb.”

“The tomb?”

“We have to bury your belongings,” he said.

“My clothes?” She sounded more horrified than she had anytime before. Shama was embarrassed for her.

“Let me make this clear because I don’t believe you understand,” the
en
said. “You are escaping with your life, but it is going to cost you every bauble and bangle you own.”

Shama looked up. It seemed light poured down on the
en;
in that moment, Shama knew Kidu was possessed of a different spirit. One from the god of gods. He turned back to packing Puabi’s sandals.

“What? Why?” Puabi said, sitting up straight.

“You want to dupe the people and please the gods? You have to give them as close to the real thing as can be managed.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

“You will care when the sky turns black, the moon battles the sun, and the clients and gentleman you think are so easily manipulated turn on you like wild dogs because you are responsible, and it is with you the gods are displeased.”

Shama glanced at the
ensi’s
face. She was a shade paler.

“They would… hurt me?”

“Have you seen a wild dog fight for its life?” Kidu said. “First it rips the tendons in the legs of the other dog, so it can’t fight back. Then it tears at the victim’s throat, gives it a mortal wound so it loses its ability to fight back. Then the dog rips at the tenderest parts, the belly, the groin—”

Puabi had drawn her knees up and was staring at him with huge eyes.

“The dogs lick at the blood and devour the insides of the creature as it watches. They—”

“Cease!” she cried, covering her ears. “Take it all, my jewelry, my gowns, everything. But promise me I won’t be here. Make the woman, what was her name—”

“Ulu.”

“Yes, make her come live here and I’ll go visit… Dilmun.”

“You will not journey to paradise on earth while we are suffering because of your cowardice. You will be here for every moment, until the final walk into the pit.”

Shama marveled at the difference in the man.
And none of us has really noticed,
he thought.
Will humans always see only what they expect to see?

“We’ll substitute you at the last moment,” the
en
said to Puabi. “Are your maids aware? Do they know they are going to die?”

“Not yet. They will be the last who are informed, after the others are gathered.”

He turned away to leave, then looked at Shama. “Is he going with you, or—”

“I told you. Send him with my substitute.”

Shama would willingly die with his mistress, as awful as she had become. However, he refused to die with her substitute. He looked up and met the translucent gaze of the
en.
Somehow, he knew Kidu knew. Shama’s hands trembled as he set down one pair of sandals and picked another pair up. Kidu closed the door.

“Kidu’s lost all sense of decorum,” Puabi said of the
en.
“He doesn’t even travel with a retinue anymore. What has become of the dignity of the temple?” She looked at the old man. “Get me some fruit, I’m hungry.”

Shama bowed to her, then left.

Puabi had claimed Shama was deaf: so by her own proclamation, he never heard her request. Besides, Shama needed the time. He had to teach the
en
how to read the secret tablets.

*      *     *

Chloe came to in a cell, dark and hot. Her lip was split, her eye swollen shut, the knuckles of her right hand crusted with blood. She’d fought, but the burly boy from school and his adult henchmen had still gotten her here.

Wherever here was.

Ningal would figure out she been taken. Then it was a simple matter of finding out how, by whom. It was a wonder that boy had dared to attack her again. Why would he risk it? Maybe he’s an idiot, she reasoned. “Hello?” she called. “Hello, can anyone hear me?”

Ningal would figure it out.

And Cheftu was the most powerful man in the temple. He’d probably come for her last night, and when she didn’t show he’d started a search for her. He’d find her in no time.

They were stupid to not have gagged her or something. She would shout the place down.

Unless they knew there was no hope.

What if she was outside of town?

Almost in answer to her thought, she heard the long lowing of a water buffalo.
I’m no longer in Ur,
she thought and bowed her head.
They didn’t rape me, or kill me, or torture me, so why did they take me?

Did Cheftu’s jealous girlfriend Puabi find out about me? She’s grabbed me and is going to let me rot here?

No, that boy was the same one who had attacked her in the grove. He had to have had help, to cart a long-legged, deadweight female from behind Ningal’s house to here.
He was lying in wait for me,
she realized.
He’d planned this.

How did he know I would be returning from school that way, at that time?

Why,
she asked herself again,
why?

The room wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, or long enough to take more than six steps. Memories of television she’d seen, photographs, flashed through her mind. POW camps, the cages captured soldiers were kept in. The stories of how the captives kept in shape, how they stayed sane, ran through her mind.

Who helped that boy?

Ningal had still been in bed when Chloe left. Kalam hadn’t arrived yet. The Tablet Father had sent her home—odd. But it could be he really was being considerate.

Chloe lay down on the dirt packed floor and began to test the strength of the brick walls. She’d try each brick, then she would come up with a plan. Along the way she’d figure out who’d set her up.

Cheftu was washing his face when the panel in his bedroom moved, then slid back. Shama stood there, coughing from the dust. Cheftu moved forward to help the man. Shama pushed a wheelbarrow, filled with even dustier tablets.

He handed one to Cheftu, then took it back and rinsed its face off. He offered it back to Cheftu, who took it, mystified. Cheftu looked at the words, which made no sense. The tablet was obviously ancient, the signs even more complicated then than they were in the present.

Shama touched him on the arm, then gestured from his throat.