The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Edeard groaned. It had seemed like such a good idea.

  Finitan swung back to face them. “Don’t give up, Edeard. You’re the Waterwalker. We all expect great things of you now.” He produced an enigmatic smile. “More than creeping around bordellos at night, anyway.”

  Edeard blushed.

  “So what would you advise to get rid of them?” Kanseen asked.

  “If you want anything done, you need to make it to everyone’s advantage. Support is essential; the wider the support, the better chance you have of succeeding.”

  “But the Council must have been trying to get rid of the gangs for years,” Edeard protested. “Why has there been no progress?”

  “I’m going to sound boring on the subject, but expense. Not just in financial terms. Consider how Ivarl’s lieutenants control the dockers. The merchant families have a nice quiet arrangement with Ivarl: They pay him to keep the dockers in line. Take that control away, and the dockers will demand decent pay, and quite right, too. It’s a skill controlling teams of ge-monkeys to remove the contents of a ship’s hold or fill it. So they get more money, which has to come from the ship owner and warehouse merchant and shopkeeper. That cost will be passed on to the customer. The price of everything goes up. Admittedly not by much, but it’s the start of an uncontrollable reaction, a destabilization, if you like. Why shift the balance of power in an arrangement that works? And the dockers are just the tip of the iceberg. So many things would change.”

  Once more Edeard remembered what Ranalee had said. External change is revolution. “But the gangs are wrong,” he insisted. “The law must prevail.”

  “Yes, indeed. But you of all people should know by now how entrenched they are in the city.”

  “There must be a way.”

  “Find a method of gathering a broad spectrum of support,” Finitan said. “From there you can go forward.”

  “I need the support of the Council.”

  “Ultimately, yes. But you must start at the other end, down on the street where the gangs are felt every day. Tell me, before you decided to mount your crusade, what was happening out there? I don’t mean among the rich and worthless of my class but people who were directly affected by the gangs and their violence. People who had given up looking to the constables for aid.”

  “They were forming street associations,” Boyd said.

  “Yes. Vigilantism, which the Council also frowned upon, not least because such associations circumvented the law.”

  Edeard tried to understand what Finitan was hinting at. “We support the street associations?”

  “No. The station captains don’t approve for the simple reason that street associations undercut their authority and that of the courts.”

  “Then what?” he asked, confused.

  “You can’t support them, but there’s nothing to stop you from sharing a drink in the tavern after duty, now, is there?”

  “Ah,” Macsen said. “And we might just discuss who is going around to traders to extort money and what they look like and where they live.”

  “Indeed, you might.”

  “And those private citizens are within their rights to call for assistance when the gangs do come calling,” Kanseen said.

  “If they knew for sure that a constable squad would come, they would be more inclined to cooperate,” Finitan agreed.

  “And if cooperation at that level was subsequently seen to work …” Edeard mused.

  “It would be supported,” Finitan concluded. “A support among people who are not easily bought off by political horse trading. Pressure would grow on the District Representatives to continue and expand the campaign.”

  “But we’re still back to the original problem,” Edeard said. “Arresting them and hauling them into court. Each case takes weeks and costs a fortune. Not to mention tying us up as we sit around for days waiting to be called as witnesses. If we remove one of them, Ivarl will send ten to replace him. I need to push the whole lot of them out of Jeavons.”

  Finitan eyed the genistar egg sitting on his desk. “What you need is a legal option. Have you consulted a lawyer?”

  “This is the joy of a constitution that has reigned supreme for an unbroken two thousand years,” Master Solarin said contentedly. He was sitting behind his desk, which was piled with folders that strove to mimic the towers of Eyrie. Edeard had trouble seeing him, they were so high. “You can find a law to cover every eventuality.

  Politicians love to pass laws. It shows the people they are working hard on their behalf.” He coughed and reached for a lozenge in a little brown paper bag under a skewed tower of green and blue folders.

  “Then it can be done?” Dinlay asked eagerly.

  Edeard had brought Dinlay with him while Macsen and Kanseen went to meet Setersis. Not that he didn’t trust Dinlay with anything; it was just that Macsen would be better suited to deal with the chief of the Silvarum stall holders association. Boyd, of course, was with Isoix, discussing their notion with the Jeavons chamber of trade.

  “Such impatience,” Master Solarin muttered disapprovingly. One of his ge-monkeys brought a thick leather-bound tome over to his desk and placed it gently on the huge square of blotting paper in front of the ancient lawyer.

  When he’d been shown in by a legal apprentice, Edeard had thought the whole office had been built from books. Each of the five walls was covered from floor to ceiling in shelving, holding thousands of volumes of law. There might have been a window, but it had long since been blocked over. The ceiling had three blunt stalactites that shone orange, giving the books a dingy brown hue.

  Master Solarin opened the book. He licked the tip of his forefinger and began to turn the pages. Edeard wanted to volunteer to help. It was all so painfully slow. He deliberately didn’t turn to look at Dinlay.

  “Ah ha,” Master Solarin said happily. “I thought I remembered this one.”

  “Sir?” Edeard asked.

  “I believe I may have found what it is you are looking for.”

  Edeard leaned forward. The page the book was open to had grayed over the decades, but the ink was still firm and black.

  “Here we jolly well go,” Master Solarin said. His shaky hand traced a line of the print, his mouth working silently.

  “What does it say?” Dinlay pleaded.

  Edeard shot him a warning glance.

  “It says, Constable Dinlay, that nine hundred and thirty-two years ago, the Grand Council passed the bylaw of district exclusions. This is an edict which allows the District Master or District Representative to declare the right of admittance revoked for any person deemed detrimental to the sanctity of the locale. Issuance of such warrant may be duly authorized by the District Master or District Representative on their own authority, without supervision by a judge or magistrate.” He looked up from the book. “I believe it was proposed in Council by the District Master of Cobara so that he might prevent an overamorous suitor from wooing his only daughter. If you remember your history, Constable Dinlay, the two young lovers in question were Henaly and Gistella.”

  “Really?” Dinlay said with a happy smile. He turned to Edeard. “They eloped on the Oxmaine and founded Love’s Haven and planted the vineyards there. That province still produces some of the best wines on Querencia.”

  “Wonderful,” Edeard said, resisting the impulse to use his third hand to give Dinlay a good smack. “So we can use this law to ban gang members from coming in to Jeavons and Silvarum without having to legally prove they’re gang members?”

  “Any person for any reason, provided their name is on the warrant and signed by the District Master or Dist—”

  “Yes! The District Representative. How do I get them to sign?”

  “Oh, dear Lady, were my lectures completely in vain?”

  “You petition them,” Dinlay said proudly.

  “Indeed, Constable Dinlay. I am glad not all of my words fell on deaf ears. As a resident of Makkathran you have under most ancient law the right to make a
petition of enactment. Such that a District Master or”—Master Solarin paused for emphasis—“a District Representative can require the constable station commander of their district to enforce whatever law the supplicant believes has been violated. Now, as the assistance of the citizenry is implicitly required, as stipulated in the articles of formalization of the constabulary six hundred and twenty-two years ago, this elder right of petition has subsequently fallen into disuse. However, it has never been retired.”

  “You mean we can use this loophole to get the District Master to sign the warrants?” Edeard asked.

  The skin of Master Solarin’s ancient face produced even more creases as he frowned in disapproval. “You will never become a lawyer, Constable Edeard, for which blessing my guild will doubtless be most relieved. There is no such thing as a loophole. Lawyers merely advise our clients on how to apply laws and the precedents they establish.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Edeard rose from his chair.

  “A word of caution, my young friend.”

  “Sir?”

  “You can petition them to enact a law, but you cannot force them to undertake said enactment. To obtain those signatures, you will need their cooperation.”

  “I understand, sir. My colleagues are working on that.”

  It was a big petition. Edeard had to back up the initial street association meetings personally, persuading the stall holders and shopkeepers and tavern owners and merchants, and a dozen other tradespeople, that his idea was worth trying. With his small base of political allies such as Setersis, Ronark, and Finitan and his own reputation, he began to gain the backing he needed. A week after the meeting with Solarin, the Jeavons and Silvarum chambers of trade simultaneously laid down a formal request to see their respective District Masters and Representatives.

  They convened in the library of District Master Vologral’s mansion. Edeard had met the Jeavons Master only twice before, at formal events. There they’d made small talk, trying to weigh each other. He was heartened by the fact Vologral was an ally of Finitan on the Grand Council.

  Vologral and the other three Masters stood behind a long table, listening to the official request as made by the speakers of the chambers of trade. Then he turned to Edeard. “Can this work?”

  “I believe so, sir,” Edeard said. “We know probably seven out of ten involved in the protection rackets, certainly in our districts. Those are the ones we already have warrants for. If the gangs send in new faces to collect their money, we’ll know who they are straightaway, and we can add them to the list.”

  “But keeping them out …” Vologral looked apprehensive.

  “In total there are fifteen bridges into the two districts. Each one will have a pair of constables on duty from now on to enforce the exclusion. We just need the legal basis.”

  “And the mooring platforms? How many of them? You can’t guard them all.”

  “There will be three permanent patrols inspecting the mooring platforms at random; in addition, our ge-eagles will be scouting constantly. I’d point out that a court can levy a considerable fine on any gondolier who violates a city bylaw. We’ll need to make an example of the first few cases, possibly with confiscation of their craft. After that, they won’t be so keen to help the gangs.”

  “I can imagine the Gondoliers Guild’s reaction to that,” Deveron, the Silvarum representative muttered.

  “The Waterwalker is making an effort to help us,” Setersis said quietly. “I for one am happy to cooperate.” Deveron looked at him and said no more.

  “Very well,” Vologral said. “I am provisionally inclined to grant your petition. I will sign the warrants. However, I give you notice, Waterwalker, that I will review the situation in three weeks’ time, after the Festival of Guidance. If I am not satisfied that racketeering has subsided or you are not holding the line against the gangs, they will be revoked. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Do you have the warrants here?”

  Edeard beckoned Felax and the other three probationary constables who were waiting at the back of the delegation. Each of them came forward carrying a tall stack of paper.

  “Great Lady,” Vologral grunted when he saw how many warrants the young constables had brought. “I didn’t know I was excluding half the city.”

  “Seventy-three people to start with, sir,” Edeard said.

  “Gentlemen,” Vologral said to his fellow Masters, “let’s hope we don’t get writer’s cramp.” He sat down at the long table.

  “What happens to the rest of the city?” Deveron asked. “Aren’t we just exporting the problem?”

  “They’ll wait to see if it works,” Setersis said. “If it does, they’ll join in quickly enough. Decent people have had enough.”

  Vologral signed the first warrant. “So suppose you do succeed. Exclude them from everywhere but Sampalok, for I know damn well that Bise will never sign one of these. What then?”

  “I imagine that will be up to the Grand Council, sir.”

  “Ha!” Vologral gave Edeard a sly smile of approval as he reached for another warrant. “Not such a country boy after all, eh?”

  It began the very next morning. Ronark changed the squad shifts, which in itself was fairly historic, dispatching five constables to each of the bridges leading into Jeavons from Drupe, Tycho, and Majate. Silvarum’s station captain did the same with bridges to Haxpen and Padua.

  As dawn broke, the constables took up position. News of the exclusion had spread in that lightning-fast way any novelty did in Makkathran, especially one concerning the Waterwalker. A lot of people turned up to see if it actually was going to happen. At some bridges they applauded when the constables appeared. Sandwiches and hot tea and coffee were produced and offered to the new guard squads. Then everyone settled down to see what the gangs would do.

  At midday, eight men walked across Golden Park. They were young and tough, knew how to handle themselves in a fight, and had strong third hands. By the time they reached the district’s southern point adjoining Birmingham Pool, there were five ge-eagles orbiting high above them, only two of which belonged to the constables.

  “Getting a real burst of nostalgia here,” Macsen sang out as Edeard’s squad jogged along Macoun Street.

  “Nostalgia is a happy sensation,” Kanseen grunted. “This isn’t.”

  Edeard tended to agree with her. He glanced at Isoix’s bakery as they sped past. “You all right?” he asked Dinlay with a direct longtalk whisper.

  “Oh, Lady, yeah.” Dinlay’s thoughts were aflame with expectation. They’d spent the morning walking around the two districts on a random route, making themselves visible, knowing there would be a showdown at some time. It should have been a time of high excitement for Edeard, but he’d gotten another letter from Salrana; she’d been delayed again.

  He ran out of Macoun Street onto the broad sweep of the alameda. The weeping hasfol trees were just budding, a multitude of blue-and yellow-striped leaves expanding out of their whorls to greet the warmer skies. Right ahead of them was the blue and silver bridge that looped high over the waters of the Great Major Canal to Golden Park. Sergeant Chae was standing at the foot of it, giving Edeard’s slightly out-of-breath squad a nonchalant look. “I’m insulted,” he said loftily. “You don’t trust me?”

  “Procedure, sir,” Macsen puffed. “We’re the reinforcements.”

  “But I haven’t called for you yet.”

  Edeard gestured at the bridge. “All yours, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Chae glanced at the eager crowd that was building. “This is nostalgic, eh?” He turned and led the four constables of his squad up onto the bridge.

  “Have any of them got guns?” Boyd asked.

  “I can’t sense any,” Kanseen said. “Edeard?”

  “No. Nothing. Ivarl will want it to appear like they’re just ordinary citizens. He needs to make us the bad guys.”

  “Hey, Waterwalker,” a young boy yelled out cheekily. “
Are you going to do it again?”

  “Not today.”

  “Oww, go on, please. Run over the pool. I didn’t see it before.”

  The eight men had reached the other end of the bridge. Chae and his squad were standing on the apex, arms folded.

  “This is a different day,” Edeard said out loud. The people in the crowd were dividing their attention between him and the gang members over in Golden Park. “This day we banish the gangs from your streets and lives.”

  The gang men stepped onto the bridge.

  “You!” Chae bellowed. “Pocklan, we know you and your friends. Come no farther.”

  The eight men kept walking forward.

  “I have a warrant signed by the District Master of Jeavons excluding you from this district.”

  “I have done nothing wrong,” Pocklan shouted back. “I am a free man. I may go where I please in this city. That is the law.”

  “Halt and turn around. Go back where you scum came from.”

  Boyd nudged Edeard. “Look who’s here,” he growled.

  Edeard glanced over to where Boyd had indicated. Master Cherix was standing at the front of the crowd, watching intently.

  “We knew they’d try to quash the warrants in the courts,” Dinlay said.

  “Please don’t let this come down to lawyers,” Kanseen moaned.

  “I’m visiting my mother, who lives in Jeavons,” Pocklan said, appealing reasonably to the silent, spellbound crowd. “She has only a few days to live. Would you deny me that right?”

  “What a load of bollocks,” Dinlay said under his breath.

  “Piss off,” Chae said, jabbing his finger forcefully back down the bridge. “Now.”

  “Sergeant,” Master Cherix said. It wasn’t a particularly loud voice, but the authority behind it carried a long way.

  Chae turned around, an expression of utter disgust on his face, backed up by some very strong thoughts escaping past his shield. “Yes? Sir?”