Capital City

The room was dark. A leather curtain undulated gently like a wingfinger’s flapping wing in the cool breeze from the half-open window. It was odd-night, the night on which most adults slept, but Afsan had always been out of synch with the mainstream.

The hinges of the door were well-oiled, and Afsan’s entrance had done nothing to disturb the apartment’s sleeping occupant. Afsan had only been here once or twice, but he knew the room’s layout well enough and had no trouble making his way across the living area and into the sleep chamber. As he entered the latter, he placed his leather carrying case in the open doorway.

Afsan knew there would be a candle holder on a small stand next to the part of the floor upon which the occupant was sleeping. He could hear the gentle hissing of open-mouth breathing. Afsan bent down and, after a moment, found the holder and picked it up.

Then he crossed the room, found the stool he’d been looking for, swung his leg and tail over it, and made himself comfortable. At last he spoke, not loudly, but with a firm tone. "Drawtood."

There was no response. Afsan tried again. "Drawtood."

This time he heard the sound of a body stirring on the floor, followed by a sharp intake of breath as Drawtood apparently suddenly woke and realized he was not alone.

"Who’s there?" Drawtood said, his voice thick and dry. Afsan heard sounds of exertion as Drawtood pushed himself up off the floor.

"It’s me, Afsan."

Suddenly there was a note of concern in the voice. "Afsan? Are you all right? What’s happened?"

"Easy, my son. Easy. Lie back down. I just want to talk."

"What time is it?"

"It’s the middle of the night. The eighth daytenth."

There was a sound of rummaging. "I can’t seem to find my candle," said Drawtood.

"I have it. You won’t need it. Lie down and talk to your father."

"What’s wrong?" said Drawtood.

"That’s what I’m hoping to learn from you."

"What do you mean?" The voice was wary. Afsan could tell that the speaker was still standing.

"Things are not going well, are they, Drawtood?"

"I want my candle."

"No," said Afsan softly. "We’ll talk on an even footing, both in darkness. Tell me your problems, son."

"I don’t have any problems."

Afsan was silent, waiting to see if Drawtood would volunteer anything further. A great length of time passed in silence, save for the whispering breeze. At last, Drawtood did speak again. "Why don’t you go, now?"

"I know about Haldan. And Yabool."

"Their deaths have upset us all, I’m sure."

"I know that you killed them, Drawtood."

"You’re distraught, Afsan." The voice had risen slightly in pitch. "Please, let me take you back to your home."

"You killed them."

Claw-ticks across the bare part of the floor.

"I wouldn’t try to leave if I were you," said Afsan. "Pal-Cadool and five imperial guards are waiting outside your front door."

Claw-ticks going in the opposite direction. "And other guards are waiting outside your windows, of course." Afsan said it calmly, as if an offhand comment about the weather.

"Let me leave."

"No. You have to talk to me."

"I — I don’t want to."

"You have no choice. Why did you kill them?"

"I admit nothing."

"I am blind, Drawtood. My testimony would never stand. Admitting it to me is no confession, for I could never assert that your muzzle didn’t change color when you said it." Afsan paused to let that sink in. Then: "Tell me why you killed them."

"I didn’t kill them."

"We both know that you did. A scientist should never make assumptions, Drawtood. I did — I assumed none of my children could be responsible. I was wrong."

"Wrong," repeated Drawtood softly.

"You killed your sister Haldan and your brother Yabool."

"You don’t know what it’s like to have siblings," said Drawtood.

"No, I don’t," said Afsan. "Tell me."

"It’s like having to face yourself every day. Except it’s not you. It’s someone who looks like you and thinks like you, but not exactly like you."

Afsan nodded in the darkness. "Broken mirrors. Of course. I understand the choice of implement now."

"Implement?"

"The device used for the murders."

"I did not commit the murders, Afsan."

"I can’t see your muzzle, Drawtood, but others will ask you that same question, and they will be able to see it. Do you wish to lie to me?"

"I did not…"

"Do you wish to lie to your father?"

Drawtood was silent for a time, and when he spoke again his voice was very small. "Only one of us children should have lived, anyway."

"Is that what you believe?"

"I didn’t do anything wrong," said Drawtood.

"Didn’t you?" said Afsan.

"I — I was just putting things back the way they should have been."

"It’s not for any of us to say who should live and who should die. The bloodpriests alone may choose that."

"But they made a mistake. They let your eight offspring live because they thought you were The One, the hunter foretold by Lubal. But you aren’t."

"No, I’m not."

"So don’t you see?" There was a note of pleading in the voice now. "They made a mistake. I was just putting things right."

"Would you have killed all of them, then?"

"It had to be done. Brothers and sisters — they’re demons. Shades of yourself, but twisted, mocking."

"And you would have been the only one left alive?"

"If they hadn’t gotten me first."

"Pardon?"

"They were thinking the same thing. I know they were. Dynax and Galpook, Kelboon and Toroca, Haldan and Yabool. They were all thinking the same thing. If it wasn’t me doing the killing it would have been one of them."

"No, it wouldn’t."

"You don’t know, Afsan. You don’t have brothers or sisters. But look at Dybo! Look at how his sibling turned on him. It preys on your mind, knowing there’s someone out there who is you, but not quite, who thinks like you, whom people mistake for you."

"Did any of them make an attempt on your life? Threaten you in any way?"

"Of course not. But I could tell what they were thinking. I could see it in their faces. They wanted me dead. Self-defense! It was just self-defense."

"So you would have left yourself the only one alive."

"No. Maybe. I don’t know. Toroca, maybe. Maybe I would have let him be the one. He was always kind to me. Maybe I’d have killed the other five, then taken my own life." He was quiet for several beats. "Maybe."

"You’ve committed a crime," said Afsan. "What do we do now?"

"It was not a crime."

"You must receive justice."

"You, of all people, shouldn’t believe in justice. You were blinded by imperial order! Was that justice?"

Afsan’s turn to be silent for a time. "No."

"I won’t submit to them."

"You must. You must come with me."

"You can’t stop me."

A hard edge came into Afsan’s tone. "Yes, I can, Drawtood. If need be. You are alive because sixteen kilodays ago, they mistook me for The One. I was the greatest hunter of modern times. You can’t get past me."

"You are blind."

"I hear your breathing, Drawtood. I can smell you. I know exactly where you are standing, exactly what you are doing. You don’t have a chance against me here in the dark."

"You’re blind…"

"Not a chance."

Silence, save for the wind.

"I don’t want to hurt you, Afsan."

"You have hurt me already. You’ve killed two of my children."

"They had to die."

"And now you must face the consequences of your actions."

Another lengthy quiet. "What will they do to me?"

"There are no laws governing murder, and so no modern penalties are prescribed. But there were penalties in ancient times for taking another’s life outside of dagamant." A pause. "I will urge compassion," Afsan said at last.