The Palace of Dreams Read Free Page B

the pillars of the State. It is here, better than in any surveys, statements, or reports compiled by inspectors, policemen, or governors of pashaliks, that the true state of the Empire may be assessed. For in the nocturnal realm of sleep are to be found both the light and the darkness of humanity, its honey and its poison, its greatness and its vulnerability. All that is murky and harmful, or that will become so in a few years or centuries, makes its first appearance in men’s dreams. Every passion or wicked thought, every affliction or crime, every rebellion or catastrophe necessarily casts its shadow before it long before it manifests itself in real life. It was for that reason that the Padishah decreed that no dream, not even one dreamed in the remotest part of the Empire on the most ordinary day by the most godforsaken creature, must fail to be examined by the Tabir Sarrail. And there’s another imperial order that is still more fundamental: The table drawn up after the dreams of every day, week, and month have been collected, classified, and studied must always be absolutely accurate. To this end not only is there an enormous amount of work to be done in processing the raw material, but it is also of the utmost importance that the Tabir Sarrail should be closed to all external influence. For we know there are forces outside the Palace which for various reasons would like to infiltrate the Tabir Sarrail with their own agents, so that their own plans, ideas, and opinions might be presented as divine omens scattered by Allah among sleeping human brains. And that is why letters of recommendation are not allowed in the Tabir Sarrail.”
    Mark-Alem’s eyes involuntarily shifted to the burned paper now quivering on the embers.
    “You’ll be working in the Selection department,” the official went on in the same tone as before. “You might have begun in one of the less important sections, as most new employees do, but you’re going to begin in Selection because you suit us.”
    Mark-Alem glanced furtively at the quivering remains of the letter, as if to say, “Haven’t you gone yet?”
    “And remember,” said the other, “that what’s expected of you above all is absolute secrecy. Never forget that the Tabir Sarrail is an institution totally closed to the outside world.”
    One of his hands rose from the table and wagged a menacing forefinger.
    “Many, both individuals and whole factions, have tried to infiltrate us, but the Tabir Sarrail has never fallen into the trap. It stands alone and apart from human turmoil, outside all competing opinions and struggles for power, impervious to everything and without contacts with anyone. You may forget everything else I’ve just told you, but there’s one thing, my boy, which, I repeat, you must always bear in mind. And that’s secrecy. This isn’t a piece of advice. It’s the order of orders in the Tabir Sarrail… . And now, get to work. Ask in the corridor where the Selection department is. The people you’re going to work with will have been told all about you before you get there. Good luck!”
    Out in the corridor Mark-Alem was at a loss. There were no passersby from whom he might ask the way to Selection, so he started off at random. Scraps of what the senior official had said were still ringing in his ears. What’s happening to me? he thought, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. But instead of dispersing, the echoes of the words he’d just heard only clung to him all the more obstinately. He even had the impression that in this wilderness of corridors they ricocheted off the walls and colonnades, acquiring a resonance even more sinister than before: “You’ll be working in Selection, because you suit us… .”
    Without knowing why, Mark-Alem began to walk faster. “Selection.” He kept repeating the word in his mind, and now he was alone it struck him as sounding very odd. He caught a glimpse of a figure a long way away down the corridor, but