As quickly as it came, the vision was gone.

"Are you all right?" asked the nearest guard.

"Now I am," said Motiak. He strode away, climbing the stairs up into the living quarters of the house.

He had never seen any vision of Akmaro before, but he knew that the man he had glimpsed for that one moment was him. Surely he had been shown that face because the Keeper meant Akmaro to be the friend that Motiak had pleaded for. And if Akmaro was to be his friend, the Keeper must plan to bring him to Darakemba.

On the way to his bedroom, he passed Dudagu's room. Normally she would still be asleep at this early hour of the morning, but she came to the door as he walked by. "Where were you all night, Tidaka?"

"Working," he answered. "Don't let them waken me until noon."

"What, am I supposed to look for all your servants and tell them what your schedule is? How have I offended you, that you suddenly treat me like a common. ..."

Her voice faded out as he drew the curtain across the door to his inner chamber. "Send me a friend and counselor, Keeper," whispered Motiak. "If I am a worthy servant of yours, send Akmaro to me now."

Motiak slept almost as soon as he lay down, slept and did not dream.

As they walked to the sleeping quarters of the king's house, Mon and Edhadeya talked. Or rather, at first Mon talked.

"The Index did the translating, right? Father only spoke whatever appeared before him. Bego only wrote whatever Father said. So who is the machine?"

Sleepily Edhadeya murmured, "The Index is the machine."

"So we're told. And before tonight, Bego worked and puzzled and guessed about the language of the twenty-four leaves. Then he tested his answers with me as if against the multiplication table. Is this right, Mon? Yes or no, Mon? One answer or the other was all I could give. I barely even had to understand. Yes. No. Yes. Who is the machine?"

"A machine that talks nonsense instead of letting you sleep," said Edhadeya. "Everyone will want one."

But Mon wasn't listening to her. He was already off in another direction. He knew he was desperately unhappy about something that happened tonight; if he tried enough guesses as to what it was, one of them was bound to be right. "Dedaya, do you really want your dreams? The true ones? Don't you wish they didn't come to you?"

In spite of herself, Edhadeya awakened to this question; it had never occurred to her to question her gift. "If I hadn't dreamed, Mon, we wouldn't know what was in the book."

"We still don't know. We slept through most of it." Fully alert now, Edhadeya continued. "And I don't wish the dream had come to someone else. I wanted it-I was glad of it. It makes me part of something important."

"Part of something? A piece of something? I want to be whole. Myself. Not part of anything but me."

"That's so stupid, Mon. You've spent your whole life wanting to be someone else. Now suddenly you want to be you?"

"I wish I were better than I am, yes. I wish I could fly, yes." Edhadeya was used to this. Boys always argued as if they knew they had the forces of logic on their side, even when they were being completely irrational. Even when their "logic" defied the evidence. "You wish you could be part of the games, the air dances of the young angels. Part of them. And part of the evening song. You can't very well do any of that by yourself."

"That's different," said Mon.

Oh, yes, let's redefine our terms to eliminate the contradiction. It drove Edhadeya crazy, because after discussions like this, the boys would turn around and talk about how girls weren't reasonable, they were emotional, so you couldn't even have an intelligent discussion with them-but it was the boys who fled from the evidence and constantly shifted their arguments to fit what they wanted to believe. And it was Edhadeya who was ruthlessly realistic, refusing to deny her own feelings or the facts she observed around her. And refusing to deny that she reached her conclusions first, because of her inmost desires, and only afterward constructed the arguments to support them. Only boys were so foolish that they actually believed that their arguments were their reasons.

But there was no use explaining any of this to Mon. Edhadeya was tired. She didn't need to turn this into a lengthy argument about arguments. So she answered him in the simplest possible way. "No it's not," she said.

Mon took this as license to ignore her, of course. "I don't want to be part of the Keeper, that's what I don't want to be part of. Who knows or cares what he's planning? I don't want to be part of his plans."

"We all are," said Edhadeya. "So isn't it better to be an important part?"

"His favorite puppet?" asked Mon scornfully.

"Her willing friend."

"If he's a friend, let's see his face once in a while, all right? Let's see him come for a visit!"

Edhadeya decided it was time to inject a little reality into the discussion. "I know what you're really angry about."

"I should hope so, since I just told you."

"You're angry because you want to be the one in charge, making all the plans."

She could see by the momentary startlement in his eyes that she had hit upon a truth that he had never thought of. But of course he resisted the idea. "Half right, maybe," he said. "I want to be making all the plans for me."

"And you never want to have another person act out just the teen-siest little thing you plan for them to do?"

"That's right. I ask nothing of anyone, and I don't want anyone to make demands on me. That would be true happiness."

Edhadeya was tired, and Mon was being unusually silly. "Mon, you can't go five minutes without telling me what to do."

Mon was outraged. "I haven't told you a single thing to do this whole conversation!"

"You've been doing nothing but telling me what to think."

"I've been telling you what I think."

"Oh, and you weren't trying to make me agree?"

Of course he was, and he knew it, and his whole claim not to want to control anyone else was in tatters, but Mon could never admit it. Edhadeya was always amused, watching that panic in her brothers' eyes when they were trapped and desperately searching for a way out of their own illogic. "I was trying," said Mon, "to get you to under-Hand."

"So you were trying to get me to do something!"

"No I wasn't! I don't care what you do or think or understand or anything!"

"Then why are you talking to me at all?" she asked with her sweetest smile.

"I was saying it to myself! You just happened to be here!"

Getting even calmer and quieter as he got more upset, Edhadeya gently answered, "If you don't want to control what I think, why did you raise your voice? Why did you argue with me at all?"

At last Mon had nowhere left to retreat. He was honest; when he couldn't hide from the truth any longer, he faced it. That's why he was Edhadeya's favorite brother. That and the fact that Aronha was always too busy and the others were way too young.

"I hate you!" Mon cried. "You're just trying to rule over me and make me crazy!"

She couldn't resist teasing him, though. "How could I rule over a free boy like you?"

"Go away and leave me alone!"

"Oh, the puppetmaster has spoken." She began to walk away from him, walking stiffly, not moving her arms. "Now the puppet moves, obeying. What is Mon's plan for his puppet? He wants her to go away."

"I really hate you," said Mon. But she could tell he was having a hard time keeping himself from laughing.

She turned and faced him, not teasing him now. "Only because I insist on being my own woman and not thinking all the thoughts you plan for me. The Keeper sends me better dreams than you do. Good night, dear brother!"