Babel

by R.F. Kuang

‘Last night.’ Griffin cast him a sideways look. ‘You helped us, without question. You didn’t even hesitate. Why?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Robin said truthfully. He’d asked himself this a thousand times. Why had he activated that bar? It wasn’t merely because the whole situation – the midnight hour, the moonlight glow – had been so dreamlike that rules and consequences seemed to disappear, or because the sight of his doppelgänger had made him doubt reality itself. He’d felt some deeper compulsion he couldn’t explain. ‘It just seemed right.’ ‘What, you didn’t realize you were helping a ring of thieves?’ ‘I knew you were thieves,’ Robin said. ‘I just . . . I didn’t think you were doing anything wrong.’ ‘I’d trust your instinct on that,’ said Griffin. ‘Trust me. Trust that we’re doing the right thing.’ ‘And what is the right thing?’ Robin asked. ‘In your view? What’s all this for?’ Griffin smiled. It was a peculiar, condescending smile, a mask of amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Now you’re asking the right questions.’