Matt Hughes

Half the miseries of humankind’s history have originated in those who think they see in the fellow next to them virtues and vices that exist only in the mind of the beholder.

When the Wheel turns, much that is impossible in the old phase becomes commonplace in the new.

“Are you familiar with Wallader’s theory that every society is fundamentally organized around one or another of the cardinal sins?”

“I believe not,” I said.

“He argues that the true seed of every culture, whatever the ideals to which it gives lip service, always turns out to be one of the seven mortal iniquities identified by the ancients: pride, greed, and anger are the most common; lust, gluttony, and envy less so; those based on sloth usually do not last.”

“I do not wish to experience that again.”

“Some people claim that the occasional exposure to fear enhances their enjoyment of more tranquil circumstances.”

“Some people ought to be confined for their own good,” my assistant said, “and to prevent them from spreading dangerous inanities.”

The insane had a tendency to cloak others in the strange garments they found hanging in the backs of their own mental wardrobes. So, for that matter, did the rest of us, but the consequences of error were usually less drastic.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he answered.

“No. It is so far from obvious that it has gone right through obscure, breezed past unfathomable and is now completely beyond the reach of my vocabulary.”

I realized that Chumblot’s brief had told only the official story which, as in many sophisticated societies, departed starkly from the practical facts.

But in this age, logic was a flame that must be frequently starved of fuel.

“I have a plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“A daring and bold one,” he said.

“Is that wise?”

“It has to be that kind of plan. It’s that kind of cosmos.”

A lifelong habit of being right also had the effect of diminishing one’s social appeal, especially among those who prefer to keep the bubble of their various illusions a safe distance from a needle-sharp and probing intelligence.

“He began to dream the dreams that always seduce a tyrant: powers beyond powers, worlds at his feet, whole realms bowing to his whims.”

“And the dreams occluded his faculties,” I said. “It was ever thus, we may be thankful, else tyrants would never fall.”

She could be—he hoped would be—what he had always lacked: a center to the map of his life, that one, necessary fixed point from which he could navigate out into the world and by which he could always find his way back home again.