His guards, though, did not seem to think he was aping it. The first one said, “The mighty lugal will send pursuers on the Zuabi’s trail. They will drag him down like the dog he is. The mighty lugal has said he desires the Zuabi brought before him, and so the Zuabi shall be brought before him.” He might have been stating a law of nature.
“No doubt you are right,” Sharur said again, in the tones of polite agreement he would have used had an Alashkurri wanax come out with some obvious absurdity that would not ruin a dicker.
Kimash’s retainers swaggered away. Ereshguna said.
“Son, you were indeed wise to send Habbazu down to Gibil as quickly as you did.”
“I thought Kimash would link Habbazu and Burrapi in his mind,” Sharur answered. “He did not link them in quite the right way, but with Habbazu in his hands he would soon correct his mistake.”
Tupsharru said, “I wonder when Engibil will realize something out of the ordinary has happened.” He went into no more detail than that; no telling if the god was listening.
Perhaps Engibil did hear him, and went searching to discover what had happened that was out of the ordinary. Or perhaps the god, having seen that Gibil’s northern frontier no longer faced danger from Enimhursag and the Imhursagut, returned his chief attention to Gibil and, in Gibil, to the temple wherein he dwelt.
His voice was a great deal more than twice the size of a man’s. It might have been articulate thunder crying out: “I have been robbed!”
Sharur wanted to run. Sharur wanted to hide. Running from Engibil was futile. Hiding from Engibil was useless. By their expressions, Ereshguna and Tupsharru felt exactly as he did.
Since running from the god was futile, since hiding from the god was useless, all three of them stayed where they were. Through lips likely as numb with fear as Sharur’s, Tupsharru whispered, “Engibil has ways of squeezing the truth from a man even the torturers of Kimash the lugal cannot match.”
“There is truth, and then again there is truth,” Ereshguna answered, also in a whisper. “Remember it. Give as little as you can. We are in danger. We are not yet lost.”
Tupsharru and Sharur both nodded. Sharur’s younger brother knew little directly concerning the stolen Alashkurri cup, and could truthfully deny questions assuming such direct knowledge. Sharur knew his own position was riskier. He knew too much, altogether too much.
And Engibil knew he and Ereshguna knew too much, altogether too much. Telling Kimash that Habbazu was in Gibil had been a mistake. The lugal, seeking to shore up his own shaky position, had warned the god. He had not said who had given him that news, or Engibil would already have descended in wrath upon, the house of Ereshguna. But, should Engibil enquire of Kimash, Sharur was sure the lugal would appease the god with him and his father and brother sooner than facing Engibil’s anger himself.
So it proved. The god of Gibil did not immediately visit the tent wherein Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru rested, but neither did he long delay. He appeared without warning: one moment, he was nowhere nearby; the next, air blown out by his arrival stirred Sharur’s hair and whiskers. “Men of the house of Ereshguna!” he boomed. “Was it you who told Kimash of the coming to Gibil of a certain Zuabi thief? Answer with the truth.” He pointed to Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru in turn.
Engibil was a drowsy god, but a god nonetheless. Sharur suddenly found himself incapable of lying: an awkward predicament for a master merchant’s son. He answered with the truth: “Yes, we were the ones.” He could have done nothing else.
“How did you know this master thief when you saw him?” Engibil demanded.
“He had tried to rob my caravan when it was passing through Zuabu,” Sharur said. “He failed—my guards were alert—but I knew his face when I saw him again in Gibil.”
“My guards were not so alert,” Engibil said petulantly. “Why did he want to steal whatever it was he wanted to steal?” Having denied that the Alashkurri cup was anything out of the ordinary, the god did not care to mention it now. Sharur noted how unspecific he was.
He answered, “Great god, he wanted to steal it for Enzuabu.” That was true. Habbazu had later changed his reasons, but Engibil had not asked about that.
“Do you know where the thing that was stolen is now?” Engibil asked.
“No,” Sharur replied. As Ereshguna had remarked, there was truth, and then again there was truth. Only Ningal knew exactly where the cup lay. If Sharur interpreted Engibil’s questions literally enough, he could evade most of the strictures the god had set on him.
Engibil rounded on Ereshguna and Tupsharru. “Does either of you know where the thing that was stolen is now?”
“No,” Sharur’s father said. Sharur’s brother shook his head. They had both interpreted the question as Sharur had done.
“You can not lie to me,” Engibil said. “I know you can not lie to me. Even if you are less firmly in my grip than I might like, you can not lie to me.”
“That is so, great god,” Sharur said—truthfully. His father and brother nodded. Like him, they had given Engibil the exact truth, or what they could construe as the exact truth.
The god frowned. “This is not what I had been led to believe by others,” he said. “I had thought you would know more than you do.”
“Perhaps, mighty god, it was those others who were mistaken,” Sharur said. The truth was that Engibil was indeed a lazy god. He asked only a handful of questions and then, when the men of the house of Ereshguna succeeded in evading them, decided not to bother asking any more. He could easily have found questions Sharur and Ereshguna and Tupsharru would have been unable to evade—or, for that matter, he could have tom answers from their minds by force.
He did neither of those things. He said, “Perhaps they were. They also told the truth, or what they thought to be the truth. But a man may be honestly mistaken, as a god may be honestly mistaken.” He tried again, in a way, asking Sharur, “Do you know where this Zuabi thief is now?”
“No, great god, I do not,” Sharur answered. Habbazu was surely somewhere between the encampment here and Gibil, but where? Had he stopped to rest? Was he buying beer in a village? Sharur had no way of knowing, not when the thief was out of his sight.
Engibil asked the same question of Ereshguna and Tupsharru in turn, and received the same reply. Then, as much to himself as to the men of the house of Ereshguna, the god said, “I shall watch the western border. If the thief tries to take the thing that was stolen back to Zuabu, I shall learn of it. If he tries to take the thing that was stolen back to Enzuabu, I shall know.”
And then he was gone, as suddenly as he had appeared. Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru looked at one another. As one, they sighed. As one, they turned toward the pot of beer. Ereshguna happened to be standing closest to it. He dipped up cups for himself and his sons. As one, they drank.
None of them said anything for some time. Engibil had gone, but they could not tell whether he had left behind some small part of his presence to listen to whatever they might say. Sharur quickly emptied his cup of beer, then filled it again.
At last, Ereshguna broke the silence, saying, “I am glad the god has realized we know so little about this theft and about the thief.”
“As am I,” Sharur agreed, and Tupsharru nodded.
Ereshguna went on, “I hope Engibil will have some sharp things to say to those who told him we knew more than we proved to know.”
“So may it be,” Sharur and Tupsharru said together, speaking to a listener who might or might not be there. Sharur added, “I hope the great god does keep a close watch on the western border, that he might capture and punish the thief if he tries to take the thing that was stolen back to Zuabu.”