Men came south from the fighting as Sharur and Habbazu walked north toward it. Some led dour prisoners who would become slaves, as Sharur had done a few days before. Some were hurt themselves, too badly to let them keep fighting but not so badly as to keep them off their legs.
“No, no big fights the last couple of days,” one of the latter said. His right arm was bound tightly against his chest. When Sharur asked him how he had been injured, he looked sheepish. “How, friend? I tripped over a spearshaft in camp and came down on this wrist, which broke. But when I get into Gibil”—he winked—“I shall tell them what a hero I was.”
“It is good,” Sharur said, laughing. With a wave of his good arm, the man with the broken wrist trudged on toward the city.
Habbazu said, “It is good indeed. If we return to the army before it fights another great fight, no one can possibly blame us for having been gone a few days.”
“You speak the truth,” Sharur said. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Nor has there been any great hue and cry coming up the road from behind us. I take this to mean either that your theft has gone undiscovered or that, it having been discovered, the priests know not in which direction to search.”
“Either of those would suit me well enough,” Habbazu replied. “Better that the theft go undiscovered, of course, but not tracing it to me would do—will do.”
They reached the Gibli encampment the next morning. “Good you have returned, my son,” Ereshguna said. “Good you remain in the city no longer. The Imhursagut regain their insolence; Enimhursag regains his arrogance. They will, I think, soon come forth in battle once more.”
“When they do, we shall defeat them,” Sharur said confidently. He gestured; at his urging, Ereshguna and Tupsharru put their heads close to his. He went on in a whisper, and an oblique whisper at that, “Good also we went down to the city. We accomplished all that we hoped to accomplish. Duabzu the Imhursaggi captive is in Ushurikti’s hands. He will bring a good price or a good ransom. And ...” His voice trailed away. Some things he preferred not to say, even obliquely.
Tupsharru looked puzzled for a moment. Ereshguna did not. He asked, “And is it with you?” For obliquity, that was hard to match. Sharur shook his head. Tupsharru suddenly grunted, realizing what his father and brother had to be talking about. Ereshguna asked, “Where have you put it, then?”
Sharur hesitated. Every merchant’s instinct in him screamed that that had to remain as secret as it could. He glanced over at Habbazu. The master thief’s face bore no expression whatever. Sharur understood what that meant: Habbazu did not want the secret spread more widely, either.
Gently, Ereshguna said, “The Imhursagut, as I told you, will soon come forth in battle once more. May the gods decree otherwise, but, if you should fall, my son, and if Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary should also fall, who then would know where it is?”
“Ah,” Sharur said. He glanced over at Habbazu again. Almost imperceptibly, Habbazu nodded. Despite that nod, Sharur revealed as little as he could: “Ningal the daughter of Dimgalabzu would know.”
“Would she indeed?” Ereshguna murmured. “Would she indeed? But not Gulal, her mother? Not the slaves-of the household?”
“No, not Gulal, her mother,” Sharur said. “Not the slaves of the household, either.”
Tupsharru grunted again. “Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary!” he exclaimed. “Servants of Kimash the lugal were here the other day, asking about Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary. Since he was not with us, since we could not produce him, they were easily satisfied, and soon returned to the lugal’s pavilion.”
“Kimash and his men are no doubt curious to learn whether Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary and Habbazu the Zuabi master thief are by chance the same man,” Ereshguna said.
“What an absurd idea,” Habbazu said indignantly. Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru all laughed.
Tupsharru said, “If it please the Zuabi mercenary, he might now return to his native city, whither we would send him no small reward.”
Habbazu shook his head. “So long as I may do so, I would sooner stay. What we have done does not affect you only. It affects my god, it affects my city, it affects me.”
“What you say does not dishonor you, nor your city, nor your god,” Ereshguna said. Habbazu bowed. Sharur noted what neither his father nor the thief seemed to see: that Habbazu had named Enzuabu first, then Zuabu, with himself last, while Ereshguna, a Gibli to the core, reversed the thief’s order.
“Perhaps,” Sharur said, “you would be wise, Hab... ah, Burrapi, not to make your return to this encampment widely known. You might do best to stick close to our fire here.”
“Now this is good advice, prudent advice, and I shall take it,” Habbazu said. “A thief oftentimes needs to move in secret. A thief frequently needs to hide himself in plain sight.”
“What if the men of Kimash the lugal come searching for you again?” asked Tupsharru, who was inclined to worry and to borrow trouble.
“I am now forewarned against the men of Kimash the lugal,” Habbazu said. “Let them come searching for me again. Again, they shall not find me.”
“The master thief does not presume to tell us how to get the best price for an ingot of bronze or a pot of date wine of high-medium grade,” Ereshguna said to Tupsharru. “I, for my part, shall not presume to instruct him how best to manage his own affairs.”
“I understand, Father,” Sharur’s younger brother said, and hung his head.
“Has Engibil been active here along the border since Burrapi and I went down to the city of Gibil?” Sharur asked hopefully: the more active along the border the god was, the less interest he would have had in looking into his temple when Habbazu robbed it, and the less interest he would have had in looking into it after Habbazu robbed it as well.
Ereshguna and Tupsharru both nodded, which brought a smile not only to Sharur’s face but also to Habbazu’s. Ereshguna said, “Engibil has been active indeed. Yesterday morning, he and Enimhursag began screaming insults at each other. They were both so loud and fierce, we thought they would come to blows themselves rather than leaving it to the men of their cities to fight it out. In the end, though, they took it no further than screams, and I am just as well pleased at that.”
“Why?” Sharur said. “If Engibil slew Enimhursag, we would not have to endure wars with the Imhursagut every generation.”
“If that happened, you would be right,” Ereshguna agreed. “But what if Enimhursag slew Engibil? We do not know what would happen if the two gods did battle each other, and I am satisfied to remain ignorant.”
Sharur wondered if Gibil might not be better off were Engibil to be slain. Could a city go on with only a lugal and no indwelling god at all? No city in the land between the rivers had ever done such a thing. No city or town or fortress anywhere in the world had ever done such a thing, so far as Sharur knew. Maybe no one anywhere in the world had ever imagined such a thing before.
Of itself, his right hand slid down to cover the eyes of the amulet to Engibil. The god probably would not pick this moment to examine his thoughts. But he wanted to make as sure of that as he could. Having Engibil learn what he was thinking now would be ... disastrous wasn’t nearly a strong enough word.
“On this matter, I am also just as well pleased not to know,” Habbazu said. “Too much power, too much danger, were god to fight god straight up.”
Tupsharru said, “Maybe that’s why gods made men in the first place—to give them tools with which they could challenge each other without meeting face to face.”
“No one knows why the gods made men in the first place,” Ereshguna said. “Priests do not know. Sages do not know. Scribes do not know. Merchants do not know. I have heard it said that even the gods do not know, or do not remember. Whether this be so or not”—his craggy features crinkled into a smile—“I do not know.”