The master thief had been on the point of saying something else. He stopped with his mouth open, looking extremely foolish for a moment. Then, gathering himself, he replied, “Since you ask it, I shall answer with the truth, and the truth is that, yes, I did have strange dreams when I lay down to sleep last night.”
“As did I,” Sharur said, nodding. “Tell me something more, then: were these dreams you had when you lay down to sleep... crowded dreams?”
“Crowded dreams indeed,” Habbazu said. “The very word I should have used. As best I can recall, I have never had such crowded dreams in all my days.”
“And in these dreams,” Sharur persisted, “did those who crowded them insist that you restore to them something they said was theirs?”
“So they did,” Habbazu said. “Aye, master merchant’s son, so they did. They grew quite insistent, as a matter of fact. They also promised great rewards if I restored to them something they said was theirs. And then”—he frowned— “it was very strange.”
“How so?” Sharur asked. Here, for the first time, the words of the master thief took him by surprise.
Habbazu’s frown deepened and grew quizzical. “It was very strange,” he repeated. “In my dream, I was in converse with this crowd, as I say. At times, they threatened me; at times, they sought to cajole me. And then—all at once, it was as if the lot of them let out a great gasp of fright and fled. I do not know what might have frightened them. Certainly, I did not frighten them. I did not know any way to frighten them. But frightened they were. And frightened I was, too. I also let out a great gasp of fright. When I opened my eyes, I found myself alone on my sleeping mat.”
“Ah.” Now Sharur smiled. “I think we must have been dreaming our crowded dreams at the same time, master thief.”
“Why do you say this, master merchant’s son?” Habbazu asked. “Did the crowds in your dream also take fright?”
“They did—and I made them take fright,” Sharur answered. “We were speaking of my possibly restoring something they said was theirs, and we were speaking of my possibly keeping something they said was theirs. Then, in my dream, I asked what would happen if I broke something they said was theirs. They took fright. When I opened my eyes, I, like you, found myself alone on my sleeping mat.”
“If you ... broke something they said was theirs.” Habbazu spoke the words slowly, as if he had trouble bringing them out. His face bore an uneasy mixture of admiration and dread. “Son of Ereshguna, this I will tell you, and tell you truly: only a Gibli could think of such a thing.”
Ereshguna. who had been some time silent, spoke up: “Only a Gibli of my son’s generation could think of such a thing. My heart stumbled within me when I first heard this notion, too.”
“And, you having heard it more than once, what does your heart do now?” Habbazu asked.
“It still quivers,” Ereshguna replied, “but it no longer stumbles. We of Gibil have a way of growing used to new notions.”
“That I have seen.” By Habbazu’s tone, he did not intend the words as a compliment.
Ereshguna studied him. “Do you know, master thief, that you have shown yourself capable of growing used to new notions as quickly as most Giblut?”
“Have I indeed?” Habbazu considered that. “Well, perhaps I have. What of it?” He looked a challenge at Sharur and Ereshguna.
Sharur took it up. “What of it? you ask. Let me ask you a question in return: suppose that, after all this business is done—however it may finally end—you return to Zuabu. Will you feel easy, living once more under the rule of Enzuabu? Will you feel comfortable, living once more under the strong hand of your city god?”
“Enzuabu is not Enimhursag,” Habbazu said. “He is the lord of Zuabu. He is the ruler of Zuabu. He is not the toy-maker of Zuabu, compelling men to move here and there as if they were tiny clay figures.”
“I never claimed he was,” Sharur replied. “I do not claim he is. What I asked was, Enzuabu being as he is, will you feel easy, living under his rule? When he orders you to rob this one or to leave that one alone, will you be glad to obey him as you have always obeyed him?”
“He is my god,” Habbazu said. “Of course I shall obey him.” Then he realized that was not quite what Sharur had asked. “Of course I shall be glad to—” he began, and then stopped. He gave Sharur a sour look. Sharur saw the pans on either side of the scales in his mind swinging up and down, up and down, and finally reach a balance he had not expected. Habbazu’s expression grew more sour still. “I have associated too long with Giblut. I have had too much to do with the ways of Giblut. Giblut and the ways of Giblut have corrupted me.”
Ereshguna and Sharur both smiled. “You have associated too long with free men,” Ereshguna said. “You have had too much to do with the ways of free men. Without quite knowing it, you have become a free man yourself.”
“If that is what you call it, perhaps I have,” Habbazu said. “I would not presume to argue with my host.”
“Well, then,” Sharur said, “in that case, does your heart still stumble within you at the notion of breaking something those in your dream said was theirs?”
“Of course it does,” Habbazu answered at once. “If you were not a mad Gibli, your heart would stumble within you, too. To be free, or largely free, of your city god is one thing. To strike a blow against those in my dream”—he would not say, and Sharur could not blame him for not saying, to strike a blow against the gods—“is something else again. No wonder, then, that my heart stumbles within me.”
“No wonder,” Ereshguna agreed. “Let me, then, ask a different question: regardless of whether your heart stumbles within you, do you think we should go ahead and break something those in your dream said was theirs?”
“Truly, that is a different question.” Habbazu plucked at his beard as he thought. At last, he said, “Perhaps it might not be so bad, if we could be sure of escaping the wrath of those closer to us.”
“We cannot be sure of that,” Sharur said. “We cannot be sure of any such thing. We can only hope—and act.”
“If we do break something those in my dream said was theirs, I can never go back to Zuabu,” Habbazu said. “I can never go back to Enzuabu. How can I tell the god of my city I have disobeyed him? How can I tell him I have chosen my own will, my own path, rather than his?”
“You were the one who said Enzuabu was not Enimhursag,” Sharur replied. “I believed your words. I accepted that you spoke rightly. Do you tell me now that you were mistaken?”
Habbazu shook his head. “Enzuabu is not Enimhursag, to rule every tiny thing in the city. But neither is Enzuabu Engibil, to do as near nothing in the city as he can. When he lays down a command, he expects obedience.”
“Well, so does Engibil,” Sharur said. “The difference between them is, Engibil lays down a command but seldom.”
“And besides,” Ereshguna said, “have you not obeyed the command your god laid down, master thief? Have you not stolen from the temple of Engibil something those in your dream said was theirs?”
“I did steal it from the temple of Engibil, yes,” Habbazu said, “but I did not bring it to Enzuabu. He will fault me for failing to fulfill the greater part of the promise; he will not shower me with praises for fulfilling the lesser part. I shall live out my days in exile from my city.”
“You shall live out your days a free man, or a man as free as he can hope to become in a world wherein gods hold the upper hand whenever they care enough to use it,” Ereshguna said.
“In other words,” Sharur said, “you shall live out your days as a Gibli.”