Read The Children of the Company Online
Authors: Kage Baker
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #C429, #Extratorrents, #Kat
The Children of the Company (5 page)
Just as the sun rose, Enna-aru stopped breathing. Atrahasis sat patiently waiting for him to resume, but he never did.
He was still sitting, staring at the king, when Security Technical Vidya came in an hour later. Vidya looked at Enna-aru, and smiled.
“Good work, sir. That’ll impress them. Shall we display the body, sir?” Atrahasis said nothing for a long moment.
“I wonder if this is what I would look like,” he said at last.
Vidya cleared his throat.
“What are your orders, sir?”
Atrahasis did not look up. “Tell the people to pray for the king. Tell his generals to obey him.”
“So … you don’t want this announced right away,” said Vidya.
“No. And send for his chief bodyguard.”
The mortal came swiftly, and bid his lieutenants wait in the corridor. He stopped, aghast, at the sight of Enna-aru the king.
“You see how it is,” said Atrahasis quietly. “Had he any heirs?”
“No,” said the mortal. “He was only a young man! How could he die?”
Atrahasis said nothing. The mortal lifted his eyes to the window, looked out, at the city with its shops and warehouses, at the green and yellow fields stretching to the river. He looked sidelong at Atrahasis.
“You are thinking this is a rich place,” said Atrahasis. “You are wondering who will rule here now. And it has just occurred to you that you might be king.”
The mortal blinked, opened his mouth to deny it—then went pale.
“How did you hear my thoughts?”
Atrahasis smiled. He rose, standing his tallest, and put every cheap trick of theater he knew into his reply.
“Did you think we gods were really so easily defeated, mortal man?”
The mortal backed away a pace, staring. Then he threw himself to the ground, in terrified self-abasement.
“Great Enlil, forgive us! Do not punish us! We were misled!”
“How loyal you are to your king,” said Atrahasis bitterly. “How faithful to his ideals. I could crush your skull now with my foot; I could grind your brain into the tiles. Never have I so ardently desired to do a thing, mortal. But I will tell you how you will preserve your little life.”
“Spare me!”
“Shut up. You will go forth to the people, and say the king has been wounded by treachery. Not mine; kill one of your underlings, and hold his head up before the multitudes, and tell them thus have you done to the traitor, in the name of Enna-aru the king.
“Then, mortal, you shall be king in this place. And you shall declare that Enna-aru has been taken up among the stars to heal his wound, and dwells now with the gods. You will rule and grow as rich as one man may be, but you will see to it that we gods receive our portion in all things.
“Vidya will be your high priest, and he will instruct you in the desires of the gods, and will serve you; but only so long as you obey the will of the gods. Disobey, and our vengeance will be cruel and subtle. You will lament in ashes a thousand years on the floor of the house of the dead.”
“I hear you,” said the mortal, weeping. “I obey you.” He crawled forward in an attempt to kiss Atrahasis’s feet, and Atrahasis stepped back in horror.
“Never touch me, mortal,” he said. “Go now.”
The mortal rose and fled into the corridor. A moment later Atrahasis heard a strangled cry as his will was done, and an innocent was stabbed and beheaded.
Evening came, and Atrahasis heard the massed prayer rising from the city below, with the fumes of burnt offerings. He lit incense in his own quarters. Now and then he went to look at Enna-aru the king.
The moon rose, and he dined alone on his terrace, though he ordered and set aside a portion for Enna-aru. He heard the clash of arms and the exchange of passwords as the army kept civil order through the night. He carried the untouched plate in and set it by Enna-aru’s bed.
Dawn came grayly, and once more the mortals led oxen down through the mists to the fields. Atrahasis, watching, wondered why they were not at home praying for the king. He went in and lit more incense. He ordered a morning meal for two, and set half aside.
Another evening, and another, and the city remained calm and well ordered. Goods were bought and sold. Enna-aru’s soldiers settled into their quarters and made friends, romanced girls, found favorite beer shops. On the floor by Enna-aru’s bed, full plates were laid out in a line, in progressive degrees of spoilage.
The prayers for the king fell off a very little, in their volume and intensity.
On the evening of the sixth day, Atrahasis looked down at the tranquil city, and hated it.
He called to him Vidya, and said: “Do you suppose we could get away with bombing the damned place to the ground?”
Vidya, after a pause, said: “You’ve lost it, haven’t you?”
“Go fuck yourself,” said Atrahasis.
He went into the chamber where Enna-aru lay, blue as lapis lazuli, and quoted:
“For whom have I labored, boatman?
For whom have I lost the blood of my heart?
I have not gained any advantage to myself;
Only the serpent has gained the advantage.”
For whom have I lost the blood of my heart?
I have not gained any advantage to myself;
Only the serpent has gained the advantage.”
No golden voice to answer now. There was silence.
But not stillness; something moved on Enna-aru’s face.
Atrahasis leaned close, and saw the maggot fall from the king’s arched nostril.
He stiffened, overwhelmed with revulsion. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.
“Have that carcass dragged out and burned,” he told Vidya in a light and carefree voice. “And send a transmission to Old World One; mission accomplished. Peaceful (apparent) transfer of power, civilization continues without a hitch, no loss to the stockholders. I’m on my way to Egypt for a welldeserved holiday. They can forward my next posting there.”
“Yes, sir,” said Vidya. “I’ll have your air transport powered up, sir.”
“No; I’ve had enough of flying,” said Atrahasis.
He wrapped himself in a cloak, and went down through the tunnels and out of the city by secret ways, and glided away through the night like a serpent.
But he had gone back to his duties at last. What else was there for an immortal to do, besides plot for power and sound out prospective allies?
He had first come down the Nile on a reed boat, in a time before there were any pyramids at Giza. Nothing then more remarkable in that landscape than a great outcropping of rock that resembled a lion’s head, which likeness successive generations of mortals had increased by chiseling out eyes and a muzzle. Graffiti was scrawled across its lower surfaces now. Not yet the Sphinx, it stared gloomily across the land that wasn’t yet Egypt. Atrahasis—not yet Labienus—sympathized with it.
He had liked the delta country once. The river was wide and clear, the air was purity itself. Dawn wind came across the green murmuring reeds and when the young sun rose above them it really might have been a god, such was its brilliance and clean heat. No smoke in the sky; light sharp as a diamond.
Then the mortals had come. For a while the crocodiles and floods had kept their numbers down, but they had multiplied at last, and spoiled it all. At this point in time it was only the smoke of their cook-fires that muddied the face of the sun, and this was bad enough. In the time to come the very dust of their mummified dead would rise like a pall, the gases of their sewage, the chemical fumes of their cities. All this fresh young world lost to ancient bricks, blackened corpses.
Atrahasis put it firmly out of his mind, as the river bore him to the city of white walls. It had been built to rule both Upper and Lower Kingdoms. Two dynasties had come and gone and the third was prosperous, expansive, so the damned place was sprawling now. Shading his eyes, he could see the necropolis
on its ridge. The world’s first pyramid was no more than a foundation yet. Mortals swarmed over it like insects, setting the little limestone blocks.
on its ridge. The world’s first pyramid was no more than a foundation yet. Mortals swarmed over it like insects, setting the little limestone blocks.
He sighed and glanced down from his high seat to the water, where a ridged back paced his boat, drifting unobtrusively near. Poor old crocodile. There had been a time when Atrahasis might have given an order and had a clumsy slave tossed overboard like a crust of bread, and before the river gods converged on him the slave would have screamed his thanks at being so honored. One couldn’t get away with that nowadays. Too much history was being recorded.
When his boatman docked and bowed him ashore, Atrahasis walked through the streets and the mortals fell back before him, gaping at the splendid lord in his finery, marveling at the tall spearmen who went before and followed him. They wondered at the mortal slaves who bore the carved chest that was splendidly covered in beaten gold, inlaid with turquoise and lapis. They thought surely he must be an ambassador bringing gifts to the king.
But he did not go to the palace. Atrahasis went swiftly to the house of Imhotep, the high priest, he who was the king’s chief minister, he who had designed and was overseeing the construction of the latest thing in monuments to royal glory.
The mortal onlookers nodded to each other knowingly. No surprise that this regal-looking stranger was calling on Imhotep first. Imhotep might claim he was merely a man, but everyone knew better. He had miraculous healing powers, he knew the name of every star in the sky and their secret paths, and his ability to work spectacularly showy magic was famous. Of course he must entertain gods from time to time! Before Atrahasis had stepped through the courtyard gate, word was spreading that Imhotep had another divine visitor.
To Atrahasis’s annoyance, he was not at once admitted to the august presence of the high priest of Ptah.
“He is bathing, my lord,” stammered the mortal woman. She clapped her hands and servants ran to her side. “A chair for the great lord, a basin for his feet! Will you have beer, my lord? Will you be pleased to wait in the garden, where the air is cool? I will fetch—”
“Tell him the priest of Zeus would speak with him,” Atrahasis snapped.
There was a beat while the mortals present wondered who Zeus might be,
before a servant said: “Our lord will not permit us to disturb his bath—” The woman turned and waved him to silence.
before a servant said: “Our lord will not permit us to disturb his bath—” The woman turned and waved him to silence.
“I will tell him,” she said, and hurried away. Atrahasis waited, enduring in stiff-lipped silence as well-meaning mortals brought a chair for him, seated him, drew off his sandals and washed his feet. He still hated to be touched by the creatures.
He focused his attention on the interior of the mansion and heard the splashing, the raucous whistling of—of all things—the Grand March from Verdi’s
Aida,
interrupted by the mortal woman’s urgent murmur. There was a response, more splashing, and then the whistling resumed. Atrahasis tracked it through the mansion as it came nearer to him, and at last the high priest Imhotep stepped out into the garden.
Aida,
interrupted by the mortal woman’s urgent murmur. There was a response, more splashing, and then the whistling resumed. Atrahasis tracked it through the mansion as it came nearer to him, and at last the high priest Imhotep stepped out into the garden.
Imhotep was a stockily built man with black button eyes, smiling in wry apology as he approached Atrahasis. He had a generic olive-skinned Mediterranean appearance, and might have disappeared into any crowd anywhere with perfect invisibility, so ordinary was his face, so easily could he pass for human.
His hastily donned linen kilt was damp, and he was still toweling his shaven head dry as he came.
“Sorry, friend,” he said in Cinema Standard. “I was at the construction site all day and got pretty stinky. You want a beer?”
“Please,” said Atrahasis, as a servant dried his feet. Imhotep asked the servant to bring a pitcher of beer and two cups. He ducked his head and hurried away.
Imhotep gave his ears a last dig with the towel and hung it around his neck. He thrust out a hand to Atrahasis.
“Facilitator Grade One Imhotep, how’s it going and to what do I owe the honor?”
“Executive Facilitator Atrahasis,” he replied, shaking Imhotep’s hand gingerly. “The god Zeus has sent you a gift, divine son of Ptah. I’m here to brief you on its use.”
Imhotep grimaced. “Don’t call me that where the servants can hear, okay? Not in their language, anyhow.”
Atrahasis was amused. “Don’t you want them to respect you?”
“They respect me just fine as a mortal man, which is what I’ve worked really hard to convince them I happen to be, so let’s not scare them, all
right?” Imhotep sagged onto a garden bench. He regarded the carved chest, still being held on its poles by the mortal slaves; cocked his eye at the honor guard of security techs in loincloths. “That must be one hell of a present. What is it, another capacitor?”
right?” Imhotep sagged onto a garden bench. He regarded the carved chest, still being held on its poles by the mortal slaves; cocked his eye at the honor guard of security techs in loincloths. “That must be one hell of a present. What is it, another capacitor?”
“I don’t believe your project budget could support one,” Atrahasis replied delicately. “And it’s hardly necessary for the second phase of your mission here.”
“Second phase, huh?” Imhotep rubbed his chin. “Okay.” In the language of the country, he addressed the mortal bearers. “Boys, you want to set that thing down?”
The slaves glanced nervously at Atrahasis, who nodded. They lowered their burden and straightened up in obvious relief. At that moment the servant brought the beer, and only after he had offered them their cups and retreated to a respectful distance was the conversation able to proceed.
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