Although Sim kept insisting that he was a "kind" mind flayer, his evil nature was clearly still in the driver's seat. In the ten or so minutes since Murphy had arrived at White Cliff, the fellow had already dug a little trap to mess with his thoughts.
It wasn't surprising that the leader of the Mysteries Department had become a "ghost." After all, he was an old-timer from a thousand years ago.
But there were ways to tell the truth. Let it pass through Sim's mouth, for example, and it came out sounding entirely different. If someone with a weaker will had been here, they might already have started doubting everyone around them, falling into paranoia and then seeking Lord Sim's "help."
But Murphy had seen plenty in his time. A little trick like this couldn't interfere with his mind.
With the "Truth Hunter" talent at his disposal, even if Senator Steiner had ten times the nerve, he wouldn't dare approach Murphy carelessly.
The consequences of getting caught would be grim.
Of course, Murphy didn't think Sim was deliberately trying to mess with him. As an elder mind flayer who had existed alone in the material world for over a thousand years, and had only started using mind flayer tadpoles to choose new members of his race a few months ago, Sim's thousand-year "loneliness" alone suggested that the Creator might indeed have "altered" him.
He could suppress his evil instincts. That little trap just now had been an instinctive gesture, prompted by his race's evil nature.
After all, his species could be called naturally evil in every respect. What flowed through their veins wasn't blood at all, but liquid intrigue!
They made their way one after the other to a high balcony on the Tower of Instruction, near the sea