Prelude to Foundation (41 page)

“Almost everyone, Mistress Venabili,” said Tisalver. “It’s customary. But that doesn’t mean everyone uses them.”

“But they use them in Billibotton, I suppose,” said Dors.

“Sometimes. When they’re excited, they have fights.”

“And the government permits it? The Imperial government, I mean?”

“Sometimes they try to clean Billibotton up, but knives are too easy to hide and the custom is too strong. Besides, it’s almost always Dahlites that get killed and I don’t think the Imperial government gets too upset over that.”

“What if it’s an outsider who gets killed?”

“If it’s reported, the Imperials could get excited. But what happens is that no one has seen anything and no one knows anything. The Imperials sometimes round up people on general principles, but they can never prove anything. I suppose they decide it’s the outsiders’ fault for being there. —So don’t go to Billibotton, even if you have a knife.”

Seldon shook his head rather pettishly. “I wouldn’t carry a knife. I don’t know how to use one. Not skillfully.”

“Then it’s simple, Master Seldon. Stay out.” Tisalver shook his head portentously. “Just stay out.”

“I may not be able to do that either,” said Seldon.

Dors glared at him, clearly annoyed, and said to Tisalver, “Where does one buy a knife? Or may we have one of yours?”

Casilia said quickly, “No one takes someone else’s knife. You must buy your own.”

Tisalver said, “There are knife stores all over. There aren’t supposed to be. Theoretically they’re illegal, you know. Any appliance store sells them, however. If you see a washing machine on display, that’s a sure sign.”

“And how does one get to Billibotton?” asked Seldon.

“By Expressway.” Tisalver looked dubious as he looked at Dors’s frowning expression.

Seldon said, “And once I reach the Expressway?”

“Get on the eastbound side and watch for the signs. But if you must go, Master Seldon”—Tisalver hesitated,
then said—“you mustn’t take Mistress Venabili. Women sometimes are treated … worse.”

“She won’t go,” said Seldon.

“I’m afraid she will,” said Dors with quiet determination.

The appliance store dealer’s mustache was clearly as lush as it had been in his younger days, but it was grizzled now, even though the hair on his head was still black. He touched the mustache out of sheer habit as he gazed at Dors and brushed it back on each side.

He said, “You’re not a Dahlite.”

“Yes, but I still want a knife.”

He said, “It’s against the law to sell knives.”

Dors said, “I’m not a policewoman or a government agent of any sort. I’m going to Billibotton.”

He stared at her thoughtfully. “Alone?”

“With my friend.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of Seldon, who was waiting outside sullenly.

“You’re buying it for him?” He stared at Seldon and it didn’t take him long to decide. “He’s an outsider too. Let him come in and buy it for himself.”

“He’s not a government agent either. And I’m buying it for myself.”

The dealer shook his head. “Outsiders are crazy.
But
if you want to spend some credits, I’ll take them from you.” He reached under the counter, brought out a stub, turned it with a slight and expert motion, and the knife blade emerged.

“Is that the largest you have?”

“Best woman’s knife made.”

“Show me a man’s knife.”

“You don’t want one that’s too heavy. Do you know how to use one of these things?”

“I’ll learn and I’m not worried about heavy. Show me a man’s knife.”

The dealer smiled. “Well, if you want to see one—” He moved farther down the counter and brought up a much fatter stub. He gave it a twist and what appeared to be a butcher’s knife emerged.

He handed it to her, handle first, still smiling.

She said, “Show me that twist of yours.”

He showed her on a second knife, slowly twisting one way to make the blade appear, then the other way to make it disappear. “Twist
and
squeeze,” he said.

“Do it again, sir.”

The dealer obliged.

Dors said, “All right, close it and toss me the haft.”

He did, in a slow upward loop.

She caught it, handed it back, and said, “Faster.”

He raised his eyebrows and then, without warning, backhanded it to her left side. She made no attempt to bring over her right hand, but caught it with her left and the blade showed tumescently at once—then disappeared. The dealer’s mouth fell open.

“And this is the largest you have?” she said.

“It is. If you try to use it, it will just tire you out.”

“I’ll breathe deeply. I’ll take a second one too.”

“For your friend?”

“No. For me.”

“You plan on using
two
knives?”

“I’ve got two hands.”

The dealer sighed. “Mistress,
please
stay out of Billibotton. You don’t know what they do to women there.”

“I can guess. How do I put these knives on my belt?”

“Not the one you’ve got on, Mistress. That’s not a knife belt. I can sell you one, though.”

“Will it hold two knives?”

“I might have a double belt somewhere. Not much call for them.”

“I’m calling for them.”

“I may not have it in your size.”

“Then we’ll cut it down or something.”

“It will cost you a lot of credits.”

“My credit tile will cover it.”

When she emerged at last, Seldon said sourly, “You look ridiculous with that bulky belt.”

“Really, Hari? Too ridiculous to go with you to Billibotton? Then let’s both go back to the apartment.”

“No. I’ll go on by myself. I’ll be safer by myself.”

Dors said, “There is no use saying that, Hari. We both go back or we both go forward. Under no circumstances do we separate.”

And somehow the firm look in her blue eyes, the set to her lips, and the manner in which her hands had dropped to the hafts at her belt, convinced Seldon she was serious.

“Very well,” he said, “but if you survive and if I ever see Hummin again, my price for continuing to work on psychohistory—much as I have grown fond of you—will be your removal. Do you understand?”

And suddenly Dors smiled. “Forget it. Don’t practice your chivalry on me.
Nothing
will remove me. Do
you
understand?”

They got off the Expressway where the sign, flickering in the air, said:
BILLIBOTTON
. As perhaps an indication of what might be expected, the second I was smeared, a mere blob of fainter light.

They made their way out of the car and down to the walkway below. It was early afternoon and at first
glance, Billibotton seemed much like the part of Dahl they had left.

The air, however, had a pungent aroma and the walkway was littered with trash. One could tell that auto-sweeps were not to be found in the neighborhood.

And, although the walkway looked ordinary enough, the atmosphere was uncomfortable and as tense as a too-tightly coiled spring.

Perhaps it was the people. There seemed the normal number of pedestrians, but they were not like pedestrians elsewhere, Seldon thought. Ordinarily, in the press of business, pedestrians were self-absorbed and in the endless crowds on the endless thoroughfares of Trantor, people could only survive—psychologically—by ignoring each other. Eyes slid away. Brains were closed off. There was an artificial privacy with each person enclosed in a velvet fog of his or her own making. Or there was the ritualistic friendliness of an evening promenade in those neighborhoods that indulged in such things.

But here in Billibotton, there was neither friendliness nor neutral withdrawal. At least not where outsiders were concerned. Every person who passed, moving in either direction, turned to stare at Seldon and Dors. Every pair of eyes, as though attached by invisible cords to the two outsiders, followed them with ill will.

The clothing of the Billibottoners tended to be smudged, old, and sometimes torn. There was a patina of ill-washed poverty over them and Seldon felt uneasy at the slickness of his own new clothes.

He said, “Where in Billibotton does Mother Rittah live, do you suppose?”

“I don’t know,” said Dors. “You brought us here, so you do the supposing. I intend to confine myself to the task of protection and I think I’m going to find it necessary to do just that.”

Seldon said, “I assumed it would only be necessary
to ask the way of any passerby, but somehow I’m not encouraged to do so.”

“I don’t blame you. I don’t think you’ll find anyone springing to your assistance.”

“On the other hand, there are such things as youngsters.” He indicated one with a brief gesture of one hand. A boy who looked to be about twelve—in any case young enough to lack the universal adult male mustache—had come to a full halt and was staring at them.

Dors said, “You’re guessing that a boy that age has not yet developed the full Billibottonian dislike of outsiders.”

“At any rate,” said Seldon, “I’m guessing he is scarcely large enough to have developed the full Billibottonian penchant for violence. I suppose he might run away and shout insults from a distance if we approach him, but I doubt he’ll attack us.”

Seldon raised his voice. “Young man.”

The boy took a step backward and continued to stare.

Seldon said, “Come here,” and beckoned.

The boy said, “Wa’ for, guy?”

“So I can ask you directions. Come closer, so I don’t have to shout.”

The boy approached two steps closer. His face was smudged, but his eyes were bright and sharp. His sandals were of different make and there was a large patch on one leg of his trousers. He said, “Wa’ kind o’ directions?”

“We’re trying to find Mother Rittah.”

The boy’s eyes flickered. “Wa’ for, guy?”

“I’m a scholar. Do you know what a scholar is?”

“Ya went to school?”

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

The boy spat to one side in contempt. “Nah.”

“I want advice from Mother Rittah—if you’ll take me to her.”

“Ya want your fortune? Ya come to Billibotton, guy,
with your fancy clothes, so
I
can tell ya your fortune. All bad.”

“What’s your name, young man?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“So we can speak in a more friendly fashion. And so you can take me to Mother Rittah’s place. Do you know where she lives?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. My name’s Raych. What’s in it for me if I take ya?”

“What would you like, Raych?”

The boy’s eyes halted at Dors’s belt. Raych said, “The lady got a couple o’ knives. Gimme one and I’ll take ya to Mother Rittah.”

“Those are grown people’s knives, Raych. You’re too young.”

“Then I guess I’m too young to know where Mother Rittah lives.” And he looked up slyly through the shaggy hair that curtained his eyes.

Seldon grew uneasy. It was possible they might attract a crowd. Several men had stopped already, but had then moved on when nothing of interest seemed to be taking place. If, however, the boy grew angry and lashed out at them in word or deed, people would undoubtedly gather.

He smiled and said, “Can you read, Raych?”

Raych spat again. “Nah! Who wants ta read?”

“Can you use a computer?”

“A talking computer? Sure. Anyone can.”

“I’ll tell you what, then. You take me to the nearest computer store and I’ll buy you a little computer all your own and software that will teach you to read. A few weeks and you’ll be able to read.”

It seemed to Seldon that the boy’s eyes sparkled at the thought, but—if so—they hardened at once. “Nah. Knife or nothin’.”

“That’s the point, Raych. You learn to read and don’t tell anyone and you can surprise people. After a while you can bet them you can read. Bet them five
credits. You can win a few extra credits that way and you can buy a knife of your own.”

The boy hesitated. “Nah! No one will bet me. No one got credits.”

“If you can read, you can get a job in a knife store and you can save your wages and get a knife at a discount. How about that?”

“When ya gonna buy the talking computer?”

“Right now. I’ll give it to you when I see Mother Rittah.”

“You got credits?”

“I have a credit tile.”

“Let’s see ya buy the computer.”

The transaction was carried through, but when the boy reached for it, Seldon shook his head and put it inside his pouch. “You’ve got to get me to Mother Rittah first, Raych. Are you sure you know where to find her?”

Raych allowed a look of contempt to cross his face. “Sure I do. I’ll take ya there, only ya better hand over the computer when we get there or I’ll get some guys I know after you and the lady, so ya better watch out.”

“You don’t have to threaten us,” said Seldon. “We’ll take care of our end of the deal.”

Raych led them quickly along the walkway, past curious stares.

Seldon was silent during the walk and so was Dors. Dors was far less lost in her own thoughts, though, for she clearly remained conscious of the surrounding people at all times. She kept meeting, with a level glare, the eyes of those passersby that turned toward them. On occasion, when there were footsteps behind them, she turned to look grimly back.

And then Raych stopped and said, “In here. She ain’t homeless, ya know.”

They followed him into an apartment complex and Seldon, who had had the intention of following their route with a view to retracing his steps later, was quickly lost.

He said, “How do you know your way through these alleys, Raych?”

The boy shrugged. “I been loafin’ through them since I was a kid,” he said. “Besides, the apartments are numbered—where they ain’t broken off—and there’s arrows and things. You can’t get lost if you know the tricks.”

Raych knew the tricks, apparently, and they wandered deeper into the complex. Hanging over it all was an air of total decay: disregarded debris, inhabitants slinking past in clear resentment of the outsiders’ invasion. Unruly youngsters ran along the alleys in pursuit of some game or other. Some of them yelled, “Hey, get out o’ the way!” when their levitating ball narrowly missed Dors.