The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “I am this fine gentleman’s legal counsel. May I see this so-called exclusion warrant, please?”

  “It’s back at the station.”

  “Then until you produce it and let him see it, as is his right, my client is free to go about his business in whatever district of this city he chooses. As are his equally innocent colleagues.”

  “All right, then,” Chae said, and jabbed his finger at Pocklan again. “Wait here. I’ll send a runner.”

  “No, Sergeant,” Cherix said. “You cannot detain my client without just cause. It is your responsibility to bring the warrant to him. Until it is read to him, he is free to go as he pleases.”

  “I can’t run around the district after him and the others,” Chae said.

  “That is not my client’s problem,” Master Cherix said affably.

  Pocklan’s smirk was indecent. “Step aside,” he told Chae.

  Edeard walked forward. “Master Cherix.”

  “Corporal Edeard. How nice to see you. I believe you can be of some help in this unfortunate matter. Your colleague here was about to act unlawfully. As a constable of this city, I am asking you to see the law is enforced equally and fairly.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Master Cherix beckoned Pocklan. “Come on across the bridge now, please, my dear chap. You are quite safe with the Waterwalker himself guaranteeing your legal rights.”

  “Were you referring to a warrant like this?” Edeard asked innocently. He pulled a roll of parchment out of his tunic.

  Master Cherix’s unctuous smile vanished as he started to read. “But this warrant names—”

  “You.” Edeard smiled. “Yes. And as such, I am required—by law—to assist you out of Jeavons as quickly as possible.” He reached out with his third hand.

  Master Cherix yelled in consternation as his feet left the ground. The cry turned to pure panic as he kept rising. The crowd on the alameda gasped as the lawyer soared away over the bridge, continuing to gain height.

  “Put me down!” Cherix screamed with his voice and longtalk. He was higher than the buildings behind the alameda, higher than the white metal pillars lining Golden Park and still ascending. The watching ge-eagles had to curve sharply to avoid him.

  “Did you hear something?” Edeard asked.

  “He told you to put him down,” Kanseen pronounced solemnly.

  “Oh, fair enough,” Edeard said. He let go.

  Cherix fell out of the sky with an incoherent shriek of fright. He landed in the middle of Birmingham Pool, producing a tremendous splash. The crowd cheered wildly.

  Chae turned back to Pocklan. “Now, where were we?”

  Pocklan gave the sergeant a furious look and then glanced over his shoulder to where an impassive Edeard was waiting. He turned and led his companions back into Golden Park.

  Macsen put his arm around Edeard’s shoulder, squeezing strongly. “Now, why is it, do you suppose, people you don’t like always wind up getting dunked in Birmingham Pool?”

  “Nostalgia.”

  Edeard had been looking forward to the Lady’s Festival of Guidance for what seemed like most of the winter. His friends and the girls he’d encountered were always speaking of it in enthusiastic tones. First, it signaled the onset of summer, which, as far as he was concerned, couldn’t arrive fast enough. But the main reason was to celebrate those who had passed away in the previous year. Everybody who had lost someone made a small memorial boat out of flowers of any and every color except white. Mainly it was the children of a family who made them, producing elaborate and colorful boats up to a yard long. The boats represented the souls of the departed ones.

  At midday, the Pythia conducted a service of memorial in the Lady’s church in Eyrie. When that ended, all the flower boats would be placed in the city’s canals. The gondoliers, bedecked in white flowers, guided them down to the port, singing hymns of commemoration. Gondolas represented the Skylords, who the Lady promised would come to Querencia once again to guide the souls of humans into the welcome embrace of Odin’s Sea. At the port, the gondolas would stop, and the flower boats would carry on, drifting out across the waves.

  It sounded delightful, especially the evening, which was one giant party. Now the day was here, and Edeard dozed fitfully as the dawn came to a clear sky, promising good weather for the festival. Chief Constable Walsfol’s longtalk intruded sharply into his thoughts. “Ugh, sir?” he responded groggily as the dregs of yet another bizarre dream drained away. He hadn’t known the man had such powerful longtalk. It made sense, though. After Ranalee, a lot of things about the city hierarchy were clearer to him.

  “I need you to report to the Culverit family mansion in Haxpen,” Walsfol told him. “Come at once.”

  “Yes, sir,” Edeard said sleepily. “Er, why?”

  “I will meet you there and explain the situation. You’d better bring the rest of your squad, too.”

  Edeard rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten to bed until well after midnight. Late last evening, the Lillylight Street association had spotted a gondola with three known gang members making their way along Victoria Canal. Edeard and a couple of Silvarum constables had intercepted them at a mooring platform on Flight Canal. No resistance had been offered when the men had been told to leave, but he’d still kept watch on the gondola as it made its way back down the Great Major Canal.

  That was the way of his days now: constantly alert for attempts to infiltrate racketeers into Jeavons and Silvarum, called to shops and other businesses when unknown gang members did get through. Two days were wasted in court on charges of aggravated psychic assault filed by Master Cherix, who, thankfully, in law was no match for Master Solarin.

  He groaned and pushed his feet out from under the nice warm sheets.

  Jessile shifted around on the springy mattress. “What?” she mumbled.

  “Have to go,” he said softly, and kissed her forehead.

  She moaned again and curled up tighter. “I won’t be here tonight; have to be with family for the party. See you tomorrow.”

  “Right.” But she was already asleep again. He ordered a ge-chimp to bring a fresh set of clothes. While he was struggling into them in the dim light, he started to call the others. It was rather satisfying spreading the misery.

  Edeard pulled his boots on beside the door and gave his flower boat a wistful glance. It wasn’t much: a simple frame of cardboard a foot long over which he’d stuck a dozen red and yellow roses. His friends assured him it was just right, exactly what everyone else had constructed. For him it was a belated memorial to Akeem and all the others of Ashwell village.

  He met up with Boyd and Kanseen on the tenement walkway outside. They weren’t in the best of moods at being hauled from their beds so early. Edeard couldn’t bring himself to look at Kanseen. She hadn’t been alone.

  “Are we waiting for Dinlay?” Boyd asked as they made their way down the stairs.

  “He’ll join us there.”

  A smile spread across Boyd’s face. “You mean he was with someone?”

  “Not our concern,” Edeard said a fraction too sharply. Now he really couldn’t look at Kanseen.

  “Any idea what this is about?” she asked.

  “None. But if we’re being summoned to the Culverit family by Walsfol himself on this day, you can bet it isn’t going to be trivial.”

  “Julan is the Haxpen District Master,” Boyd said. “He’s one of the waverers, isn’t he?”

  “I think so,” Edeard said, rubbing his hand over his brow. In truth, he’d lost track of which Masters were for them. Their allegiances were very fluid. Lately he’d given up trying to follow the Grand Council’s machinations and was just praying that Finitan would prevail tomorrow.

  Boyd opened the big wrought-iron gate at the entrance to the tenement. Macsen was waiting outside. He raised an arm in greeting.

  “Dinlay’s still not over Chiaran, you know,” Boyd said cheerfully.

  “We all got a nasty shock over Ivarl’s methods,”
Edeard told him as they went out into the street. “Let’s just forget about that and move on, shall we.”

  Boyd was clearly going to make some other snide comment. He’d even started to open his mouth when a voice cut across the empty street.

  “Waterwalker,” a woman cried.

  She had been sitting in the doorway of a tailor’s shop opposite the tenement. Edeard’s farsight had sensed her as they were on the last flight of stairs, but she hadn’t been carrying any weapons. She did have three children with her, which was mildly unusual at this time of day but not anything to concern himself over. He’d assumed she was simply bright and early for the festival. Now she came striding across the street, pulling the sleepy miserable children with her. The oldest was no more than five, and the youngest, a girl, was barely old enough to walk.

  “Where do I go, Waterwalker?” she demanded belligerently. “Tell me that, eh. Where?”

  “What?” Edeard asked, very confused. Macsen was hurrying over to them.

  “How will my children eat? Ask him, Dannil. Go on; ask the great Waterwalker where your next meal is coming from.”

  The middle child, a boy in a ragged green pullover and worn gray trousers, was thrust forward. He looked up at Edeard, and his lip began to quake. He burst into tears. “I want me da!” he wailed.

  “What?” Edeard asked again.

  “Eddis, my husband,” the woman barked. “You exiled him. Threw him out of his own house. We live in Fonscale Street. Now you bastards come along and tell him he’s banned from Silvarum, where we’ve lived for seven years. He can’t come home. Can’t come to the house my family has lived in for three centuries. What kind of a law is that, eh? So you tell me, where do I go? How do I feed the children without their father? Eh? Answer me, you backward country shit.”

  Edeard just stared at her, his mind a shocked blank. Boyd groaned and rolled his eyes upward, appealing to the Lady. “Oh, crapit,” he groaned.

  Kanseen was having none of it. “How did he feed them before?” she asked. “What job did your husband have?”

  “Go to Honious, bitch. You’ve done this to us. You’ve ruined our lives.”

  “What job?”

  “He’s a good man. He put food on the table for us. He loved his kiddies.”

  “Yours, maybe,” Kanseen said. “But he hurt other children, didn’t he? Threatened them, hit them, made their parents hand over money they’d worked hard for.”

  “He never did.” She covered the oldest boy’s ears. “Lies. That’s what you speak: lies! You’ll all go to Honious. Eddis worked in the abattoir on Crompton Alley. Dirty work, hard work that no genistar can do.”

  “You knew what he did,” Kanseen snarled. “If you miss him, then go to him, follow him to his new home. But remember this: We will wipe the city clean of his kind. After this year, there’ll be no more of him.”

  The woman spit at Kanseen, who swatted it away with her third hand. All three children were crying now.

  “I want you to tell Eddis something from me,” Edeard said. “Tell him that if he leaves the gang behind, if he finds himself a proper job—and there’s plenty to be had—he’ll be welcome back in Fonscale Street. I’ll cancel the warrant myself. That’s all he’s got to do.”

  “Screw you!” She pulled at her children. “You know nothing about life. Ivarl will dance on your ashes yet. And no Skylord will ever rescue your soul.”

  Macsen touched the brim of his hat as she stomped off down the street. “Thank you, madam. Always a pleasure to help the citizenry,” but he didn’t say it very loud.

  “You okay?” Kanseen asked.

  “Yeah.” Edeard gave her a shaky nod. “Yeah, I suppose so. Lady, how many families have been split up like that?”

  “Are you serious?” an incredulous Kanseen asked. “What about the families of Eddis’s victims? The people you’re supposed to be helping? Isoix and his children? Don’t they deserve some consideration?”

  “Yes, sorry.” He hung his head. “I just wasn’t expecting this to be so hard.”

  “Cheer up,” Boyd said, and put his arm around Edeard. “It can only get worse.”

  Edeard was about to remonstrate, then saw Boyd’s mocking expression and managed a weak smile. “Much worse.”

  “Far, far worse,” Macsen promised.

  “Let’s go and see what misery and torment Walsfol has in store for us, then.”

  As he set off with his friends, Edeard chastised himself for not expecting such an ambush. The only real surprise was that it hadn’t happened earlier. Although they’d managed to add another fifty warrants to the original batch, fifteen had been canceled. There had been a few genuine cases of mistaken identity, but more than one person in the associations had used the scheme to settle an old grudge. Then there were some traders who’d taken advantage in order to get commercial rivals banned from the district, reducing competition. Each reported case of abuse had to be reviewed properly and sorted out, which took a great deal of time for the constables, though not as long as a court case, as Edeard had to keep pointing out to the grumbling Masters and station captains.

  But even with the troubles and abuse and legal challenges and the racketeers’ unrelenting attempts to get past, he considered it a success. And in that he wasn’t alone. The gangs had made hardly any collections in Jeavons and Silvarum, and only two traders had been assaulted before the constables arrived. Makkathran’s remaining districts had watched the results keenly. Under continuing pressure, the Masters of Haxpen, Lillylight, Drupe, Ilongo, and Padua were drawing up their own warrants and talking to the station captains about enforcement. In another couple of days, they could well be signed. Tomorrow was the last day of Vologral’s three-week trial. Not that the District Master and Representatives would have the final say, not anymore. The Grand Council was due to convene to debate the “disturbance” to city life caused by the reintroduction of the exclusion warrants. Finitan was leading the bloc of Councillors arguing their benefit. If they lost, the warrants would be revoked, and as Finitan had told him, Bise was preparing an act to rescind the original law. He had a lot of tacit support, Finitan had said, because no one was sure where the whole thing would end. Was it the Waterwalker’s intention to turn Sampalok into a criminal ghetto, cut off from the rest of the city? And exactly how did such a young inexperienced constable come to lead such a campaign in the first place? Politically, the Masters were becoming very nervous about Edeard. Finitan was coming under increasing pressure from his fellow Masters to produce a valid conclusion to the campaign.

  Edeard didn’t actually have one. When he did think that far ahead to a time when every district had issued warrants, he assumed the Grand Council would step in with a final solution. Expulsion was his preferred option, though he wasn’t sure how that would be achieved or where the gang members would be banished to. He’d just wanted to start the ball rolling, to give people hope. Only now were the true consequences becoming apparent.

  Even he had to laugh when on the day after Cherix received his ducking in Birmingham Pool, District Master Bise very publicly signed an exclusion warrant preventing Edeard from entering Sampalok. Less amusing was the dignified announcement from the Pythia that she would never prohibit anyone from entering Eyrie to attend the Lady’s church. Owain also declared that no warrants would apply to Anemone and Majate so that all citizens would be able to reach the seat of government, a right that Rah himself had laid down. As for the protestations from the Gondoliers Guild about restricting their trade … There had never been a gondola strike in Makkathran before. Even though it had lasted only a day, it had shocked everyone. There were threats that more would be called, especially if the vote in the Grand Council tomorrow didn’t go the way the gondoliers wanted. The Dockers Guild had pitched in with a promise to support the gondoliers.

  Thankfully, Edeard was getting a lot of support and encouragement from various traders and merchants. Ordinary people, too, were grateful if their reaction to the constable squads on
bridge duty was anything to go by.

  Edeard just wanted tomorrow’s Council debate to be over one way or the other. The weight of expectation that had fallen on him was awesome.

  Dinlay was waiting outside the main entrance of the Culverit family mansion. The first rays of sunlight had reached the highest level of the ten-story ziggurat to glint on the huge horseshoe arch windows. Five pistol-carrying guards with the family’s insignia on their coats opened the grand iron-bound front gate. The squad walked in through the giant archway to find themselves in a broad courtyard. Vivid topaz climbing roses smothered the pillars on every side, and tall granite statues of past Culverit Masters and Mistresses gazed down sternly. An equerry greeted them and ushered them inside. Edeard sighed when confronted with a spiral stair.

  “I suppose the family lives on the top floor,” he muttered to Boyd.

  “The Master’s family does, of course.”

  The summit of the mansion was a house larger than the Jeavons constable station, surrounded on each side by a strip of hortus garden. It was the traditional residence of the District Master, with the lower floors occupied by dozens of relatives and household staff and clerks who administered his estates.

  As they ascended, Edeard became very conscious of the mood swirling around him. There was anger, predominant in the men, and a great deal of fright and sorrow.

  “Something bad has happened here,” he said quietly. Macsen gave a short uncomfortable nod of agreement.

  Walsfol and Julan were waiting for them on the upper hortus garden that faced the Great Major Canal. Even so early, the Chief Constable was wearing a pristine tunic, his gold buttons shining brightly in the rising sun. Julan, by contrast, was one of the few aristocrats who showed his age. A hundred fifty-three years had made his shoulders sag and his gray hair thin. He wore a rumpled house robe over his nightshirt. His eyes were red-rimmed and sunken with abject despair.

  The squad had brought Edeard up to date on Culverit family gossip on the way over. Now, as never before, they were the subject of intense speculation and discussion within the rest of Makkathran’s aristocracy. Master Julan had married very late in life. In itself that wasn’t too unusual among his class. It was a truly romantic marriage. Apparently he had fallen completely in love with his wife (a hundred eight years his junior) as soon as they were introduced and had been utterly devoted to her until her tragic, untimely death six years ago. However, what scandalized everyone was that the first child she had produced had been a daughter, Kristabel, as was their second child, during whose birth she’d died. There was no son to inherit. It was almost without precedent in the city. But to the dismay of Lorin, Julan’s younger brother, there was a clause in the Culverit family’s legally registered claim to the Haxpen district that allowed the lineage continuation through a daughter if there were no sons. The situation had occurred only twice before in Makkathran’s two-thousand-year history.