The Memory of Earth (40 page)

“The air is very invigorating, isn’t it, sir,” said Zdorab.

“Mm,” said Nafai.

“I mean—your head seems to have cleared considerably.”

It dawned on Nafai that he had forgotten to continue his drunk act. Too late to put it on again
now,
though—it
would be stupid to stumble immediately after Zdorab had commented on how much less drunk he seemed. So instead, Nafai stopped, turned toward Zdorab, and glared. Not that Zdorab could see his facial expression. No, instead the man would have to imagine it.

Apparently Zdorab had a very good imagination. He immediately seemed to cower inside himself. “Not that your head wasn’t clear to begin with. I mean, all along. That is, you’re head is
always
clear, sir. And you’ve got a meeting with the clan council tonight, so that’s a good thing, isn’t it!”

Wonderful, thought Nafai.

“Where
are
they meeting tonight?” asked Zdorab.

Nafai hadn’t the faintest idea. He only knew that he had to meet his brothers outside the Funnel. “Where do you
think
!” he growled.

“Well, I mean, it’s just—you seemed to be headed toward the Funnel, and . . . which isn’t to say they couldn’t hold a meeting out in Dogtown, it’s just that usually they . . . not that anybody ever brings me along. I mean, for all I know you might hold the meetings in a different place every night, I just heard somebody talk about the clan council meeting at your mother’s house near Back Gate, but that was just—it could have been just the once.”

Nafai walked on, letting Zdorab talk himself into ever greater dread.

“Oh no!” cried Zdorab.

Nafai stopped. If I take the Index and run for the gate, can I make it before he can raise an alarm?

“I left the vault open,” said Zdorab. “I was so concerned about the Index . . . Please forgive me, sir. I know that the door is supposed to be open only when I’m there, and I . . . goodness, I just realized that I left it open before, too, when I came to meet you at the back
door. What’s got into me? I’ll understand if I lose my job over this, sir. I’ve never left the vault door unattended. Should I go back and lock it? All that treasure there—how can you be sure that none of the servants will . . . Sir, I can rush back and still rejoin you here in only a few minutes, I’m very fleet of foot, I assure you.”

This was the perfect opportunity to rid himself of Zdorab—take the Index, let the man go, and then be out the Funnel before he can return. But what if this was just a subterfuge? What if Zdorab was trying to break free of him in order to give warning to Gaballufix’s soldiers that an impostor in a holographic costume was making off with the Index? He couldn’t afford to let Zdorab go, not now. Not until he was safely outside the gate.

“Stay with me,” said Nafai. He winced at how little his voice sounded like Gaballufix’s now. Had Zdorab’s eyebrows risen in surprise when Nafai spoke? Could he be wondering even now about the voice? Move on, thought Nafai. Keep moving, and say nothing. He hurried the pace. Zdorab, with his shorter legs, was jogging now to keep up.

“I’ve never been to a meeting like this, sir,” said Zdorab. He was panting with the exertion now. “I won’t have to say anything, will I? I mean, I’m not a member of the council. Oh, what am I saying! They probably won’t let me into the actual meeting, anyway. I’ll just wait for you outside. Please forgive me for being so nervous, I’ve just never . . . I spend my time in the vault and the library, of course, doing accounts and so on, you’ve got to realize that I just don’t get out and about much, and since I live alone there’s not much conversation, so most of what I know about politics is what I overhear. I know that
you’re
very much involved, of course. All the people in the house are very proud to be working for such a famous man. Dangerous, though, isn’t it—with Roptat
murdered tonight. Aren’t you just the tiniest bit afraid for yourself?”

Is he really such a fool as this? thought Nafai. Or is he, in fact, suspicious that Gaballufix might be Roptat’s murderer, and this is his clumsy way of trying to extract information?

In any event, Nafai doubted Gaballufix would answer such questions, so he held his tongue. And there, at last, was the gate.

The guards were very much alert. Of course—Zdorab would be too curious if they were so strangely inattentive this time. Nafai cursed himself for having brought Zdorab along. He should have got rid of the man when he had a chance.

The guards got into position, holding out the thumb-screens. They looked belligerent, too—Nafai’s soldier costume made him an enemy, or at least a rival. The thumbscreen would silently reveal his true identity, of course, but since Nafai was now under suspicion of having murdered Roptat, it wouldn’t be much help.

As he stood there, frozen in indecision, Zdorab intervened. “You aren’t actually going to insist that my master lay his thumb on your petty little screen, are you!’’ he blustered. Then he pressed his own thumb onto the scanner. “There, does that tell you who I am? The treasurer of Lord Gaballufix!”

“The law is, everybody lays his thumb here,” said the guard. But he now looked a great deal less certain of himself. It was one thing to trade snubs with Gaballufix’s soldiers, and quite another to face down the man himself. “Sorry, sir, but it’s my job if I don’t require it.”

Nafai still didn’t move.

“This is harassment,” said Zdorab. “That’s what it is.” He kept glancing at Nafai, but of course he could read no
approval or disapproval in the emotionless holographic mask.

There’s murderers out tonight,” said the guard, apologetically. “You yourself reported the Wetchik’s youngest son killed Roptat, and so we have to check everybody.”

Nafai strode forward and reached out his hand toward the thumbscreen. As he did, however, he leaned his head close to the guard and said, quietly, “And what if the man who reported such an absurd lie was the murderer himself?”

The guard recoiled, surprised at the voice and hardly making sense of the words. Then he looked down at the screen and saw the name that the city computer showed there. He paused a moment, thinking.

Oversoul, give this man wit. Let him understand the truth, and act on it.

“Thank you for submitting to the law, Lord Gaballufix,” said the guard. He pressed the clear button, and Nafai saw his name disappear. No one else could have seen it.

Without a backward glance, Nafai strode out through the gate. He heard Zdorab pattering along behind him. “Did I do right, sir?” asked Zdorab. “I mean, it seemed as though you were reluctant to give your thumb to it, and so I . . . Where are we going? Isn’t it a little dark to be cutting through the brush here? Couldn’t we stick to the road, Lord Gaballufix? Of course, there’s a moon, so it’s not
that
dark, but—”

With Zdorab’s babbling, it was impossible to be subtle as they moved straight toward the spot where Nafai had left his brothers to wait for him. And now Zdorab had loudly called him by the name Gaballufix. It was hardly a surprise when Nafai saw a flurry of movement and heard footsteps, running away. Of course—they thought Nafai had been caught, that he had betrayed them, that Gaballufix
had come to kill them. What could they see, except the costume?

Nafai fumbled with the controls. How could he tell whether it was off or not? Finally he yanked the costume off over his head, and then called out as loudly as he dared, and in his own voice. “Elemak! Issya! Meb! It’s me—don’t run!”

They stopped running.

“Nafai!” said Meb.

“In Gaballufix’s clothing!” said Elemak.

“You did it!” cried Issib, laughing.

A tiny screech just behind him reminded Nafai that this sweet reunion scene would seem just a little less than happy to poor Zdorab, who had just discovered that he had been following the very man accused of murdering Roptat only a few hours before, and who had almost certainly done something quite similar to Gaballufix.

Nafai turned in time to see Zdorab turning tail and starting to run. “I’m very fleet of foot,” Zdorab had said earlier, but now Nafai learned that it wasn’t true. He outran the man in half a dozen steps, knocked him down, and wrestled with him on the stony ground for only a few moments before he had him pinned, with his hand over the poor man’s mouth. The guards were no more than fifty meters away. No doubt the Oversoul had kept them from paying attention to the shouting that had just gone on, but there were limits to the Oversoul’s ability to make people stupid.

“Listen to me,” Nafai whispered fiercely. “If you do what I say, Zdorab, I won’t kill you. Do you understand?”

Under his hand, Nafai felt the head nod up and down.

“I give you my oath by the Oversoul that I did not murder Roptat. Your master Gaballufix caused Roptat’s death and gave orders for me and my brothers to be
killed.
He
was the murderer, but now I’ve killed Gaballufix and that was justice. Do you understand me? I’m not one who kills for pleasure. I don’t want to kill
you
. Will you be silent if I uncover your mouth?”

Again the nod. Nafai uncovered his mouth.

“I’m glad you don’t want to kill me,” Zdorab whispered. “I don’t want to be dead.”

“Do you believe my words?” Nafai asked.

“Would you believe my answer?” asked Zdorab. “I think we’re in one of those situations where people will say pretty much whatever they think the other person wants to hear, wouldn’t you say?”

He had a point. “Zdorab, I can’t let you go back into the city, do you understand me? I guess what it comes down to is this—if you really are one of Gaballufix’s men, one of the louts that he hires to do his dirty work in Basilica, then I can’t trust anything you say and I might as well kill you now and have done. But I don’t think that’s who you are. I think you’re a librarian, a record-keeper, a
clerk
who had no idea what working for Gaballufix entailed.”

“I kept seeing things but nobody else seemed to think they were strange and no one would ever answer my questions so I kept to myself and held my tongue. Mostly.”

“We’re going out into the desert. If you go with us, and stay with us—if you give me your word by the Oversoul—then you’ll be a free man, part of our household, the equal of any other. We don’t want you for a servant; we’ll only have you as a friend.”

“Of course I’ll give my oath. But how will you know whether to believe me?”

“Swear by the Oversoul, my friend Zdorab, and I’ll know.”

“By the Oversoul, then, I swear to stay with you and be
your loyal friend forever. On the condition that you don’t kill me. Though I guess if you killed me then the rest of it would be moot, wouldn’t it.”

Nafai could see that his brothers were now gathered around. They had heard the oath, of course, and had their own opinions. “Kill him,” Meb said. “He’s one of Gaballufix’s men, you can’t believe them.”

“I’ll do it, if it must be done,” said Elemak.

“How can we know?” asked Issib.

But Nafai didn’t hear them. He was listening for the Oversoul, and the answer was clear. Trust the man.

“I accept your oath,” said Nafai. “And I swear by the Oversoul that neither I nor anyone in my family will harm you, as long as you keep your oath. All of you—swear it.”

This is absurd!” said Mebbekew. “You’re putting us all at risk.”

“For this night the Oversoul gave me the command,” said Nafai, “and you promised to obey. I came out of the city with the Index, didn’t I? And Gaballufix is dead. Swear to this man!”

They took the oath, all of them.

“Now,” said Nafai to Zdorab, “give me the Index.”

“I can’t,” said Zdorab.

“See?” said Meb.

“I mean—when you knocked me down, I dropped it.”

“Wonderful,” said Elemak. “All this way to get this precious Index, and now we’re going to be picking up pieces of it all over the desert.”

Issib found it, though, only a meter away, and when Elemak picked it up, it seemed unharmed. By moonlight, at least, there didn’t seem to be even a scratch.

Mebbekew also took a close look at it, handled it, hefted it. “Just a ball. A metal ball.”

“It doesn’t even
look
like an index,” said Issib.

Nafai reached out his hands and took the thing from Mebbekew. Immediately it began to glow. Lights appeared under it.

“You’ve got it upside down, I think,” said Zdorab.

Nafai turned it over. In the air over the ball, a holographic arrow pointed southwest. Above the arrow were several words, but in a language Nafai didn’t understand.

“That’s ancient Puckyi,” said Issib. “Nobody speaks it now.”

The letters changed. It was a single word.
Chair
.

“The arrow,” said Issib. “It’s pointing toward where I left my chair.”

“Let me see that,” said Elemak.

Nafai handed him the Index. The moment it left Nafai’s hands, the display disappeared.

Nafai reached out to take the Index back. Elemak looked at him steadily, his eyes like ice, and then he handed Nafai the metal ball. When Nafai touched it again, the display reappeared. Nafai turned to Zdorab. “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Zdorab. “It never did anything before. I thought it was broken.”

“Let me try,” said Issib.

“Please, no,” said Nafai. “Let’s wrap it up and carry it home to Father without looking at it again. Elemak knows the way. He should lead us.”

“Right,” said Mebbekew.

“Whatever,” said Issib.

“Which one’s Elemak?” asked Zdorab.

Elemak strode away toward High Road, toward the place where Issib’s chair was waiting for them. By the time they got back to the camels, the sky was just beginning to lighten in the east. Nafai wrapped the Index and gave it to Elemak to stow it on a pack frame.

“
You
should give it to Father,” Nafai said.

Elemak reached out and took a pinch of Nafai’s—no, Gaballufix’s—shirt between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned close and spoke softly. “Don’t patronize me, Nafai. I see the way of things, and I’ll tell you now. I won’t be given power or honor or anything as a gift from
you.
Whatever I have I’ll have because it’s mine by right. Do you understand me?”