The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Despite perfectly clear farsight, he patted around with his hands. The drain fissure was slightly too small for him to walk along it upright. Its side walls were about five feet apart. He took a breath, none too happy at the claustrophobic feeling niggling at the back of his mind, and started to move forward in a stoop.

  The thieves had gotten through the locked door at the top of the passage, an impressive feat in such a short space of time. Two of them were descending the curving stairs to the door that sealed off the bottom while the third stood guard outside. Edeard moved faster, navigating several forks along the drain fissure. He observed the thieves manipulate the locks on the second door and go through. Then he was directly underneath the storeroom they were ransacking. The layout was distinct, the wooden racks laid out in parallel. Small boxes were piled on the shelves. A large iron box stood in one corner, with a very complicated locking mechanism. They were ignoring that.

  Edeard looked up as his farsight pervaded the city’s substance above him, a solid mass of rocklike material five yards thick. He concentrated. Closed his eyes—stupid, but, well—and applied his mind. Again the equations rose from nowhere to pirouette breezily around his thoughts. He began to rise, slipping though the once-solid substance like some piece of cork bobbing to the surface of the sea. Once again his stomach was convinced he was falling to a degree that brought on a lot of queasiness. He had almost reached the floor when he realized the thieves would sense him the second he popped up. Quickly, he threw a concealment around himself. Then he was emerging into the storeroom with a weak orange light shining all around. The floor hardened beneath his boots.

  “What was that?” a voice asked.

  Edeard was standing behind the rack at the back of the storeroom, out of direct sight. He held his breath.

  “Nothing. Fucking stop panicking, will you. There are only two doors, and the other one is locked. Now help me find the crap we came here for before someone senses us down here.”

  Edeard slowly walked around the end of the rack. He could see the pair of them moving along a rack, taking boxes off the shelf and prizing them open with some kind of tool. A quick look inside, and the box would be tossed aside. Most of them seemed to contain little bottles. Dozens of them were clinking as they rolled about on the floor.

  “Here we go,” the one in the hooded jacket announced. He’d just forced open a box full of tiny packets. One was opened to reveal a coil of metal thread. Edeard wasn’t sure in the storeroom’s low orange light, but it might be gold.

  “I’ll check out the rest,” the other one said.

  The one with the hooded jacked began stuffing the packets into an inside pocket.

  Edeard dropped his concealment.

  “What the fuck—” Both thieves swung around to face him.

  “Hello again,” Edeard said. “Remember me?”

  “Edeard!” Kanseen’s panicky longtalk reverberated in his skull. “Sweet Lady, where’ve you been? We’ve been going frantic. How did you get in there?”

  “It’s the little shit from the market,” the thief in the hooded jacket spit. “I fucking knew that ge-eagle was on the prowl.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long blade. At the same time his third hand tried to push into Edeard’s chest for a heartsqueeze.

  Edeard laughed as he deflected the attack. Then his third hand slipped out and crushed the blade the thief was holding. The metal rippled, then warped into a slim bent spike. Edeard twisted the tip into a U shape. “You’re under arrest for theft and attempted assault on a constable.”

  “Fuck!” the other one yelled as he raced for the door.

  “One coming out,” Edeard’s longtalk told his squadmates.

  “Are you all right?” Dinlay demanded.

  “Never better.” He had not taken his eyes off the hooded thief. The man held up the ruined knife and gave it an admiring grin. “Tough guy, huh. Are you smart along with it? There’s enough precious metal in here to make everyone happy.”

  “You want attempted bribery added to the charges?”

  “Idiot.” The thief turned his back on Edeard and walked casually toward the doorway out to the passage.

  “Stop right there,” Edeard ordered.

  The thief’s third hand lifted one of the small bottles into the air behind him. Edeard frowned uncertainly. Another bottle rose, accelerating to crash into the first. Glass shattered.

  A fireball spewed out, dazzling white in the gloomy storeroom. Edeard twisted away instinctively, his shield hardening. Flaming globules spattered against it.

  “Edeard!” the squad longtalked in unison.

  “I’m all right.” He was blinking his eyes furiously, trying to get rid of the long purple glare blotches. An acrid smell was growing strong, yet his farsight revealed just a few flickers of flame on the racks closest to the fireball. His third hand swatted them, snuffing the flames before they posed any danger. Then he noticed the black holes in the boxes scattered across the floor, as if flames had burned through them very quickly. The raw edges still were smoldering. When he looked closer, he saw they were coated in some kind of tar that was bubbling away. He shook his head in bewilderment.

  “Got them,” Macsen announced victoriously. “Lady, that last one’s an arrogant bastard. You sure you’re okay, Edeard?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He started to walk out of the storeroom. Some deep instinct made him tread carefully around the patches of hot liquid glistening on the floor. Thin wisps of vapor were layering the air close to the ceiling, producing a stench that made his eyes water. When he passed the bulky metal door, he trod on some of the packets containing metal thread. The thief had thrown them all away. Edeard picked one up, frowning.

  Why did he do that?

  Mystified he hurried up the passage and out into the alley where his squad was waiting with the subdued prisoners. Now that he had time to think about what he had done and what the squad had achieved, his elation was rising with the potency of a dawn sun.

  The court was convened in Makkathran’s Parliament House, which dominated the Majate district. Technically it was one building, but its component structures had amalgamated into a village of huge halls, assembly rooms, auditoriums, and offices, with cloisters instead of streets. Right at the center was the elaborate Democracy Chamber where the Grand Council met to debate policy and laws. Wrapped protectively around that were tiers of offices for the Guild of Clerks, which worked to administer the city’s regulations and collect taxes. A whole wing contained well-appointed offices for all the district representatives where they could be lobbied by their constituents about every perceived and actual injustice. Somewhere inside—underground it was rumored—were the treasury vaults, containing mountains of gold and silver, where the coins were minted. The Chief Constable also was based in one of the five conical towers, along with a modest staff. For centuries, the outermost tower, closest to the City Gate, used to house the militia barracks, but they had long departed, the serving soldiers to several barracks within the city, while the general and senior officers had taken up residence in the Orchard Palace next door. The vacated barracks had been taken over eagerly by the ever-expanding Lawyer’s Guild.

  Although it was democratically open to anyone, it was the interconnecting domes that ran alongside the Center Circle Canal with which the average Makkathran citizen was most likely to be familiar. They housed the courts of justice as well as the constabulary’s main holding cells. Edeard and the rest of the squad had been shown around by Master Solarin, who had explained the history of every corridor and room at inordinate and boring length. Part of their training was to attend trials so they could accustom themselves to the procedures and listen to the verbal sparring of the lawyers. Edeard had been looking forward to that part, but in all the trials they had watched, the lawyers had confined themselves to simple questions to those in the witness stand. There had been an obscure argument about interpreting a precedent established four hundred years earlier to settle a dispute betw
een two fishmongers and their supplier about who got priority on the catch based on the length of the contract. Edeard barely understood the words they used, let alone followed the logic involved. The only criminal trial they’d seen had been one in which the constables had arrested a bunch of minor family sons during an altercation in a theater late one night. The young men had all been sheepish, never challenged the senior squad sergeant’s account, pleaded guilty to all charges, and accepted the fine without question.

  As far as preparation and experience went, Edeard was beginning to realize how useless it had all been.

  Two middle court judges and a Mayor’s Council judge had been appointed to preside over the case against the trio of thieves they had arrested. They sat together behind a raised wooden podium that ran along the back of the oval courtroom, clad in flowing scarlet-and-black robes, with fur-lined hoods hanging over their right shoulders. The Mayor’s Counsel also wore a golden chain, signifying his high status.

  Arrayed in the dock on their left, the thieves stood with two court constables in dress uniform standing guard. They finally had given their names. Arminel was what the hooded leader called himself. He was no more than forty, with a drawn pale face and thick sandy hair that he wore long to cover large ears. At no time did he look worried; if anything, his expression indicated ennui. His accomplices were Omasis and Harri. Harri, still in his teens, was the one they had told to stand guard in the alley. He’d been charged only with complicity to steal. Arminel and Omasis both were charged with theft and aggravated trespass, while Arminel had to face the additional charge of assaulting a constable. The jewelry shop owner had swiftly identified the contents of the two bottles Arminel had smashed together as a highly volatile spirit-based cleaning fluid and acid. Edeard had shivered at the thought of what could have happened if his shield had not been strong enough to ward off the fireball. He had wanted Arminel to be charged with the attack on Kavine in the Silvarum market, but Master Vosbol, the lawyer Captain Ronark had retained to prosecute the case, had said no. It was too long ago for witnesses to be considered reliable.

  “But I recognized him immediately,” Edeard had cried.

  “You saw someone behaving suspiciously,” Master Vosbol had said. “You believed him to be the participant in the previous crime.”

  “Kavine will identify him.”

  “Kavine was stabbed, quite badly. The defense will argue that that makes him unreliable. Let’s just go with these charges, shall we.”

  Edeard had sighed and shook his head.

  It really should have served a warning about the methodology of Makkathran’s legal affairs. Instead, the first inkling that their case was not as watertight as they imagined came when the defendants all entered a plea of not guilty.

  “They can’t be serious,” Edeard hissed as Master Cherix, the defense lawyer, stood before the judges and entered the plea. The squad was sitting along the rear wall, all in their dress uniforms, waiting to be called by the prosecution. Captain Ronark sat on one side of them, with Sergeant Chae on the other.

  Almost all of the seats were empty. Edeard didn’t know if he was pleased about that. He wanted the city’s citizens to see that his squad had helped bring a small part of their troubles to justice, show them that the law had not deserted them.

  Master Cherix raised a surprised eyebrow at Edeard’s exclamation and turned to look at the squad. Master Vosbol shot them a furious look. “Be silent,” his longtalk ordered.

  It was, Master Cherix explained, a terrible misunderstanding. His clients were honest citizens going about their business when they perceived the blast in the alley. It had blown open a small door, and, full of the concern for human life, they had ventured into a storeroom filled with smoke and flames—at great personal risk—to make sure there were no injured people inside. At that point the constables had stumbled upon them and received a totally false impression.

  One by one the three accused took the stand and swore under oath that they had been acting selflessly. As they did so, their unshielded minds radiated sincerity, along with a modicum of injured innocence that their good deed had been misinterpreted. Master Cherix shook his head in sympathy, woebegone that the constables had acted so wrongly. “A sign of the times,” he told the judges. “These constables are well-meaning young folk, rushed through their training by a city desperate to reach staffing targets for the sake of politics. But in truth they were far out of their depth on that sad day. They, too, need to make arrests to prove themselves to their notoriously harsh station captain. In such circumstances it is only understandable why they chose to interpret events in the way they did.”

  Edeard met Arminel’s stare. He tried to kill me, and his lawyer’s making out it was all a misunderstanding? That we’re in the wrong. It was so outrageous, he almost laughed. Then Arminel’s expression twitched just for an instant. That condescending sneer burned itself into Edeard’s memory. He knew then that this was not the end, nowhere near.

  After two hours of listening to the defendants, Edeard finally was called to the stand. About time, I can soon set this straight.

  “Constable Edeard.” Cherix smiled warmly. He was nothing like Master Solarin but a young man dressed like the son of a trading family. “You’re not from the city, are you?”

  “What’s that got to do with this?”

  Master Cherix put on a pained expression and turned to the judges. “My lords?”

  “Answer the questions directly,” the Mayor’s Counsel instructed.

  “Sir.” Edeard reddened. “No. I was born in the Rulan province.”

  “And you’ve been here for what? Half a year?”

  “A little over that, yes.”

  “So it would be fair to say that you’re not entirely familiar with the city.”

  “I know my way around.”

  “I was thinking more in terms of the way our citizens behave. So why don’t you tell me what you believe happened?”

  Edeard launched into his rehearsed explanation: how Arminel tried to avoid the ge-eagle, the squad tracking them along Sonral Street, arranging themselves in an encircling formation while standing back and observing through farsight, sensing Arminel picking the locks.

  “At which point we closed in, and I witnessed the accused stealing gold wire from the storeroom.”

  “I’m curious about this aspect,” Master Cherix said. “You told your squad to wait in Sonral Street by the entrance to the alley. Yet you went down into the storeroom. But I thought you said Harri had been left ‘on guard duty’ in the alley. How did you get past him?”

  “I was lucky. I found another entrance through the shop which backed onto the jeweler’s.”

  Master Cherix nodded in admiration. “So it was hardly a secure storeroom, then? If you could just walk in.”

  “It was difficult,” Edeard admitted, praying to the Lady to help him rein in his guilt. But this was not a lie, just a slight rearrangement of his true route into the storeroom. “I just managed to get there in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “To see Arminel stealing the gold wire. He was doing that before he flung flaming acid at me.”

  “Indeed. I’d like you to clarify another point, Constable. When you emerged after this alleged event to join up with your squad, did Arminel have any of this supposed ‘gold wire’ on him?”

  “Well, no. He dumped it when I challenged him.”

  “I see. And your squadmates can confirm that, can they?”

  “They know … yes.”

  “Yes what? Constable.”

  “We caught them doing it. I saw him!”

  “By your own statement, you were deep underground in the poorly illuminated storeroom at the time of the alleged theft. Which of your squadmates can farsight through fifteen yards of solid city fabric?”

  “Kanseen. She knew I was there.”

  “Thank you, Constable. Defense would like to call Constable Kanseen.”

  Kanseen passed Edeard on her wa
y to the stand. They both had meticulously blank expressions, but he could tell how worried she was. When he sat down next to Dinlay the others all smiled sympathetically. “Good job,” Chae whispered, but Edeard was not convinced.

  “You have a farsight almost as good as your squad leader’s?” Master Cherix asked.

  “We came out about equal in our tests.”

  “So you could sense what went on in the storeroom from your position in Sonral Street?”

  “Yes.”

  Edeard winced. She sounded so uncertain.

  “How much gold wire was in there?”

  “I … er, I’m not sure.”

  “An ounce? A ton?”

  “A few boxes.”

  “Constable Kanseen.” Master Cherix smiled winningly. “Was that a guess?”

  “Not enough gold to be obvious to a casual farsight sweep.”

  “I’ll let that go for the moment. Constable Edeard claims you perceived him in there.”

  “I did,” she replied confidently. “I sensed him appear in the back. We’d been worried when we lost track of him.”

  “You sensed his mind. There’s a big difference between a radiant source of thoughts and inert material, is there not?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Master Cherix patted the jacket he wore under his black robe. “In one pocket I have a length of gold wire. In another pocket I have an equal length of steel wire. Which is which, Constable?”

  Edeard concentrated his farsight on the lawyer. Sure enough, there was some kind of dense line of matter in each pocket, but there was no way to tell the nature of either one.

  Kanseen looked straight ahead. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know. Yet there is only five feet of clear air between us. So can you really say with certainty you perceived my client picking up gold wire when he was on the other side of fifteen yards of solid mass?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, Constable. No more questions.”

  It came down to an argument between two lawyers. Edeard found himself grinding his teeth as it was presented as his word against Arminel’s.