Twilight in Babylon by Suzanne Frank Page A

god, “I think I’m losing my reason. Help me be good, to do the right thing. And please make my head stop aching.”
    She closed her eyes and willed the voice to sleep, too.
    *      *     *
    Shama peered through the darkness, to the tangle of bodies. The smell of opium was thick in the room. He held up his taper and looked at the mass of barely conscious worshipers. Kidu, the mountain man–cum–high priest in training, was flat on his back, with three women curled around him. He was snoring; they were bleary-eyed and drugged.
    He shook Kidu’s leg.
    “Sleep,” one woman said. “He’s useless.”
    Another woman demonstrated his uselessness. “Opium,” she slurred out. “We took it, too, since he did.”
    Of course, if the high priest of fertility were unable to perform, why should his followers be frustrated. Shama sighed in disgust. With the flat of his blade, he swatted Kidu’s thigh.
    Kidu attacked him. Shama had no defense. In a second he was in darkness, his throat constricted. Growling, shouting, pleading tones—Shama couldn’t hear clearly. But Shama felt Kidu’s hands around his throat.
    To live so long and end up killed by a barbarian. Shama’s head was hot; perhaps his brains were going to explode from his ears.
    “Let him go,” he finally heard someone say to Kidu. “You’re going to kill Shama, then the
ensi
will kill you.”
    Kidu dropped him, and Shama fell to the floor, landing on some soft woman. Everything went black. When he awoke, the three women were fanning him, perfuming his wrists, and praying. Fervently.
    Kidu stared at him balefully. Shama had met oxen with far more wit. The drugs had melted his brains like beeswax. This wild man had embraced the worst civilization had to offer—and Shama was almost sorry for him. As long as he pleased Puabi, though, he was free to do and be anything he desired. If he didn’t, then like so many of his predecessors, he would be removed.
    “It’s the
ensi’s
chamber keeper,” one of the women told Kidu, massaging her words into Shama’s skin. “Puabi must be requesting you.”
    “Puabi?” Kidu repeated. “Puabi wants me? Now? Now?”
    Shama nodded, and Kidu stood up on the bed, repeating his sentence.
Puabi wants me? Now? Now?
He dragged Shama up. The old man winced as he felt his bones rub together.
    “Be careful,” one of the women said. The other two proceeded to wish the mountain man a long, fond farewell.
    Shama watched Kidu with the women and as his head cleared he realized the barbarian was aroused again. At least Puabi wouldn’t be disappointed. As for Shama, he was going to order a long, hot bath in a copper tub. With mint beer.
    *      *     *
    Kalam sat back from his beer tube. In his right hand he held the parcel of Chloe’s gift, her votive. Before him was a clay tablet, with the symbols written as she suggested although it was easier to make them sideways from the changed angle. Writing them had been more comfortable, and Kalam was amazed at how quickly he’d been able to write when he didn’t have to hold his arm up, away from the clay.
    A female human, an ignorant Khamite, couldn’t have thought of this. Where did she get it? Who else had she told? He tried to not think of how honored he would be if he made the suggestion to his former Tablet Father.
    Kalam rubbed the clay smooth as Ningal took a seat, kissed his greeting to the ale-wife, and ordered wine instead of beer, much to her dismay. After a swat on the bottom and promise of double payment, the two men were left in relative privacy.
    “How is Chloe today?” Ningal asked. He’d been visiting today, exchanging New Year’s blessings with friends and cousins.
    “Complaining of headaches.”
    “How did your first lesson go?”
    Kalam’s gaze met his employer’s. “You were correct; she was nonplussed when I explained how the signs worked. She was astounded when she learned how many different ways they could be read and