"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 didnft 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 Gabaltufix 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 doesnt 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 couldnt think of waiting outside. The Over-soul didn't want that. The Oversold 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 th a tdidn'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 forbid- den 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 doesnt 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.
Nafai found himself leaning against a wall, gasping for breath, when the voice faded. It was no joke, to have the Oversoul push into his thoughts like that. What did our ancestors do to their children, when they changed us so that a computer could put things into our minds like this? In those early days, did all the children hear the voice of the Oversoul as I hear it now? Or was it always a rare thing, to be a hearer of that voice?
Move on. He felt it like a hunger. And he moved. Moved the way he had twice before in the last few weeks-going from street to street almost in a trance, uncertain of where he was, not caring. The way he had been only this afternoon, running from the assassins.
I don't even have a weapon.
The thought brought him up short. Pulled him out of his walking trance. He wasn't sure where he was. But there, half in shadow, there was a man lying in the street. Nafai came closer, curious. Some drunk, perhaps. Or it might be a victim of tolchocks, or soldiers, or assassins. A victim of Gaballufix.
No. Not a victim at all. It was one of Gaballufix's identical soldiers lying there, and from the stench of piss and alcohol, it wasn't any injury that put him on the ground.