“He is a bold man,” Ereshguna said when the lugal was gone. “He is a clever man. He is a resourceful man. He is the right man to lead Gibil and to keep Engibil quiescent while we—” He broke off.
While we mortals gather strength, was no doubt what he had been on the point of saying. Saying such things while Engibil was less quiescent than he might have been was unwise. In any case, he knew Sharur could supply the words he did not speak aloud.
Sharur did supply those words without difficulty. “He is everything you have said he is,” he agreed. “But, Father, is he a man before whom we want to bring Habbazu the thief if we lay hands on him once more?”
“You were the one who said we would do as Izmaili said, just as if he were the lugal,” Ereshguna reminded him.
“Yes, I said that.” Sharur shrugged. “What of it? If the god does not scruple to lie to me, should I scruple to lie to the lugal?”
Ereshguna whistled softly between his teeth. “Kimash may punish you for lying to him. Who will punish Engibil for lying to you?”
I will, Sharur thought, but those were words he would not say aloud. Instead, he answered, “If the lugal is warning the priests of Engibil’s temple about Habbazu, would not giving the thief over to him be the same as condemning the thief to death?”
“That is likely to be so, yes.” Ereshguna grew alert. “I see what you are saying, son. We want the Alashkurri cup stolen. Kimash, on the other hand, may well reckon that giving the thief over to Engibil for punishment, or punishing Habbazu himself, will gain him more credit with the god.”
“It will gain him credit with the god of Gibil, yes,” Sharur said, “but it will not help him or help us in our dealing with the other city gods of Kudurru, nor with the gods of the Alashkurrut.”
“I wonder how much Kimash frets over that,” Ereshguna said. “He is the lugal, the man who rules Gibil. Anything that helps him rule Gibil, he will likely do. Anything that gains him credit with Engibil helps him rule Gibil, so he will likely do it. He will think of the rest of us Giblut only after he thinks of ruling Gibil—so I believe.”
“And I.” Sharur’s mouth thinned to a bitter line. “In that, the lugal is much like the god, is he not?”
Ereshguna looked startled. “I had not thought of it so. Now that I do, though, I see that there is some truth in what you say.”
“We sometimes have the need to do this or that without the god’s knowing it,” Sharur said, and his father nodded. “If Kimash is much like Engibil, should we not sometimes have the need to do this or that without the lugal’s knowing it?”
“Yes, that would follow from the first,” Ereshguna answered. Before Sharur could say anything, his father held up a hand to show he had not finished. “You must also think on this, though, son: often, if we have the need to do this or that without the god’s knowing it, the lugal will help us shield it from his eyes. If we seek to hide from the god and the lugal both and we are discovered, who will shield us then?”
“No one,” Sharur answered, so bleakly that he startled Ereshguna again. “We Giblut have for long and long aimed to live as free as we could. If we are free, we are also free to fail.” He grimaced. “Except we had better not.”
Mushezib did not find Habbazu. The caravan guards who had served under Mushezib did not find Habbazu. The donkey handlers did not find Habbazu. Five days after Engibil had summoned Sharur to his temple and Habbazu had fled, the Zuabi thief returned to the house of Ereshguna.
One moment, Habbazu was not there. The next, he was. So, at any rate, it appeared to Sharur, who was searching for a particular clay tablet among the many in the baskets near the scales. When he looked up, Habbazu stood not three feet away, watching the search with sardonic amusement. “You!” Sharur exclaimed.
“I,” Habbazu agreed. He bowed to Sharur. “And you. Believe me, having seen you ordered to the house of your god, I am more surprised to see you safe among men than you could be to see me.”
“How did you come here without being seen?” Sharur asked.
“I have my ways,” Habbazu answered airily. “I am, after all, a thief sent forth by Enzuabu himself.” He said no more than that. Maybe it meant the god of Zuabu had lent him powers or enchantments to help hint escape notice. Maybe it meant he wanted Sharur to think the god of Zuabu had lent him such powers and enchantments.
At another time, Sharur might have spent considerable worry over the question of whether and to what extent Habbazu was bluffing. Now he had more important things on his mind. “The Alashkurri cup,” he said. “Have you got it, or does it still sit in Engibil’s temple?”
Habbazu lost some of his jaunty manner. “The Alashkurri cup still sits in Engibil’s temple.” He sent Sharur an accusing look. “The god of this city is not so drowsy a god as I was led to believe in Zuabu. The god of Gibil is not so sleepy a god as I was led to believe in my city.”
“As I told you, not everything about Gibil is as you may have been led to believe,” Sharur said.
“The god is alert,” Habbazu said. “The priests of the god are alert. This makes it harder for me to enter the temple, harder for me to reach the chamber within which the cup rests, harder for me to escape after I steal it.”
“With the god and the priests alert, can you enter the temple?” Sharur asked. “Can you reach the chamber in which the cup rests? Can you steal the cup?”
“I can do all these things.” Habbazu drew himself up with the sort of pride in his ability at his chosen trade that Sharur or Ereshguna might have shown over matters mercantile. “As I said, though, it will be harder for me. I will pick my time with care.”
“Indeed,” Sharur said, raising one eyebrow, “if you do not, you are liable to be captured, as the caravan guards captured you outside Zuabu.”
Habbazu looked miffed. “That should not have happened. That should never have happened. The caravan guards were lucky to set eyes on me, luckier still to lay hold of me.”
“As may be,” Ereshguna said, coming downstairs. How long had he been listening? Long enough—he went on, “Who is to say Engibil will not be lucky enough to set eyes on you? Who is to say Engibil’s priests will not be lucky enough to lay hold of you? They are alert, as the caravan guards were alert. Have you not noticed how often luck comes to those who are alert?”
“Oh, indeed, my master: I have noticed this many times,” the thief said. “And I do not deny my task would be easier if the god’s eye were turned elsewhere. I do not deny my task would be easier if the god’s priests were to look in some different direction.”
“Distracting the priests may not be too hard,” Ereshguna said. “They are, after all, but men. Distracting the god ...” His voice trailed away.
“A question,” Sharur said. “Habbazu, if you steal this Alashkurri cup, will you still deliver it into the hands of the house of Ereshguna and not into the hands of Enzuabu who sent you forth?”
“When Engibil summoned you to his temple, I repented of my promise,” the thief admitted. “Now that I learn he did not summon you to punish you for consorting with me, I see that, though he may be alert, he does not rule every aspect of every life in Gibil, as Enimhursag does in Imhursag. And so, though shaken as by an earthquake, the promise stands.”
“It is good,” Sharur said. As he and his father and Habbazu spoke of the difficulty of distracting, so Engibil no doubt wondered how successful his effort to distract the annoying mortals would prove. He had succeeded in making Sharur happy by releasing the promise he held.