The River Wall by Randall Garrett

alarm, but he answered calmly. “Yeah, he wanted Zaddorn in that spot. I remember thinking—” He frowned.
    “What’s the matter?” I asked.
    “I just put some things together for the first time, that’s all. When I heard Zaddorn was going to be Chief, I remember thinking he was being repaid for past favors.”
    “And?” I prompted.
    “The day Ferrathyn tried to make me do something to our records, I was just filling in. The regular clerk, who was out that day, was Zaddorn.”
    “Are you saying that Zaddorn
did
whatever Ferrathyn had wanted you to do?” I demanded. “That he owes his position as Chief to that one thing?”
    Could Zaddorn be so easily controlled?
I thought.
No,I won’t believe it. Ferrathyn was clumsy enough to try to control Ligor; he might have installed Zaddorn on the assumption that the younger man would be easier to manipulate.
    He might have been surprised, too—and finally wise enough to stick with that mistake instead of trying out a new one.
    Ligor slammed his bowl down on the table, chipping its bottom yet again on the sharp, uneven marble mosaic.
    “Fleas, man,” he said. “I’m saying that whole incident is like an itch I can’t scratch. I’ve been worrying at it for ten years or more, now. I didn’t know half of what I just told you, right after it happened. I’ve been digging it out, little by little—but the final piece still will not come. What
was
it Ferrathyn wanted me to do?”
    His eyes narrowed. “And when are you gonna tell me what this is all about?”
    “As soon as you tell me why you quit your job,” I said.
    “I quit because I couldn’t get anything done,” he said. “Everything I did was criticized by Ferrathyn before the Council. They supported me—I suppose they knew how little we liked each other—but I expect they were relieved when I submitted my resignation.
    “Now,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “its your turn.”
    “This story, too, starts outside of Raithskar. In fact,” I said, and took a deep breath, “it begins half a lifetime ago, in Eddarta …”
    By the time I had finished telling Ligor the truth about the Ra’ira, Ligor was on his feet, pacing and angry.
    “All right,” he said, “all right. I don’t wanna seem unconcerned about the state of things in Raithskar now—to tell you the truth, it’s gonna take me a little while to absorb that—but I wanna know what this means to that fleabitten itch. Are you saying that Ferrathyn used his mindpower on me?”
    “Twice,” I agreed. “Once to try to make you
do
—whatever it was. Again to make you
forget
—whatever it was.”
    “Why didn’t I do it?” he asked me.
    “How can you be sure you
didn’t
do it?”
    Ligor said, “Now, just a minute—” He stopped, staring at me. He started to pace the tiny room again, muttering to himself. After a while, he sank back down on the bench beside the table.
    “I guess,” he said with a sigh, “there’s no way to believe only half of this. You’re right, son—if he could make me forget, he could make me believe anything. I’m fleabitten, though, if I can figure any reason for him to do it that way.”
    “I have the same question,” I said. “I don’t think I have it clear about the timing. Was Ferrathyn already a Supervisor when this happened?”
    “No, but he was already well known to the Supervisors. Even before I arrived in Raithskar, Ferrathyn had volunteered for service to the Council. By the time that—thing—happened, he was kind of a general assistant. He worked in the Council building, and everything. Most folks gave him what he wanted just because he generally represented the wishes of the Council.”
    I rubbed my headfur, remembering Zaddorn’s scroll-laden desk. “What kinds of records does your office keep?”
    Ligor shrugged. “Work histories of the officers, details of anything we get involved in—”
    “What is it?” I asked when he paused. “Have you remembered