“We go to the morasoraver.”

“Where?”

The man, strangely reluctant, and turning away while he said it, repeated the new word over and over again until Chimal could repeat it — although he still did not know its meaning.

“We go to the Master Observer,” the man said again, and turned away as though starting down the tunnel. “You come with us.”

“Why should I?” Chimal said belligerently. He was tired, hungry and thirsty, and annoyed at these things that he did not understand. “Who are you? What is this place? Answer me.” The man just shook his head hopelessly and made little beckoning gestures.

The first girl, her eyes red and her face stained with tears, stepped forward. “Come with us to the Master Observer,” she said.

“Answer my questions.”

She looked around at the others before answering. “He will answer your questions.”

“The Master Observer is a man? Why didn’t you tell me that in the beginning?” They did not answer; it was hopeless. He might as well go with them, nothing could be gained by staying here. They must eat and drink and perhaps he would find some of that along the way as well. “I’ll come,” he said, starting forward.

They moved quickly away in front of him, leading the way. None of them thought to go behind him. The tunnel came to a branching, then to another, passing many doorways, and soon he was completely confused as to direction. They went down wide stairways, very much like the steps of the pyramid, that led to more caverns below. Some of them were large and contained devices of metal that were incomprehensible. None of them appeared to contain food or water so he did not stop. He was very tired. It seemed a long time before they entered an even higher cavern and faced a man, an older man, who was dressed just like the others except that his coverings were colored a deep red. He must be a leader or a chief, Chimal thought, or even a priest.

“If you are the Master Observer I want you to answer my questions…”

The man looked past Chimal, through him, as though he didn’t exist, and spoke to the others. “Where did you find him?”

The girl gave one of those incomprehensible answers that Chimal was beginning to expect by this time. Impatiently, he looked about the chamber at the twisted and brooding, infinitely strange objects. There was a small table against one wall with some unidentifiable things on it, one of which might very well have been a cup. Chimal went to look and saw that one of the containers held a transparent liquid that could be water. He suspected everything in this world now, so he dipped his fingertip into it and tasted it carefully. Water, nothing else. Raising the container to his mouth he drained over half of it at once. It was flat and tasteless, like rain water, but it slaked his thirst well. When he poked at some gray wafers they crumbled to his touch. Chimal picked one up and held it out to the man who was standing close by.

“Is this food?” he asked. The man turned his head away and tried to edge back into the crowd: Chimal took him by the arm and spun him about. “Well, is it? Tell me.” Frightened the man nodded a reluctant agreement, then moved swiftly away as soon as he was released. Chimal poked the broken knife into the waistband of his maxtli and began to eat. It was poor stuff, with no more flavor than ashes, but it filled the stomach.

When he had taken the edge from his hunger, Chimal’s attention was drawn back to the affairs in progress. The girl had finished talking and the red-garbed Master Observer was considering her report. He paced before them, hands clasped behind his back and lips pursed with thought: the room was silent while they waited patiently for a decision. The worried lines about his eyes and the wrinkles into which his frowning mouth was permanently set showed that responsibility and decision-making were his accepted duties. Chimal, washing down the food with the remaining water, did not try to interfere again. All of their actions had an air of madness about them, or one of the games children play where they make believe someone isn’t there.

“My decision is this,” the Master Observer said, turning, to face them, his motions heavy with the weight of responsibility. “You have heard the report of Watchman Steel. You know where—” his glance flicked toward Chimal for the first tune, then quickly away, ” — he was found. Therefore it is my statement that he is from the valley.” Some of the audience turned to look at Chimal now, as though this placing had given him a physical existence he had not had before. Tired and sated, Chimal leaned against the wall and pried some of the food from behind his teeth with his tongue and swallowed it.

“Now follow closely my thoughts because they are of the loungst importance. This man is of the valley yet he can not return to the valley. I will tell you why. It is written in the klefg vebret that the people of the valley, the derrers, shall not know of the Watchers. That is ordained. This one will not then go back to the valley.

“Now listen closely again. He is here, but he is not a Watcher. Only Watchers are permitted here. Can anyone tell me what this means?”

There was a long silence, broken finally by a weak voice which said, “He cannot be here and he cannot be in the valley too.”

“Correct,” the Master Observer said, with a stately nod.

“Then tell us, please, where can he be?”

“That is the question you must ask yourselves, and search your hearts for the answer. A man who cannot be in the valley or cannot be here, then cannot be. That is the truth of it. A man cannot be therefore is not, and a man who is not is therefore dead.”

This last word was clear enough, and Chimal had the knife in his hand and his back to the wall in an instant. The others were much slower in understanding, and long seconds passed before someone said, “But he is not dead, he is alive.”

The Master Observer nodded and called the speaker from the crowd, a bent man with an old and lined face. “You have spoken correctly, Watchman Strong, and since you see so clearly you will solve the problem for us and arrange that he will be dead.” Then he issued completely incomprehensible instructions to the man, turning back to the others as the watchman left.

“Our tikw is to guard and protect life, that is why we are watchmen. But in his wisdom the Great Designer…” when he said this he touched the fingers of his right hand to the small box that hung about his neck and there was a quick flurry of motion as the others did the same, ” — did provide for all wbwmrieio and there is close by that which we need.”

As he finished speaking the elderly watchman returned with a piece of metal the size and shape of a large log of firewood. It fell heavily to the floor when he put it down, and the watchers stepped aside to make room for it Chimal could see that it had a handle of some kind on one end, with large letters beneath it. He tilted his head to see if he could read them. T…U…R…N… Turn. They were the same kind of letters he knew from the temple school.

“Turn,” the watchman said, reading aloud. “Do that, Watchman Strong,” the Master Observer ordered.

The man obeyed, twisting on the handle until a loud hissing began. As soon as the noise stopped the end came off in his hand and Chimal could see that the object was not solid, but was a metal tube. The watchman reached in and pulled out something shaped like a long stick with bumps and projections on it. A piece of paper fell to the floor as he did this and he looked at it, then handed it to the Master Observer.

“PUIKLING STRUSUN,” he read aloud. “This is for killing. The part with the letter A on it is held in the left hand.” He, and everyone else, looked at Watchman Strong as he turned the device over and over in his hands.

“There are many letters in metal,” he said. “Here is a C, here a G…”