Nafai had been hoping to shame Elemak into backing off, but he miscalculated. Instead Elemak lost all self-control. As Issib spun by in front of him, Elemak seized an outflung arm and dragged Issib from the chair, throwing him to the ground like a broken toy.

  “No!” screamed Nafai.

  He rushed for Issib, to help him, but Mebbekew was between them, and when Nafai got near enough, Mebbekew shoved him to the ground. Nafai sprawled at Elemak’s feet.

  Elemak had dropped his rod. As he reached for it, Mebbekew ran to the pack frame and drew out another one. “Let’s have done with him now. And if Issib can’t keep his mouth shut, both of them.”

  Whether Elemak heard or not, Nafai couldn’t tell. He only knew that the rod came whistling down, smashing into his shoulder. Elemak’s aim still wasn’t good, but this much was clear: He was striking high on Nafai’s body. He was trying for the head. He meant Nafai to die.

  Suddenly there was a blinding light in the canyon. Nafai lifted his head in time to see Elemak whirl around, trying to follow the source of the light. It was Issib’s chair.

  Only it couldn’t be. Issib’s chair had a passive switching system. When it was not being told explicitly what to do, it settled down, leveled itself on its legs, and waited for instructions. It had done just that the moment Elemak dragged Issib to the ground.

  “What’s happening?” asked Mebbekew.

  “What’s happening?” said a mechanical voice from the chair.

  “You must have broken it,” said Mebbekew.

  “I am not the one who is broken,” said the chair. “Faith and trust are broken. Brotherhood is broken. Honor and law and decency are broken. Compassion is broken. But I am not broken.”

  “Make it stop, Issya,” said Mebbekew.

  Nafai noticed that Elemak said nothing. He was eyeing the chair steadily, the rod still in his hands. Then, with a grunt, Elemak rushed forward and swung at the chair with the rod.

  Lightning flashed, or so it seemed. Elemak screamed and fell back, as the rod flew into the air. It was burning, the whole length of it.

  Carefully, slowly, Mebbekew slid his own rod back down into the pack frame.

  “Why were you beating your younger brother with a rod, Elemak?” said the chair. “Why did you plan his death, Mebbekew?”

  “Who’s doing this?” Mebbekew said.

  “Can’t you guess, fool?” Issib spoke feebly, from where he lay in the rocks. “Who sent us on this errand in the first place?”

  “Father,” said Mebbekew.

  “The Oversoul,” said Elemak.

  “Don’t you understand yet, that because your younger brother Nafai was willing to hear my voice, I have chosen him to lead you?”

  That silenced them both. But Nafai knew that in their hearts, their hatred of him had passed from hot anger to cold hard resentment that would never die. The Oversoul had chosen Nafai to lead them. Nafai, who couldn’t even get through negotiations with Gaballufix without messing everything up. Oversoul, why are you doing this to me?

  “If you had not betrayed your father, if you had believed in him and obeyed him, I would not have had to choose Nafai ahead of you,” said the chair—said the Oversoul. “Now go up into Basilica again, and I will deliver Gaballufix into your hands.”

  With that, the chair’s lights dimmed, and it settled slowly to the ground.

  They all waited, dumbly, for a few silent moments. Then Elemak turned to Issib and gently, carefully lifted him back and put him into the chair. “I’m sorry, Issya,” he said gendy. “I was not in my right mind. I would never hurt you for the world.”

  Issib said nothing.

  “It was Nafai we were angry at,” said Mebbekew.

  Issib turned to him and, in a whisper, repeated Meb’s own words back to him. “Let’s have done with him now. And if Issib can’t keep his mouth shut, both of them.”

  Mebbekew was stung. “So I guess you’re going to hold that against me forever.”

  “Shut up, Meb,” said Elemak. “Let’s think.”

  “Good idea,” said Mebbekew. “Thinking has done us so much good up to now.”

  “It’s one thing to see the Oversoul move a chair around,” said Elemak. “But Gaballufix has hundreds of soldiers. He can kill each of us fifty times over—where are the soldiers of the Oversoul? What army is going to protect us now?”

  Nafai was standing now, listening to them. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “The Oversoul has just shown you some of its power, and you’re still afraid of Gaballufix’s soldiers? The Oversoul is stronger than these soldiers. If it doesn’t want them to kill us, the soldiers won’t kill us.”

  Elemak and Mebbekew regarded him in silence.

  “You were willing to kill me because you didn’t like my words,” said Nafai. “Are you willing to follow me now, in obeying the words of the Oversoul?”

  “How do we know you didn’t rig the chair yourself?” said Mebbekew.

  “That’s right,” said Nafai. “I knew before we ever went into the city today that you were going to blame me for everything and try to kill me, and so Issya and I rigged the chair to deliver exactly that speech.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Meb,” said Elemak. “We’re going to get killed, but since we’ve lost everything else, it doesn’t really make that much difference to me.”

  “Just because you’re a fatalist doesn’t mean I want to die,” said Mebbekew.

  Issib swung his chair forward. “Let’s go,” he said to Nafai. “It’s the Oversoul I’m following, and you as his servant. Let’s go.”

  Nafai nodded, then led the way up the canyon. For a while he heard only the sound of his own footfalls, and the faint whirring of Issib’s chair. Then, at last, came the clatter of Elemak and Mebbekew, following him up the arroyo.

  FIFTEEN

  MURDER

  If we are to have any hope at all, thought Nafai, we have to stop trying to come up with our own plans. Gaballufix outmaneuvers us every time.

  And now there was even less hope, since Elemak and Mebbekew were deliberately being uncooperative. Why did the Oversoul have to say what it did about Nafai leading them? How could he possibly take command over his own older brothers, who would be far gladder to see him fail than to help him succeed? Issib would be no problem, of course, but it was hard to see how he would be much help, either, even wearing his floats again. He was too conspicuous, too fragile, and too slow, all at once.

  Gradually, as they made their way through the desert—Nafai leading, not because he wanted to, but because Elemak refused to help him pick out a path—Nafai came to an inescapable conclusion: He would have a much better chance alone than with his brothers.

  Not that he thought his chances were very good on his own. But he would have the Oversoul to help him. And the Oversoul had got him out of Basilica before.

  But when the Oversoul got him out of Basilica, it was because Luet held his hand. Who would be his Luet now? She was the seer, as familiar with the Oversoul as Nafai was with his own mother. Luet could feel the Oversoul showing her every step; Nafai only felt the guidance of the Oversoul now and then, so rarely, so confusingly. What was his vision of a bloody-handed soldier walking the streets of Basilica? Was this an enemy he would have to fight? Was it his death? Or his guide? He was so confused, how could he possibly come up with a plan?

  He stopped.

  The others stopped behind him.

  “What now?” asked Mebbekew. “Enlighten us, O great leader anointed by the Oversoul.”

  Nafai didn’t answer. Instead he tried to empty his mind. To relax the knot of fear in his stomach. The Oversoul didn’t speak to him the way it spoke to Luet because Luet didn’t expect herself to come up with a plan. Luet listened. Listened first, understood first. If Nafai was serious about trying to help the Oversoul, trying to be its hands and feet here on the surface of this world, then he had to stop trying to make up his own foolish plans and give the Oversoul a chance to talk to him.

  They were near Dogtown, which stretched along the roads leading out from the gate known as the Funnel. Till now, he had assumed that he should go around Dogtown and pick his way through some canyon back up to Forest Road and enter Basilica through Back Gate. Now, though, he waited, tested the ideas. He thought of going on, around Dogtown, and his thoughts drifted aimlessly. Then he turned toward the Funnel, and at once felt a rash of confidence. Yes, he thought. The Oversoul is trying to lead me, if I’ll just shut up and listen. The way I should have shut up and listened while Elemak was bargaining with Gaballufix this afternoon.

  “Oh, good,” said Mebbekew. “Let’s go up to the second most closely watched gate. Let’s go through the ugliest slum, where Gaballufix owns everybody that’s for sale, which is everybody that’s alive.”

  “Hush,” said Issib.

  “Let him talk,” said Nafai. “It’ll bring Gaballufix’s men down on us and get us all killed right now, which is exactly what Mebbekew wants, because as we all die Meb can say, ‘See, Nyef, you got us killed!’ which will let him die happy.”

  Mebbekew started toward Nafai, but Elemak stopped him. “We’ll be quiet,” said Elemak.

  Nafai led them on until they came to High Road, which ran from Gate Town to Dogtown. It was lined with houses much of the way, but at this time of night it wasn’t too safe, and few people would be abroad on it. Nafai led them to the widest gap between houses on both sides of the road, scanned to the left and right, and then ducked down and scurried across. Then he waited in a dry ditch on the far side of the road, watching for the others.

  They didn’t come.

  They didn’t come.

  They’ve decided to abandon me now, thought Nafai. Well, fine.

  Then they appeared. Not scurrying, as Nafai had done, but walking. All three of them. Of course, thought Nafai. They had waited to get Issib out of his chair. I should have thought of that.

  As they walked across the road, Nafai realized that instead of Issib floating, he was being helped by the other two, his arms flung across their shoulders, his feet being half-dragged. To anyone who didn’t know the truth, Issib would look like a drunk being helped home by his friends.

  Nor did they walk straight across the road. Rather they angled across, as if they were really going with the road, but losing their way in the dark, or being tipped in one direction by the drunk they were helping. Finally they were across, and slipped off into the bushes.

  Nafai caught up with them as they were untangling Issib, helping him adjust his floats. “That was so good,” he whispered. “A thousand people could have seen you and nobody would have thought twice about it.”

  “Elemak thought of it,” said Issib.

  “You should be leading,” said Nafai.

  “Not according to the Oversoul,” said Elemak.

  “Issib’s chair, you mean,” said Mebbekew.

  “It was just as well, Nyef, you going across first,” said Elemak. “The guards will be looking for four men, one of them floating. Instead they saw three, one of them drunk.”

  “Where now?” said Issib.

  Nafai shrugged. “This way, I guess.” He led the way, angling through the empty ground between High Road and the Funnel.

  He got distracted. He couldn’t think of what to do next. He couldn’t think of anything.

  “Stop,” he said. He thought of leading them onward, and it felt wrong. What felt right was for him to go on alone. “Wait here,” he said. “I’m going into the city alone.”

  “Brilliant,” said Mebbekew. “We could have waited back with the camels.”

  “No,” said Nafai. “Please. I need you here. I need to be sure I can come out of the gate and find you here.”

  “How long will you be?” asked Issib.

  “I don’t know,” said Nafai.

  “Well, what are you planning to do?”

  He couldn’t very well tell them that he hadn’t the faintest idea. “Elemak didn’t tell us what he was planning,” said Nafai.

  “Right,” said Mebbekew. “Play at being the big man.”

  “We’ll wait,” said Elemak. “But if the sun rises with us here, we’re out in the open and we’ll be caught for sure. You understand that.”

  “At the first lightening of the sky, if I’m not back, get Issib’s chair and head for the camels,” said Nafai.

  “We’ll do it,” said Elemak.

  “If we feel like it,” said Mebbekew.

  “We’ll feel like it,” said Elemak. “Meb will be here, just like the rest of us.”

  Nafai knew that Elemak still hated him, still felt contempt for him—but he also knew that Elemak would do what he said. That even though Elemak was expecting him to fail, he was also giving him a reasonable chance to succeed. “Thank you,” said Nafai.

  “Get the Index,” said Elemak. “You’re the Oversoul’s boy, get the Index.”

  Nafai left them then, walking toward the Funnel. As he got nearer, he could hear the guards talking. There were too many of them—six or seven, not the usual two. Why? He moved to the wall and then slipped closer, to where he could hear fairly well what they were saying.

  “It’s Gaballufix himself, I say,” said one guard. “Probably killed Wetchik’s boy first, so he couldn’t leave the city, and then killed Roptat and put the blame where nobody could answer.”

  “Sounds like Gaballufix,” another answered him. “Pure slime, him and all his men.”

  Roptat was dead. Nafai felt a thrill of fear. After all the failed plots, it had finally happened—Gaballufix had finally committed a murder. And blamed it on one of Wetchik’s boys.

  Me, Nafai realized. He blamed it on me. I’m the only one who didn’t leave the city through a monitored gate. So as far as the city computer knows, I’m still inside. Of course Gaballufix would know that. So he seized the chance, had Roptat killed, and put out the word that it was the youngest son of Wetchik who did it.

  But the women know. The women know he’s lying. He doesn’t realize it yet, but by tomorrow every woman in Basilica will know the truth—that when Roptat was being killed I was at the lake with Luet. I don’t even have to go inside tonight. Gaballufix will be destroyed by his own stupidity, and we can wait outside the walls and laugh!

  Only he couldn’t think of waiting outside. The Oversoul didn’t want that. The Oversoul didn’t care about Gaballufix getting caught in his lies. The Oversoul cared about the Index, and the fall of Gaballufix wouldn’t put the Index into Father’s hands.

  How do I get past the guards? Nafai asked.

  In answer, all he felt was his own fear. He knew that didn’t come from the Oversoul.

  So he waited. After a while, the guards’ conversation lagged. “Let’s do a walk through Dogtown,” said one of them. Five of them walked out of the gate, into the darkness of the Dogtown streets. If they had turned back to look at the gate, they would have seen Nafai standing there, leaning against the wall not two meters from the opening. But they didn’t look back.

  It was time, he knew that; his fear was undiminished, but now there was also a hunger to act, to get moving. The Oversoul? It was hard to know, but he had to do something. So, holding his breath, Nafai stepped out into the light falling through the gate.

  One guard sat on a stool, leaning against the gate. Asleep, or nearly so. The other was relieving himself against the opposite wall, his back to the opening. Nafai walked quietly through. Neither one stirred from his position until Nafai was away from the gatelight. Then he heard their voices behind him, talking—but not about him, not raising an alarm. This must be how it was for Luet, he thought, the night she came to give us warning. The Oversoul making the guards stupid enough to let her pass as if she were invisible. The way I passed through.

  The moon was rising now. The night was more than half spent. The city was asleep, except probably Dolltown and the Inner Market, and even those were bound to be a bit subdued in these days of tension and turmoil, with soldiers patrolling the streets. In this district, though, a fairly safe one, with no night life at all, there was no one out and about. Nafai wasn’t sure whether the emptiness of the streets was good or bad. It was good because there’d be fewer people to see him; bad because if he was seen, he’d be noticed for sure.

  Except tonight the Oversoul was helping him not to be noticed. He kept to the shadows, not tempting fate, and once when a troop of soldiers did come by, he ducked into a doorway and they passed him without notice.

  This must be the limit to the power of the Oversoul, thought Nafai. With Luet and Father and me, the Oversoul can communicate real ideas. And through a machine—through Issib’s chair—but who can guess how much that cost the Oversoul? Reaching directly into the minds of these other people, it can’t do much more than distract them, the way it steers people away from forbidden ideas. It can’t turn the soldiers out of the road, but it can discourage them from noticing the fellow standing in the shadowed doorway, it can distract them from wanting to investigate, to see what he’s doing. It can’t keep the guards at the gate from doing their duty, but it can help the dozing guard to dream, so that the sound of Nafai’s footsteps are part of the story of the dream, and he doesn’t look up.

  And even to do that much, the Oversoul must have its whole attention focused on this street tonight, thought Nafai. On this very place. On me.

  Where am. I going?

  Doesn’t matter. Turn off my mind and wander, that’s what I have to do. Let the Oversoul lead me by the hand, the way Luet did.

  It was hard, though, to empty his mind, to keep himself from recognizing each street he came to, keep himself from thinking of all the people or shops he knew of on that street, and how they might relate to getting the Index. His mind was too involved even now.

  And why shouldn’t it be? he thought. What am I supposed to do, stop being a sentient being? Become infinitely stupid so that the Oversoul can control me? Is my highest ambition in life to be a puppet?

  No, came the answer. It was as clear as that night by the stream, in the desert. You’re no puppet. You’re here because you chose to be here. But now, to hear my voice, you have to empty your mind. Not because I want you to be stupid, but because you have to be able to hear me. Soon enough you’ll need all your wits about you again. Fools are no good to me.