“Halgrapuk,” Aglabec repeated, his voice and attitude abruptly chill. “Now, that is a city I have little truck with. To my vast regret, the traitor Imblot, whom some of you may remember, who rebelled against me on the grounds that I was a ‘mere male,’ has established a certain following there. It would not in the least surprise me if by now she had persuaded a clawful of ignorant dupes that there is no need to fast, or cultivate the welcome assistance of a moldy mantle, in order to attain the knowledge state. But, as you know very well, it is granted only to a dedicated few to learn that mind is all and matter is nothing. It is dependence on the material world which blinds us to this central truth. Our luxury homes, our modern transport and communications, our telescopes and our recordimals and everything we prize in the ordinary way—those are the very obstacles that stand between us and enlightenment. If they did not, why, then there would be enough mental force in this very bower to put a stop to what the so-called scientists are doing!”
He hunched forward. “Who are you, girl? By what right do you claim to have been stardazzled?”
Terrified, Chybee could do nothing but concentrate on masking her reactions. With a puzzled glance at her, Cometaster said, “Her name is Chybee and her parents are Whelwet and Yaygomitch. At least that’s what she told us.”
“You’re a long way from enlightenment, then, you three, despite having dared to take new names!” Aglabec quit the crotch he had been resting in and erupted to full height. “I hereby decree you shall renounce them! Revert to what you were called before! It will be a fit punishment for your indescribable stupidity!”
Cringing in dismay, the trio huddled together as though their dream-leader’s wrath were a physical storm.
“But—but what have we done that’s so bad?” whimpered Startoucher-that-was.
“You brought among us, right here into my presence, a follower and a budling of followers of Imblot! You took her story at mantle value, didn’t you? You forgot that I have many enemies, who will stop at nothing to ruin my work!” Aglabec checked suddenly, leaning towards the petrified Chybee.
“I thought so,” he said at last. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You were at Ugant’s, at the pointless so-called debate she organized. Very well! Since you’ve chosen to come here, we shall find out why before we let you go. It may take some tune, but we’ll pry the truth out of you whether you like it or not!”
VIII
Being in so much better health, Chybee might have fought free of any two, or even three, of Aglabec’s adorers. But, as he himself watched with a cynical air, everyone else in the bower either seized hold of her or moved to block the only way of escape. A tight grasp muffled her intended cry for help … though, in this quarter of Slah, who would have paid attention, let alone come to her rescue?
Half-stifled, wholly terrified, she felt herself being enclosed in some kind of lightproof bag that shut the world away. Still she resisted, but within moments she discovered that it was also airtight, and she must breathe her own exudations. Just enough power of reason remained to warn her that if she went on struggling she would lose consciousness at once, and the sole service she could do herself was to try and work out what her captors intended. She let her body go limp, hoarding the sour-gas in her tubules.
“What shall we do with her?” demanded a voice much like ex-Startoucher’s; perhaps it was his, and he was eager to curry new favor with his dream-leader.
“There’s a place I know,” replied Aglabec curtly. “Just follow me.”
And Chybee was hoisted up unkindly by three or four bearers and carried bodily away.
If only odors as well as sounds could have penetrated the bag! Then she might have stood some chance of working out where she was being taken. As it was, she had to rely on fragmentary clues: there, the moan of an overloaded draftimal; there, the chant of someone selling rhygote spice; there again, the boastful chatter of a gang of young’uns…