Chapter 120 - 14: The Apprentices Divide Their Roads — The System of Passing On Takes Shape

Chapter 120: Chapter 14: The Apprentices Divide Their Roads — The System of Passing On Takes Shape

Lu Zhu received Kes’s letter on the tenth day of summer.

The letter came back on Shunzi’s boat, along with the south line’s manifests. On the same boat came a half-grown boy, clutching a coarse cloth bundle to his chest, standing at the gate of the Bureau, looking up at the lintel, and calling timidly: "Excuse me . . . is Teacher Lu Zhu here?"

Shunzi went first to the dock to hand over the manifests. As he left he said: "Brother Kes’s man, I have delivered him to the gate. That boy held the bundle the whole road, and snapped at anyone who touched it."

Lu Zhu was in the courtyard, proofreading a drainage drawing of the new capital’s west district. He raised his head, saw the boy, and saw first the pair of shoes worn through at the soles.

"You are . . ."

"My name is Tuxi." the boy said. "Brother Kes sent me." He drew the letter out from inside his robe, held it in both hands, and offered it up. "Brother Kes said — in the letter, there is my name."

Lu Zhu took the letter and opened it.

The letter was not long, and the characters could not be called pretty, but stroke by stroke, all of it was written true:

"Teacher: the valley’s granary has stood. Built as voluntary work, and the whole clan’s names are in the account. The new houses — eight risen, and the households whose rooms fell have moved in first. The medical point — opened, and its first patient, a child with a stomach ache, is cured. The market — open at the ferry. The low wall — watched every night. Uncle Old He and his men of the guild have come, and teach the young fellows every day.

Teacher, your drawings have come alive.

This boy Tuxi is fine-hearted, and fit to study medicine. The clan still lacks hands — the granary needs keepers, the houses need builders, the medical point needs someone to sit in it. If the new capital’s craft school has apprentices willing to come south, I will take them. Kes."

Lu Zhu read the letter twice, once to himself and once aloud in his head.

The first time, for the matters. The second time, for the man.

"Your brother Kes," he asked Tuxi, "has he gone thin?"

"Dark." Tuxi said. "Thin too. But spirited, and his eyes are bright."

"Dark is good." Lu Zhu said. "The southern sun tempers a man best." He folded the letter, put it inside his robe, and said, "What is in the bundle, that you hold it so tight?"

Tuxi opened it. Inside were a few old clothes, one new pair of thousand-layer-soled shoes, and several copper pieces polished bright.

"The clothes, Aunt Kes sewed them." Tuxi said. "The shoes, the clan’s grandmother stitched them. The coppers, Brother Kes told me to carry, for emergencies on the road." He paused. "Brother Kes said — a person studying medicine cannot be without money. When a man is poor, his heart panics."

"Your brother Kes," Lu Zhu said, "has handed you to me — an uncut jade, into a craftsman’s hands." He patted Tuxi’s shoulder. "Come with me."

Along the road, Tuxi’s eyes could not take it all in.

It was his first time in the new capital, and everything came at him at once. The city walls were so high, the streets so straight, and the stele outside the palace gate taller than three men stacked. He clutched the hem of Lu Zhu’s robe and asked in a low voice, pointing: "Teacher, the characters carved on that stele — are they the law?"

"They are." Lu Zhu said. "No levies in the busy season. Paid labor in the idle season. Every requisition on the books."

"Brother Kes taught me." Tuxi said. "He had me recite them every day. Recite until I knew them by heart."

"Do you know them by heart?"

"I do." Tuxi straightened his chest and recited, sentence by sentence. "No levies in the busy season. Paid labor in the idle season. Every requisition on the books." He paused. "Brother Kes said these twelve words are more precious than anything."

"He taught you right." Lu Zhu said.

He led Tuxi to the medical house outside the city.

Imset and Shafi were dividing medicines in the medical point. Shafi, seeing Tuxi, looked first at his hands — clean, and the nails cut short.

"Kes wrote in the letter," Lu Zhu said, "that this boy is fine-hearted, with a good memory, and wants to study medicine."

"Examine him." Imset said.

"How high must the medicine cabinet be raised?" Shafi asked.

"Half a foot." Tuxi said. "Raised half a foot, and the spoiled medicine is cut by half."

"How are the medicines divided?"

"The dry and the damp apart. The dry above, the fresh below, the labels facing out."

"And the windows?"

"Narrow, slantwise across. The wind travels the two ends, and only then does the medicine not smother."

"When the patients are many," Imset suddenly spoke, "who is seen first?"

"The gravely sick first." Tuxi said. "Brother Kes says it is called the grave before the light. The badly wounded are saved first; the lightly wounded queue."

"The valley’s medical point," Imset asked again, "where does it stand?"

"Between the houses and the granary." Tuxi said. "Not by the river — the damp is heavy, and the medicine spoils fast; not downwind of the drying ground — one gust, and the dust gets into the medicine."

Shafi glanced at Imset. Imset nodded.

"Stay, then." Shafi said. "The first three months, you keep the medicine cabinet. The labels — memorize twenty a day."

"Yes!" Tuxi’s eyes lit up at once.

Coming out of the medical house, Lu Zhu did not go back to the Bureau. He went straight to the dock, to find Meru, walking the whole way with his hands behind his back.

"Kes’s letter has come." he said, when he found Meru at the moorings.

"What does it say?" Meru asked, straightening from a bundle of ropes.

"News of victory. And a call for people." Lu Zhu said. "The southern granary is up. The houses — eight risen. The medical point — open." He paused. "What he lacks is people. He wants apprentices."

Meru knocked his pipe: "That young fellow — the first time he has opened his mouth to ask for people."

"It is." Lu Zhu said. "Which means he has stood firm. Only a man who has stood firm dares to ask for people."

"How many?"

"He gave no number." Lu Zhu said. "What the letter says is — if there are any willing to come south."

"Then we choose." Meru said. "Choose the good ones, and choose the willing ones."

"Not only the south." Lu Zhu said. "The north needs people too. Seb’s letter arrived yesterday as well." He drew the letter from his sleeve. "Listen."

Seb’s letter was the same as ever — short, hard, every sentence a matter:

"Teacher: the wall of the northern border has been mended and mended again. The Hittite camp presses to fifty li from the wall. The night-watch hands are short by half. Defense apprentices — send them. Five men, to learn the frozen earth, to learn the drawings, to learn holding the wall. Seb."

Lu Zhu folded the letter and said: "The south wants people, and the north wants people. The granaries of Thebes and the houses of the West Bank want people too." He looked out over the river. "Shopkeeper Meru, we must sit down and divide them properly."

"Divide them." Meru said. "These fifty-four people are fifty-four seeds. Only scattered on the right ground do they grow into crops."

Meru spoke, and suddenly smiled: "I remember Kes’s first time at the merchant house, squatting on the dock checking cargo, counting one boatload of salt three times. I said, young fellow, once is enough. He said, Uncle Meru, my eyes are slow — two extra counts, and my heart sits solid." He knocked his pipe. "I knew then — that boy would go back to stand a home, sooner or later."

"Now, he has stood it." Lu Zhu said. "And he is urging us to send more seeds."

The next day, the courtyard of the Bureau was full.

Lu Zhu, Kamon, Meru, Hapy, Mery. Asaf and Tia came too, with their registers under their arms. One long table, a few bowls of cool water, and no more than that — this was the craft school’s first meeting of the dividing of roads.

The cicadas in the old tree beyond the courtyard wall sang until the sky rang. But the people in the courtyard had no time for the heat, and no ear for it.

"Speak, all of you." Lu Zhu said. "As things stand — how many people are there, and how many are lacking."

Tia reported the numbers first: "The craft school’s first term — twenty-three. After spring opened, the counties and prefectures sent thirty-one more, by the pharaoh’s decree. Fifty-four in all." She opened the register. "The eldest is nineteen, the youngest eleven. Those who know characters, thirty-one. Those who can reckon accounts, seventeen."

"After these months of teaching," Lu Zhu said, "they all have the foundation of the common lessons. Reading characters, reckoning accounts, reading the line, knowing the earth. Now, it is time to divide them." He looked around. "Before the dividing, first lay the roads out clearly."

"I will speak." Kamon began. "The earth-and-timber work is the most. The West Bank, Thebes — three hundred villages still want their houses mended. The new capital’s west district still wants a stretch of new dwellings. That is the great bulk." He paused. "The earth-and-timber road needs twenty. Fourteen stay with me; six go to the southland, with Kes."

"The quarries," Hapy said, "want people too. The new capital’s material yard — after summer, the work multiplies. I want three. Ones with good strength."

"The granaries," Mery said, "the southern granaries are going up one after another. Granary keepers — a whole county cannot round them up. I want six. Those who know characters and can reckon accounts, first." He paused. "These six, I take them for one month first. Once they have learned, they come south with me. The granaries of the River-Channel Village and fishing village line all lack hands."

"Defense," Lu Zhu said, "Seb wants five. The wall of the northern border needs people to go on drawing it and go on mending it. Ones with nerve, who can eat bitterness. These five, once trained, go north."

"Storage and transport," Meru said, "the merchant house’s boats lack hands north and south. South line, twelve; north line, eight. They learn checking cargo, matching manifests, keeping accounts." He knocked his pipe. "In my trade, first learn not to be greedy. Not greedy, and the cargo sits level and the accounts sit true."

"Added together," Tia’s pencil flew at the edge of the register, "twenty, three, six, five, twenty — exactly fifty-four. Not one more, not one less."

"Then choose." Lu Zhu said. "Fifty-four people, fifty-four roads. Who fits which road — it depends on the foundation, and on the wish."

"One sentence more." Lu Zhu paused, and set his five fingers down on the long table. "Earth and timber, quarrying, granaries, defense, storage and transport — five roads, like one hand. The five fingers each have their lengths, but clenched, they are one fist. From now on, you each take your own apprentices and walk your own roads — but do not forget, you are the five fingers of one fist."

"We will not forget." Kamon said.

"We will not forget." Meru, Mery, and Hapy said together.

"And the rules." Asaf said. "Dividing is not letting go. The first year, the trained count as apprentices; the graduated go back to their places to work, and still have people over them. Woser’s granary school in Thebes set this very sample — study, examine, graduate, return to the county and keep the granary. One whole set."

"The charter," Lu Zhu said, "is set today. Set, and Tia writes it into a document, filed in the Civil Affairs Bureau. From now on, it is followed every year."

"One matter more." Lu Zhu said. "The craft school’s fuel and rice money is my grant of gold. What is spent on the apprentices — not one coin may be off. The labor is theirs; the meals are the school’s. And when they graduate, one set of tools more."

"The tools, the guild gives." Kamon said. "Chisels, hammers, rope plummets — all prepared."

"The boats, the merchant house gives." Meru said. "Southbound or northbound, they travel with the cargo boats. People and cargo on one boat, and the passage is free."

"The medicine, the medical house gives." Lu Zhu said. "For the apprentices going far, one packet of common medicine each."

"Then the charter," Asaf said, "is complete."

"One article more." Tia said. "The wish. The dividing cannot be decided by us alone. Let the apprentices each write one place they wish to go. Where it fits, it is done; where it does not, it is adjusted." She paused. "Only when the heart goes along does the craft go in."

"Right." Lu Zhu said. "To divide the people, first divide the hearts."

The meeting broke. That evening, Tia handed out the wish slips to the apprentices, one by one, calling each name.

One slip to a person, a strip of papyrus. One line on it, and nothing else: Where do you want to go.

The courtyard was quiet for the first time, and the quiet was heavy. Fifty-four children, each gripping a charcoal pencil, worrying over that strip of papyrus. The places they wanted, they feared they could not go; the places they had never thought of, they feared choosing wrong. The smallest child, the eleven-year-old, squatted at the wall foot, bit the end of his pencil, held it in for a long time, and wrote two great characters on the slip — "The West Bank."

"Your home is on the West Bank?" Tia asked.

"It is." the child said. "I want to go back, and mend the houses of my village. Our wall at home rings when the wind blows."

"Write it down." Tia said. "Wanting to go home is no shame."

The child from Thebes wrote "granaries." He said: "My father is a grain-shop hand in Thebes. I grew up rolling in the grain piles. Grandfather Woser’s school — I have seen it. I want to learn keeping granaries."

"Good." Tia said. "A foundation in knowing grain is thicker than anything."

The slips were gathered — fifty-four, every one with writing. Tia copied them into a book through the night, and the next morning, set it on Lu Zhu’s table.

"Fifty-four wishes," she said, "set against fifty-four roads."

"Set them." Lu Zhu said. "Where they fit, done; where they do not, talk. Where the talk cannot settle it, adjust again."

The news of the dividing was posted on the craft school’s wall the next day, before the sun was fully up.

Red paper, black characters, the brush strokes thick and clean. Fifty-four people divided into five roads: earth and timber, twenty; quarrying, three; granaries, six; defense, five; storage and transport, twenty. Each road was marked with its destination and its master, line by line.

At the wall foot, the apprentices squeezed into a crowd, necks stretched long, toes on tiptoe.

"Earth and timber! I am in earth and timber!" A child from the West Bank shouted. "Following Master Kamon, going back to mend houses!"

"I am in quarrying." Another child scratched his head. "Senior brother Hapy says the quarry work is hot. But I am strong, and not afraid of the sun."

"The granary ones, look here!" Another child shouted. "Senior brother Mery says the keeper eats the fine rice! Reading characters and reckoning accounts, not one may be missing!"

The liveliest were the two crowds of storage and defense.

"Storage and transport, twenty — south line twelve, north line eight." A young fellow counted on his fingers. "I want the south line. The south line gets to see Nubia."

"The north line is better." another said. "The north line gets to see the border wall. My father says, only behind the border wall do you see the wide world."

"The north line’s snow — you will have your fill of it." someone laughed at him.

"Fill, then." The fellow stuck out his neck. "Senior brother Seb could draw towers in the north for three years — I can carry packs in the north for three years."

The smallest child squeezed at the very outside, stood on tiptoe and looked a long time, and suddenly grinned wide: "Earth and timber fourteen! I am in! Back to the West Bank!" He turned and ran, and after two steps turned back, and bowed seriously toward the red paper on the wall.

"What are you bowing to?" the person beside him asked.

"To this paper." the child said. "What it writes is the road I will walk from now on."

"Then I will bow too." Several children followed.

Under the wall, a whole stretch of backs bent over.

On the defense side, the people were few, but the voices were not small. A-Yan, from the northern border, read the names from top to bottom, and read them again, and suddenly said: "I am in defense. I am going back north."

"You came from the north in the first place." the person beside him said.

"Which is exactly why I must go back." A-Yan said. "Senior brother Seb’s letter — I have copied it. He said the wall of the north needs people to go on drawing it. My home is right behind the border wall. If I do not go back, who does?"

On the southland column, it was marked: "Earth and timber, southland, six men, with Kes." The places for the six names were still empty.

That night, Lu Zhu went through the fifty-four schoolwork sheets by the lamp, one by one, from the first page to the last. He turned pages half the night, and picked out nine — all of them applicants for the southland, each sheet set aside on the left of the table.

"Teacher," Hapy asked, "of these nine, how do we choose further?"

"First look at the schoolwork." Lu Zhu said. "Then look at the hands." He drew out one sheet and read it, "’I want to learn to build houses. Because our house at home rings when the wind blows. I want the people of the future to sleep without hearing the wind.’" He paused. "This one — a candidate."

"The characters are crooked." Hapy said.

"The characters crooked, the heart not." Lu Zhu said. "Your senior brother Kes’s characters were crookeder still."

He drew out another and read: "’My grandfather says the people of Nubia and the people of Egypt were all raised on the Nile. I want to go south, and carry the north’s craft to the people there.’" Lu Zhu paused. "This one — a candidate too."

"And this one." Hapy leaned over, pointing at another. "’I have no particular reason. I just heard that senior brother Kes stood a whole village in the south, alone. I want to go and see how one man stands a whole village.’"

"A good reason." Lu Zhu said. "Curiosity can carry a man far."

The next day, Lu Zhu called the nine apprentices who had applied for the southland into the courtyard and lined them up in a row, shoulder to shoulder.

"All of you, reach out your hands." he said.

Nine pairs of hands reached out together, palm up. Lu Zhu walked the row and looked at them one by one: some with thick calluses, some with thin, some with broad knuckles, some with cracked palms where the lines ran white.

"You," he pointed at the one with the thickest calluses, "your family farms?"

"It does." the child said. "I have been down in the fields since I was nine. The hoe handle wore them."

"The southern sun," Lu Zhu said, "is twice as harsh as the new capital’s. These hands of yours can bear it. But there, it is not farming — it is standing a home. You will have to learn anew."

"I will learn." the child said.

"You." Lu Zhu pointed at the one with the cracked palms. "How did these cracks come?"

"Carrying stones." the child said. "My father quarries stone, and I carry with him. The stone edges cut them."

"A quarrying foundation." Lu Zhu nodded. "In the south, it is just right. The riverbank is all stone."

Nine children, Lu Zhu asked them one by one. Asked about home, about their road here, about why they wanted the south. At the last, he said: "I choose six. Those not chosen — do not lose heart. Every place is building things for the world."

"Yes." the children said.

The chosen six reddened their eyes on the spot. The unchosen nodded too. One unchosen said: "Teacher, then I will go with Master Kamon and mend houses. Mend Egypt’s houses well, and that counts as helping the south too."

"It counts." Lu Zhu said. "It is all the same wall."

On the first day of the dividing, Lu Zhu called all fifty-four apprentices into the courtyard, and they stood in tight rows.

The sand tray stood in the middle, with the last stretch of their practice wall still on it. Fifty-four pairs of eyes looked at their Chief Builder, and the courtyard was so still you could hear the dust settle.

"From tomorrow," Lu Zhu said, "you each walk your own road. But one sentence, all of you remember it." He paused. "Whatever road you are divided to, whatever trade your hands work — you are building things for the people of the world. Granaries, houses, walls, boats, medicine cabinets. What stands up is what others will use to live their days from now on."

"And so — first, the craft must be true. Second, the account must be clear. Third, the heart must be straight." He looked around. "These three are the rules of the new capital’s craft school. Carry them wherever you go."

"Remembered!" The apprentices shouted together.

"One thing more," Lu Zhu said, "do not lose face. When you are out there, when others speak of you, they will first say who your teacher is. You are all students of me, Lu Zhu, and students of Kamon, Meru, Mery, Hapy, Seb, Kes. You stand one crooked wall, and it is all our faces that are lost."

The courtyard went quiet for a moment.

"It will not be lost!" A-Yan was the first to shout.

"It will not be lost!" Fifty-four voices followed.

The shout pressed down the cicadas’ song, and rolled three times over the Bureau’s roof. The passersby in the lane stopped their feet and looked into the courtyard.

As they were about to break, Lu Zhu added one line: "All of you, go wash your hands. Tonight, we eat noodles. Two eggs to a person. Those going far — the road will have no more meals this proper."

"Noodles!" The apprentices cheered.

That night, the craft school’s kitchen was as lively as New Year’s Eve. Fifty-four children squatted in the courtyard, bowls in hand, slurping their noodles. Some ate fast, some ate slow, and the steam rose over all of them. The slow ones ate and looked at the courtyard — the sand tray, the long tables, the drawings on the wall, the rows of their own footprints in the dust. All of them knew, without being told: this was the last meal.

In the three days before the departures, the courtyard was like a market every day, and the coming and going never stopped.

The guild sent the tools — fifty-four sets, chisels, hammers, rope plummets, set by set, laid out in long rows on the long table. Kamon led the men in checking them one by one, hefting each in the hand. What did not pass went straight back to be forged again.

"Tools are the craftsman’s hands." Kamon said. "A hand soft by one measure, and the work is soft by one measure. What goes into the apprentices’ hands — not one item may be vague."

Shafi sent the medicine packets — fifty-four, for wounds, for wind and chill, for stomach pains, each with its label. She handed them out one by one, and charged each one: "When you reach your place, first set the packet somewhere dry. Medicine fears the damp."

"Remembered." the apprentices said.

"One thing more." Shafi said. "If anyone falls sick on the road, do not bear it. Find the nearest medical point. The apprentices who go out from the new capital — wherever they go, the medical points know them."

At night, the apprentices gathered under the lamps to write letters. To their families, to their villages, to whoever was waiting for them at home. The characters were none of them pretty, but letter by letter, they were written with gravity, and the pages were folded with care. When a lampwick burst into a flower of light, someone looked up and said, "A good omen," and the others laughed, low. The smallest child wrote to his father on the West Bank: "Father, I am divided to earth and timber. Following Master Kamon, going back to mend our village’s houses. When the houses are mended, go up on the roof and look, and see if it is straight." When he had written it, he traced the words "if it is straight" three times, pressing hard.

The departures by road came three days later.

The night before the departures, Lu Zhu called the five road leaders together and went through the charter once more.

"Kamon, your people — the first month, do not let them up on the walls." Lu Zhu said. "Pass the bricks, mix the mud, read the line. When the hands are familiar, then onto the work."

"Understood." Kamon said.

"Meru, the storage and transport ones — first follow the boats, then keep the accounts. When the accounts are understood, then let them out to hold their own."

"Set your heart at rest." Meru said.

"Mery, the granary ones — watch them closely. In the keeper’s trade, one wrong character is a year’s grain."

"I will check three times a day." Mery said.

"Hapy, the quarry ones — safety is the first rule. The first month, ten steps from the cliff edge."

"I will rope them in a circle." Hapy said.

"And the five of defense." Lu Zhu said. "On the road they cross two rivers and climb one ridge. At the northern border, Seb will take them on." He paused. "That boy A-Yan — my heart is easy with him."

"All of them easy." Kamon said. "What we taught, it cannot go far wrong."

"Cannot." everyone said.

The first batch to leave was the twenty of storage and transport. They followed Meru onto the dock’s boats, packs on their backs, one behind the next. The twelve of the south line went with Shunzi’s boat, all the way south; the eight of the north line went with the northbound cargo boats, first to the West Bank, then on with Old Camel’s caravan.

"Listen, all of you." Meru stood on the dock, his pipe in his teeth. "In storage and transport, first remember three words — cargo, account, man. The cargo must sit level, the account must sit true, the man must sit straight. Whatever of the three falls, it breaks the merchant house’s signboard."

"Remembered!" the apprentices shouted.

"One thing more." Meru said. "On the road, keep your own mouths. The merchant house’s boats carry other people’s lives. What should not be said — let it rot in the belly."

"Rot in the belly!" The apprentices answered together.

Meru looked them over one by one; whose bundle was loose, he went and tightened it; whose shoes did not fit, he had them change a pair. At the last, he said: "Shunzi, the twelve of the south line are yours. At the border, first let the six of earth and timber turn off for the river valley."

"Yes." Shunzi said. "Brother Kes’s people — I deliver them home."

The six of the southland stood by Shunzi’s boat. Lu Zhu walked over and said: "At the river valley, listen to Kes. He is your senior brother, and your head. He will take you to read the ground, read the water, read the wind. The south’s work has the south’s rules. What you do not understand, ask first."

"Teacher," an apprentice asked, "is senior brother Kes fierce?"

"Not fierce." Lu Zhu said. "But he checks walls more strictly than anyone. Whoever of you stands a crooked wall — he will not be soft in taking it down." He paused. "A strict master turns out true work."

"We do not fear strictness." the apprentices said.

"One thing more." Lu Zhu handed the leader a bundle wrapped in oilcloth. "This is the reply for Kes. Tell him — the people he asked for, the new capital has given. These six are the new capital’s answer to him."

The leader pressed the oilcloth bundle to his chest: "Teacher, set your heart at rest. The letter and the people — not one missing, delivered to the river valley."

The boat pushed off. The apprentices stood at the bow, waving at the shore. Meru did not wave. He bit his pipe and watched the boats’ shapes melt into the river mist: "This batch of children — when they come back, they will be the merchant house’s bones."

The common people watching on the bank talked it over too. The old flatbread seller said: "In past years at this season, the dock sent off soldiers. This year, it sends off apprentices." He paused. "Sending soldiers — weeping. Sending apprentices — glad. This world has changed after all."

"Changed." the person beside him said. "Changed for the better."

The second batch to leave was the seventeen of earth-and-timber and quarrying — fourteen with Kamon, three with Hapy. They split into teams: those returning to the West Bank, those returning to Thebes, those going to the new worksites of the new capital’s west district.

Kamon called his people together, and stood them in a row: "Ugly words first, and listen well. On the worksite, there are no young masters, only apprentices. Carry material, mix mud, pass bricks — one thing at a time, and each thing done to the end. Whoever finds it too tiring, say so early. Saying so now is no shame; dropping the work on the worksite later is a shame on eight generations of your ancestors."

"Not too tiring!" the apprentices shouted.

"Good." Kamon said. "At the West Bank, first learn three days of rules. The guild’s rules, the worksite’s rules, the eating and lodging rules. Learned, then onto the work." He paused. "Then I will teach you one thing more — reading walls. At the worksite, the first matter is seeing whether the wall is straight. The wall straight, and the heart has a bottom to stand on."

On the day the boat reached the West Bank, the guild’s old masters stood in two rows on the dock, waiting since dawn. Old Camel stood at the very front, and seeing Kamon, stepped up and said: "Guild master, the people — the guild has received them. The lodgings are cleared out; the meals, the kitchen is ready and the pots are on."

"Do not settle them in yet." Kamon said. "Lead them before the sample granary first. Let them see what the sample of all Egypt is."

The fourteen apprentices followed Kamon and stood before the West Bank’s sample granary for half an hour, not one of them speaking. The granary had been raised four years ago by Lu Zhu and his people; moss climbed its wall surface, but the granary was still so straight, and so steady, that the eye could not find a fault in it.

"Feel it, all of you." Kamon said.

The apprentices queued up, one by one, and laid their hands on the granary wall. The wall was dry, solid, cool.

"What did you feel?" Kamon asked.

"Solid." the smallest child said. "Like a stone."

"Right." Kamon said. "What you raise from now on must all be this sample. Straight wall, straight heart." He paused. "The Chief Builder said it four years ago. Today, I pass it on to you."

Hapy led his three quarrymen aside: "Our team is the smallest. But the work is the most solid. At the quarry, first learn to read the stone. Stone divides into hard and soft, into grain lines. One misread, one hammer stroke, and a whole block is wasted." He paused. "And so the first month, you may only look, and only carry. The hammer — do not touch it."

"When may we touch it?" an apprentice asked.

"When I nod." Hapy said. "I came up through it the same way."

The six of the granaries went with Mery. Mery did not take them onto the boat first; he took them into the new capital’s official granary, and stopped them at the gate.

"Before you go in," Mery said, "I examine you on three things. First — this granary’s floor, how many inches is it raised?"

The apprentices lay down on the ground, flat, and looked at the wall foot a long time, one of them reaching out to feel. One child said: "Three inches."

"Second — how do the windows open?"

"Narrow, slantwise across."

"Third." Mery drew out his keys. "The keys — how many?"

"One." an apprentice said. "The keys never leave the body, and the granary opens only with two men present."

"Good." Mery said. "All answered. Go in." He paused. "Once inside, you will understand why this granary can keep a whole county’s life."

Inside, grain was coming in. The hands carried the sacks, weighed them, reported the weights, entered the accounts, binned them. Mery led the apprentices in standing to one side, watching. After a small half hour, he said: "Do you see the way of it?"

"A little." an apprentice said. "Every sack is weighed. Every entry is entered."

"Right." Mery said. "Where the grain comes from, where it goes, how much is lost — in the account, not one grain off. This is the work you will do from now on. It is not hard. What is hard is doing it the same every day." He paused. "Inspect the grain — every day. Keep the accounts — every day. Check the damp — every day. Miss one day, and the grain is one measure more at risk."

"Remembered." the apprentices said.

"In a couple of days," Mery said, "you come south with me. The granaries of the River-Channel Village and fishing village line are waiting for you."

Coming out of the granary, one apprentice suddenly asked: "Senior brother, the grain in this granary — who is it all for?"

"For the people to eat in the hungry times." Mery said. "This year, the grain is plenty, so store more; next year, the grain is short, so fewer go hungry. What you keep is this line." He paused. "And so Uncle Woser always says — where the keys are, the grain is."

"Where the keys are, the grain is." The apprentices said the words once.

On the southbound boat, Mery did not let them idle either. By day, he pointed at a stretch of the bank and examined a stretch: "Look — how far is that village from the river? Which end should the granary stand on?" The apprentices hung on the gunwale, answering in a tumble. Wrong, and Mery shook his head; right, and he nodded.

"The granary must stand on high ground, half a li from the river is best." Mery said. "This sentence, you must remember it into your bones. Wherever you go, first read the lay of the ground. The ground chosen wrong, and however prettily the granary stands, it is a home built for the damp."

"Senior brother," an apprentice asked, "did you study like this too, in those years?"

"Me?" Mery smiled. "In those years, I followed the teacher, looking at river after river. Two years of looking before I dared choose a site myself." He paused. "You are faster than me. But the foundation must be equally solid."

The five of defense traveled farthest, and knew it.

They went with the northbound grain caravan, first to the West Bank, then north, past the border wall, to see Seb, and the road was the longest of the five. Before they left, Lu Zhu called A-Yan aside, to the well platform.

"You are the eldest." Lu Zhu said. "These five are yours to lead. At the northern border, find Seb first. His words are my words."

"Teacher," A-Yan said, "I will remember."

"One thing more." Lu Zhu said. "The northern wind is hard. The wall must wrestle with the sky, and the people must wrestle with it too. Half of your senior brother Seb’s skill at drawing was frozen out of him. When you are there, first learn the craft of the frozen earth."

"Learn it." A-Yan said. "The frost will not drive me off."

He paused, and suddenly said: "Teacher, my father said — learning a craft is worth more than farming a year. Now I have not only learned a craft, but am going to hold the border. If my father knew, he would laugh himself awake in his sleep."

"Then study well." Lu Zhu said. "Study it through, and go back and let your father laugh himself awake."

The night before the departure, the five defense apprentices gathered under the lamp and copied Seb’s letter once more. A-Yan copied the slowest, but stroke by stroke, it was as if carved with a knife.

"What is the copying for?" a small one asked.

"To carry." A-Yan said. "At the northern border, when senior brother Seb asks, I will recite his letter to him. Let him know — we came by his words."

The northbound road went first to the West Bank, then with Old Camel’s grain caravan, along the post road, past the border wall. At the embarkation, Old Camel’s man was already waiting at the dock: "The north line’s cargo loads tonight, and sails tomorrow morning. You five go with the cargo."

"With the cargo." A-Yan said. "The five of us count as half cargo too — the people the northern border wants."

"Well spoken." Old Camel’s man laughed. "At the northern border, when you see Officer Seb, you will understand — people are more precious than cargo."

Tuxi went with no one. He stayed at the new capital’s medical house, and every day followed Shafi keeping the medicine cabinet, from opening to closing. He learned slowly, but he grew every day, and what he learned stayed learned. Once, Shafi examined him on twenty medicine labels, and he got two wrong, and was so anxious he did not sleep all night. The next day, before dawn, he recited the labels from beginning to end, three times, without one stop.

"Teacher says," he said to Shafi with red eyes, "Brother Kes sent me out — I cannot lose his face."

"You will not." Shafi said. "When your brother Kes studied the labels, he got some wrong too."

Tuxi set up a small board for himself by the medical house’s wall, and drew one stroke on it every day. Ten strokes filled, and he wrote Kes a letter; a hundred strokes filled, and he would have all the labels memorized.

"A hundred strokes," he counted the board, "still ninety-three to go."

The days of the medical house passed slower than the valley’s, and Tuxi measured them one stroke at a time. He rose before dawn every day, first wiped the medicine cabinet once, then recited the medicines against the labels, in the grey light. Shafi said he recited slowly, so he recited slower still — biting at it character by character. Imset said his heart was still, so he made it stiller, and sat longer at the drying herbs.

"This child," Shafi said to Imset once, "is like Kes. Not clever, but solid. And solid people can make it in studying medicine."

"Kes sent him here," Imset said, "and sent a good piece of material."

On the seventh day, Tuxi wrote his first letter. The letter was short: "Brother Kes: I have stayed. Sister Shafi examined me, and I answered it all. The cabinet raised half a foot, the dry and damp apart, the narrow windows slantwise across — what you taught, all of it used. I recite the medicine labels every day; I got two wrong and was so anxious I did not sleep all night. Brother Kes, I have seen the new capital’s stele. The twelve words — I can recite them. Of what you taught me, I have not let one thing drop. Tuxi."

When the letter was written, he entrusted it to a dock hand, to be carried on the south line’s boat.

"Once south," he said, "please turn off at the river valley ferry, and give the letter to Brother Kes."

"Turn off." the boatman said. "The south line’s boats all know the river valley ferry now."

In those days, the courtyard of the Bureau suddenly emptied.

With the fifty-four people gone, the sand tray went quiet too, and the long tables went quiet, and even the echoes of the morning roll-call seemed still hanging in the air. Only the drawings on the wall still hung, curling a little at the corners. On the sand tray, the last stretch of wall the apprentices had laid still stood — two feet long, perfectly straight, the work of that day’s practice.

Lu Zhu stood in the courtyard and looked a while at the empty rows: "Months of liveliness, and all at once, empty."

"Not empty." Tia said. "Look at this."

She came in with a stack of new books — fifty-four of them, neat and even, each cover written with name, road, master, and destination. This was the "apprentice register" the Civil Affairs Bureau had newly set up.

"With the names in the register, the people have roots." Tia said. "These fifty-four people, wherever they go from now on, the register records it. The trained, the graduated, the ones back in their places — checked once a year."

"Once a year." Lu Zhu opened one book and looked at it a long time, and said, "Good. This — is what is called a system."

"On the Thebes side," Asaf said, "Woser’s granary school has set up its register the same way. From now on, the craft school, the granary school, and the medical apprentices — three books, checked together by the Civil Affairs Bureau." He paused. "Woser also sent word — at year’s end, he will send a few of the apprentices who passed his school’s examinations to the new capital too, to open their eyes."

"Let him send them." Lu Zhu said. "Only when people walk out does the craft come alive."

"These books," Tia said, "from now on, gain new names every year. In ten years, a thousand names. In twenty, five thousand. These people, scattered across the worksites, the storehouses, the docks, the border walls of the whole land." She paused. "By then, what you scatter today will all have grown into trees."

"Not trees." Lu Zhu said. "Roots."

He walked to the sand tray and looked at the two-foot stretch of wall. The wall was not tall, but it was laid solid.

"This wall," he said, "keep it. When they come back, let them see the first stretch they ever laid."

He looked up at the sky. The clouds were moving north.

"The letters from the north," he said, "are more urgent one than the last."

That night, Lu Zhu sat alone in the craft school, with one lamp.

The long tables empty, the sand tray still, the benches pushed back against the walls. Moonlight leaked through the window lattice and fell on the floor, cell by cell, square by square. He remembered that spring, when this room sat full for the first time — twenty-some children with bright eyes, listening to him teach the wall, and not one of them moving. In those days, Kes still stood at the door, saying: "Teacher, I learned these long ago."

Now, Kes stood a village in the south. Seb drew walls in the north. Hapy kept the material at the quarry. Mery toured the granaries along the River-Channel line. And this room had filled with a new batch again, and then, scattered.

"One generation," Lu Zhu said in a low voice, "takes up from the last."

He spread out a sheet and lifted the brush, and wrote the memorial to the pharaoh. He wrote the charter of the dividing, the fifty-four people, and where they had gone. At the end, he added one line: "This servant holds that the way of building lies not in how many granaries and how many houses, but in there being people, year after year, to go on standing the granaries and the houses up."

When the writing was done, he set down the brush and blew out the lamp.

The moonlight in the courtyard was white and blank, like a layer of freshly spread lime.

The memorial went into the palace the next day.

The pharaoh read it twice under the lamp. At the last line — "the way of building lies not in how many granaries and how many houses, but in there being people, year after year, to go on standing the granaries and the houses up" — he stopped, and said to the Royal Steward: "Steward, did you hear that?"

"I heard it." the Steward said. "The Chief Builder is speaking of the plan of a hundred years."

"The plan of a hundred years." the pharaoh said. "Granaries grow old, houses fall, walls come down. But as long as there are people, year after year, who know how to stand them — this country cannot fall." He pressed the memorial to the corner of the table. "Granted. The charter of the craft school’s dividing — carried out as written. The counties sending apprentices — carried out as written too. From now on, one sending a year."

"Yes." the Steward said. "This servant will draft the decree at once."

"One thing more." the pharaoh said. "Write this into the decree too—" He paused. "The trained are used by their measure. Whoever blocks the road and will not let the people go — that man is digging at this country’s root." He gripped the golden seal at the table’s corner, and made his voice sink. "These words — not one character of leeway."

"This servant obeys." the Steward said.

The decree came out of the palace and went first to the Bureau. Lu Zhu received it, read it, and said nothing. He rolled the decree up and set it on the most visible wall of the craft school — the same wall where the five-road chart the apprentices had drawn before leaving still hung.

"From now on," he said, "this wall will fill with names."

The word reached the deep mansions of the new capital too.

"Fifty-four people, scattered out." the tall thin man said. "South to the south, north to the north. Even the pharaoh has decreed — one sending a year."

"One sending a year . . ." The old noble narrowed his eyes. "They truly mean to scatter people all over the ground."

"There is harsher." the square-faced noble said. "The decree says — whoever blocks the road and will not let people go is digging at this country’s root. This, this is guarding against us like guarding against thieves."

"Guard, then." the old noble said. "We cannot block the people — can we not block other things?" He sipped his tea, and suddenly asked, "The north — is there word?"

"There is." the square-faced noble said. "The Hittite camp has moved south again. Seb’s letter says it presses to fifty li. The latest scout report — past sixty."

"Sixty li . . ." The old noble set down the tea bowl and said slowly, "Making men takes three years, five years. The north’s wind rises in a matter of months." He looked out the window; the clouds at the sky’s edge pressed down, heavy. "The wind has risen."

"Then we . . ."

"We?" the old noble said. "We watch. Watch how they tend both ends — the people of the south and the wall of the north." He paused. "When they cannot tend it all — that is our crack."

Outside the window, the wind rose. The leaves rustled and clattered, like a thousand horses and men marching in the far distance.

And at that hour, on the river, the southbound boat and the northbound boat passed each other, hulls almost touching.

Shunzi’s boat rode deep in the water, heavy with cargo, carrying the twelve storage-and-transport apprentices and the six earth-and-timber ones bound for the river valley, each of them craning their necks south over the gunwale. The northbound cargo boat carried A-Yan and his five, steering little by little toward the northern sky, where the clouds hung low.

As the two boats crossed in mid-river, the southbound apprentices shouted first: "Northbound! A fair wind all the way!"

The northbound apprentices shouted back: "Southbound! Stand firm!"

"Stand firm!" the south shouted.

"A fair wind!" the north answered.

The shouts fell on the river’s surface, were lifted by the water, and rolled far out.

On the dock, Lu Zhu and Tia stood, watching until both boats had become points.

"Tell me," Tia asked, "will they come back?"

"Come back or not," Lu Zhu said, "it does not matter. What matters is that they carry the craft, and wherever they go, they sink the roots there." He paused. "The ones who come back are masters; the ones who do not are pillars. The masters go on teaching, and the pillars hold up the sky. It is all the same."

"All the same." Tia said.

The word reached Thebes, and Woser was in the granary school, teaching the five apprentices their counting. He heard it, set down the counting-rods in his hand, and said: "Good. The new capital’s craft school has divided its roads — then this school of ours cannot fall behind either. From now on, of you who finish your study, half stay in Thebes, and half go out into the counties." He paused. "The granaries of all Egypt are waiting for people who can keep accounts."

"We will study!" The five apprentices answered together, and the counting-rods went back into their hands.

The water-wakes at the sterns, one south and one north, twisted into a cross in mid-river. But everyone knew: that cross was not a parting — it was a scattering, like two hands flinging a handful of seeds into the whole great river.

The sound traveled down the Nile, south and north, all the way into Egypt’s two farthest directions.

The boats — one south, one north. On the river, fifty-four names scatter toward every direction of Egypt. In Tia’s register, they all have names and roots. But the wind of the north has already risen — the Hittite camp has moved and moved again. The letters of the north are more urgent one than the last. The children are studying, and the wall is waiting for them. And in the courtyard of the Bureau, Lu Zhu watches the northern clouds, and his heart knows: what is coming is coming soon.

(End of Chapter 14)