Foundation and Empire - Isaac Asimov [99]
Toran said tightly, “You killed Ebling Mis because you believed him to be the focus of infection?” Something in her eyes struck him. He whispered, “He was the Mule?” He did not—could not—believe the implications of his own words.
Bayta laughed sharply, “Poor Ebling the Mule? Galaxy, no! I couldn’t have killed him if he were the Mule. He would have detected the emotion accompanying the move and changed it for me to love, devotion, adoration, terror, whatever he pleased. No, I killed Ebling because he was not the Mule. I killed him because he knew where the Second Foundation was, and in two seconds would have told the Mule the secret.”
“Would have told the Mule the secret,” Toran repeated stupidly. “Told the Mule—”
And then he emitted a sharp cry, and turned to stare in horror at the clown, who might have been crouching unconscious there for the apparent understanding he had of what he heard.
“Not Magnifico?” Toran whispered the question.
“Listen!” said Bayta. “Do you remember what happened on Neotrantor? Oh, think for yourself, Torie—”
But he shook his head and mumbled at her.
She went on, wearily, “A man died on Neotrantor. A man died with no one touching him. Isn’t that true? Magnifico played on his Visi-Sonor and when he was finished, the crown prince was dead. Now isn’t that strange? Isn’t it queer that a creature afraid of everything, apparently helpless with terror, has the capacity to kill at will.”
“The music and the light-effects,” said Toran, “have a profound emotional effect—”
“Yes, an emotional effect. A pretty big one. Emotional effects happen to be the Mule’s specialty. That, I suppose, can be considered a coincidence. And a creature who can kill by suggestion is so full of fright. Well, the Mule tampered with his mind, supposedly, so that can be explained. But, Toran, I caught a little of that Visi-Sonor selection that killed the crown prince. Just a little—but it was enough to give me that same feeling of despair I had in the Time Vault and on Haven. Toran, I can’t mistake that particular feeling.”
Toran’s face was darkening. “I . . . felt it, too. I forgot. I never thought—”
“It was then that it first occurred to me. It was just a vague feeling—intuition, if you like. I had nothing to go on. And then Pritcher told us of the Mule and his mutation, and it was clear in a moment. It was the Mule who had created the despair in the Time Vault; it was Magnifico who had created the despair on Neotrantor. It was the same emotion. Therefore, the Mule and Magnifico were the same person. Doesn’t it work out nicely, Torie? Isn’t it just like an axiom in geometry—things equal to the same thing are equal to each other?”
She was at the edge of hysteria, but dragged herself back to sobriety by main force. She continued, “The discovery scared me to death. If Magnifico were the Mule, he could know my emotions—and cure them for his own purposes. I dared not let him know. I avoided him. Luckily, he avoided me also; he was too interested in Ebling Mis. I planned killing Mis before he could talk. I planned it secretly—as secretly as I could—so secretly I didn’t dare tell it to myself. If I could have killed the Mule himself—But I couldn’t take the chance. He would have noticed, and I would have lost everything.”
She seemed drained of emotion.
Toran said harshly and with finality, “It’s impossible. Look at the miserable creature. He the Mule? He doesn’t even hear what we’re saying.”
But when his eyes followed his pointing finger, Magnifico was erect and alert, his eyes sharp and darkly bright. His voice was without a trace of an accent, “I hear her, my friend. It is merely that I have been sitting here and brooding on the fact that with all my cleverness and forethought I could make a mistake, and lose so much.”
Toran stumbled backward as if afraid the clown might touch him or that his breath might contaminate him.
Magnifico nodded, and answered the unspoken question. “I am the Mule.”
He seemed no longer a grotesque; his pipestem limbs, his beak of a nose lost their humor-compelling