The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “The lower and middle levels of merchants don’t have the kind of protective associations that shops and small traders have,” Kanseen said. “Their commercial rivalry precludes almost all cooperation.”

  “But they have personal guards,” Edeard said.

  “No, they don’t,” Dinlay said. “Oh, the patriarch will have some toughs with him when he collects large payments from clients or pays a ship’s captain, but we’re not talking about the kind of small army that the Grand Families employ here. These merchants have large families that are completely unprotected, and they’re a vital part of Makkathran’s economy.”

  “I see,” Edeard said. He had hoped for a brief respite after he got back, but he should have known better. “So we need to identify who—”

  “No, we don’t,” Dinlay said merrily.

  “We don’t?”

  “Already done it.”

  “Ah.” Now a lot of the squad’s attitude became clearer to Edeard. He looked around, seeing their smug faces. “So what do you need me for?”

  “To provide us with brute strength backup during the arrest,” Macsen said with an innocent tone.

  Edeard laughed. “Tell me.”

  “First the bad news,” Boyd said. “The House of Blue Petals has a new owner.”

  “Who?” Edeard asked sharply.

  Boyd gave Dinlay a sly glance, as if seeking approval. “Buate.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Nobody had,” Boyd said. “Turns out he’s Ivarl’s half brother.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “Would you like the bad news now?” Macsen asked.

  Edeard gave him a brusque stare.

  “Rumor has it that Buate has a partner.”

  “Go on.”

  “Ranalee.”

  Edeard dropped his face into his hands and chuckled softly. I should have seen that coming, especially after Tannarl teamed up with Ivarl that night.

  “Edeard?” Kanseen queried.

  “Actually, that’s good news,” he told them.

  “It is?”

  “We finally have a link between the gangs and a Grand Family Can we prove she’s the partner?”

  “The occupancy deed is filed at the city registry,” Dinlay said, taking off his glasses to give them a polish. “It’s considered privileged unless a crime has been committed either on the premises or by the owner. We could lodge a request in the lower court to view it. But all it tells us is who’s claimed residence rights to the structure, and as we know that Buate is family, it won’t tell us anything new. And the articles of incorporation governing the Blue Petal’s business will be held by the Guild of Tax Clerks. However, the nature of the business means the arrangement with Ranalee isn’t likely to be written down anywhere.”

  “So it’s just hearsay?”

  Dinlay shrugged. “Yes.”

  “And this is what you managed to discover while I was away?”

  “As my soon to be father says, everyone’s a critic,” Macsen said with mock dismay. “No, actually we have been doing difficult observation work under dangerous conditions for little pay and scant thanks from our corporal and station captain.”

  “For the love of the Lady, will you tell me what is going on?”

  “We followed several gang members who are covered by exclusion warrants—with good reason. One of them was a member of an enforcer crew,” Dinlay said, grinning broadly. “They’ve just told a merchant called Charyau in Neph that they want a third of his business. He imports salsponge.”

  “What the heck is salsponge?” Edeard demanded. “And I swear on the Lady, if just one of you gives me that pitying look over this, I will dump the lot of you headfirst in Birmingham Pool and hold you under.”

  Boyd opened his mouth, ready to explain. A frown creased his forehead, and he turned to Macsen. Macsen pursed his lips and gave Kanseen an inquisitive stare.

  “Well, don’t ask me,” she said. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “It must be valuable,” Dinlay mused. “Charyau has a big family who dress in fine clothes and carouse all over the city, and there’s also two mistresses he covers in jewelry.”

  “Did he agree to their terms?” Edeard asked.

  “No,” Boyd said. “The Lady blessed him with a backbone and a lot of pompous bluster. He refused.”

  “So we followed the enforcer crew home to Sampalok.”

  “You went into Sampalok?” Edeard asked in surprise.

  “Like I said, difficult and dangerous,” Macsen announced portentously. “Which is why we know that they’re going to kick the crap out of Rapsail, Charyau’s firstborn, as the first warning. And they’re going to do it tonight.”

  “Where?” Edeard asked eagerly.

  Riorn Street was a sinuous pathway on the northernmost corner of Abad, linking the Roseway Canal to the Great Major Canal. The buildings that made up its walls were all tall and imposing, though one of them did incline outward, allowing broad strands of unkempt gurkvine to dangle down from the eaves like a living partition along the street. It was the building next to the overhanging vegetation that housed the Reckless Colonel, a restaurant and theater of good repute where the wealthier sons of the city’s gentlemen congregated for a pleasurable night among their own.

  Good, expensive food was to be found on the starched white linen cloths of its hexagonal tables; the cellar was stocked with an enviable selection of vintage wines from across Querencia. The lounge area offered deep and cozy chairs and settees, while the dancers who graced the stage performed their elegant moves with amazing agility to the pitch-perfect house band. Five large doormen stood outside the glossy wooden doors, physically and telekinetically strong, their presence alone deterring anyone foolish enough to be born beneath a certain status in life.

  It was after two o’clock in the morning when one of them tipped his tall peaked hat to Rapsail, who tottered unsteadily down the three awkward steps to the pavement. A heavy rain was lashing the street, dimming the orange lights shining down from the building walls. Rapsail tightened his leather cloak around his long blue and scarlet jacket as he grunted his inebriated “good night” to the doormen and began to weave an unsteady route toward the Great Major Canal.

  Alcohol suppressed his farsight as much as it did his optical focus. He had no awareness of the five men lurking in the deeper shadows and alleys off Riorn Street, nor did he notice as they emerged from their secluded refuges to walk both behind and alongside him. It was only as they started to close in that he frowned with intoxicated confusion.

  “I say, hello, you fellows,” he slurred.

  A third hand closed around his ankles. For a moment his legs moved sluggishly, and then he peered down at his immobile feet. Rapsail blinked down at his polished leather shoes with their fashionable brass and silver buckles. They didn’t seem to be doing what he wanted, which was to get him far, far away from this place.

  “I say, that’s off.”

  One of his assailants laughed. They circled him now, dark specters with hoods pulled over their heads, faces shadowed and wreathed with a seclusion haze. Rain pattered heavily on their oilskin cloaks to form quick rivulets over the fabric.

  “What do you want?” Rapsail’s instinctive self-preservation was starting to get through his alcohol-saturated brain. He tried to longshout, but that required too much concentration.

  A hand tugged his hood away from his head.

  “I warn you, I have friends in this city. Powerful friends.”

  “This is a message for your father,” Medath, the enforcer crew’s leader, said.

  “What message?” Rapsail asked as the rain slicked down his hair.

  “He’ll understand.”

  A fist slammed into Rapsail’s pudgy stomach. The young man doubled up immediately, falling to his knees. Tears of pain mingled with the rain on his cheeks. “Oh, sweet Lady, no. I have money. Please.”

  “It’s not your cash we want,” Medath explained patiently. “It’s
your inheritance.”

  Two of the men pulled leather-weighted blackjacks from under their cloaks, while two more used their third hands to pinion Rapsail in his cowed position.

  “After all,” Medath said reasonably, “you won’t be needing it. Cripples don’t have anything to spend it on.”

  Rapsail whimpered piteously.

  “Damage him,” Medath ordered. “Badly.”

  Two blackjacks were raised into the air, slick with water. They kept on rising, pulled out of grasping fingers to whirl away into the night. Both men grunted in surprise. Medath fell into a crouch, long blades sliding into his hands. He scanned with his farsight, probing every doorway and alcove along the street as his telekinetic shield hardened. One of the other enforcers aimed a kick at Rapsail’s head. His boot was yanked backward, sending him crashing down. There was a sickening slap as his face smacked flat onto the pavement. He yelled “Help me” through the blood pouring out of his mouth and nose, then froze in terror as he was tugged violently across the pavement. He slid away from his comrades at frightening speed, hands scrabbling at the wet surface to no effect. His shrieks were cut off as he vanished around the corner.

  “Dear Lady!” another gasped. He started to run. His feet left the ground, and he was propelled through the air to crash into the nearest wall. He crumpled to the ground, stunned.

  The remaining three enforcers closed together. Medath kept his blades ready; the others drew pistols. Laughter echoed down the street. It was too much for one. He fired at a clutch of shadows. The bullet stopped a mere couple of feet from the pistol muzzle, hanging in midair. Raindrops curved neatly around it.

  “Waterwalker,” Medath breathed.

  “Good evening.” Edeard walked forward, his body becoming visible amid the wavering shadows and unceasing rain as he reached the middle of the street. The rain parted above his head to leave his splendid new tunic perfectly dry. Behind him, Kanseen and Dinlay emerged from nowhere.

  “You’re under arrest,” Edeard said. He extended a hand, and the two pistols were wrenched out of their owners’ fingers. “Cuff them,” he told Dinlay. He turned to Kanseen. “Get the knives.”

  Medath watched her approach. He rotated the blades skillfully and proffered the handles toward her. Edeard was walking toward the enforcer who’d been flung against the wall, bending over as the man groaned weakly.

  “I’ll take those,” Kanseen said, and held out a hand for the knives.

  It was Medath’s one chance. He sent them flying toward her with a vigorous flick of his wrists. At the same time he shoved his third hand against Edeard with his full strength. “Fight them,” he bellowed at his two accomplices. Kanseen stumbled as she warded off the knives, tumbling onto the pavement. Dinlay was grappling with one of the enforcers, and Edeard came to his aid, swiftly restraining the second with a resolute telekinetic grip. By the time they’d gotten them both subdued and cuffed, Medath had sprinted away. Edeard’s farsight followed him charging over the iron bridge just above Mid Pool.

  Macsen and Boyd cast off their concealment. Boyd had the unconscious first enforcer slung over his shoulder. Macsen hurried over to Kanseen and helped her to her feet.

  “Well, that was humiliating,” she said as she tried to brush water off her uniform trousers.

  “He believed it,” Edeard said. His farsight showed him that Medath was over the bridge and into Pholas Park.

  “For a real tough guy, he can run very fast,” Boyd observed in amusement.

  Edeard turned to the man he’d cuffed. “Hold your arms out, Sentan.”

  “You know my name.”

  “Of course I know your name. I know your house, I know what you ate for lunch, your girlfriend, your three children who’ve got themselves proper jobs. Now hold your arms out.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Edeard used his third hand to pull Sentan’s arms up. The man flinched at the force.

  “Please,” he implored. “I … I’ll stop this. By the Lady, I will.”

  “No, you won’t,” Edeard said. He slipped the key into the cuffs and unlocked them. Sentan gave him a frightened look.

  “I’m not arresting you,” Edeard said. “Any of you.”

  “Please, Waterwalker, oh, please, no. Don’t kill me.”

  “Shut up. I’m tired of wasting my time in court with people like you. So this is what you’re going to do: leave.”

  “I … what?” Sentan gasped.

  “You and your friends are going to leave Makkathran. Tonight. Now. My squad will escort you to the South Gate. You will walk through it, and you will not come back.”

  “Where will I go?”

  Edeard leaned forward, putting his face an inch from Sentan. “What do your victims do after you’ve beaten them, after you’ve snapped their bones and made their blood run over the floor of their homes while their children are made to watch, after they’ve been carried off screaming in pain to the hospital? They get on with their lives as best they can. Do you understand me now?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you come back, if you set foot in my city again, I will know. Do you believe that? Do you believe me?”

  “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “Then go.”

  Sentan bowed his head in defeat. Edeard went over to Rapsail, who was still kneeling on the ground. He was a mess, his trousers soaking wet, hair plastered against his head, cloak in disarray. “Thank you,” he sobbed. “Thank you, Waterwalker.”

  “Get up,” Edeard told him without sympathy. Behind him, Dinlay and Macsen were sorting out the cowed enforcer crew, moving them down the street on the start of their journey out of the city.

  Rapsail managed to clamber to his feet and stood swaying as the rain continued to lash against him. Edeard made an effort to calm down; he was sworn to protect Makkathran’s ordinary citizens, but people like Rapsail made it difficult to feel any empathy for his kind.

  “There’s a reason you were picked on tonight,” Edeard said coldly. “Your father didn’t come to us, to me, when Medath’s friends gave him their ultimatum. If I don’t know what the gangs are up to, I cannot protect you from them. Tonight you were lucky, and for that you are in debt to my squad.”

  “Of course,” Rapsail said. “Father will pay you handsomely for your services. We are gentlemen of honor.”

  “I do not want money,” Edeard ground out.

  Rapsail was sobering fast. Even in his befuddled state he could sense Edeard’s anger. “Of course not. I apologize profusely, Waterwalker. Er, what do you want?”

  “Information. Your family is not the only one they have come visiting. Tomorrow, when you have sobered up, I will visit you and your father, and we will discuss how the constables can remove the gangs’ influence from your fellow merchants.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Edeard beckoned Kanseen over. “Get him back home in one piece. Tell his father I’ll be there in the morning.”

  “I’ve really got the good duties tonight, don’t I?”

  Edeard grinned awkwardly. “You did well, I know that wasn’t easy for you. Thank you.”

  “Huh!” But she couldn’t keep a small flash of gratification from leaking out. “Come on, sir,” she said, and took a grip on Rapsail’s shoulder.

  “I say, a girl constable.”

  “Yes. Sir.”

  “And a jolly pretty one, too.”

  Edeard and Boyd drew in a sharp breath together, wincing. But Kanseen allowed Rapsail to continue living.

  “Let me come with you, Edeard,” Boyd said as the unlikely pair walked away. “Please.”

  “I can handle this.”

  “They nearly killed you last time.”

  “I was trying not to cause a fuss then. I think we all know those days are behind us now.”

  Boyd gave him a very skeptical stare. “All right.”

  “I need you to go back to the Reckless Colonel. Somebody there was longtalking directly to the enforcer crew. Make it clear to
the owner he’s now on my shit list; I want his full cooperation from now on. And see if you can turn the informer as well.”

  “Lady, is that all?”

  “We all have different abilities; that’s what makes us good as a team.”

  “All right, but just be careful.”

  “All I’m going to do is introduce myself.”

  “What if Ranalee’s there?”

  “The Lady isn’t that cruel, is she?”

  Edeard had stayed out of Myco ever since the night of the fire. He knew he was physically capable of protecting himself from anything Ivarl and his lieutenants could throw at him. What he lacked was motivation. He hadn’t quite lost his nerve as far as confronting Ivarl or his replacement was concerned. It was just that he needed time to restore his confidence. The kidnapping and Kristabel had done that.

  Edeard slid up smoothly and silently through the city-altered floor into the lounge of the House of Blue Petals to find it nearly deserted. The doors were closed and locked. Two drunks were snoring on couches, with blankets thrown over them by the considerate staff. Three ge-monkeys and a couple of tired stewards were busy in the room at the back, washing the last of the glasses. The fires in the iron stoves had sunk to a cozy red glimmer.

  He took a good look around. The furniture was similar to the last time, though of course it was all new. Even the piano looked the same. There were no globes full of oil or any other container for that matter. No beagle, either.

  Edeard shed his concealment and walked up the stairs to the gallery. Several of the rooms were still occupied by girls and their clients. The madam and two doormen were sitting in a small parlor, eating a very late supper as they waited for the girls to finish.

  It felt strange to be visible as he walked along the corridors and upstairs where before he had always crept about like a nervous ghost. As he approached the long room on the third floor in which Ivarl used to hold court, the doors swung open for him, pulled by someone’s third hand. Edeard walked through.

  “I wondered when you’d pay me a visit,” Buate said.

  The fact that he and Ivarl shared a parent wasn’t in question. Edeard guessed it had to be their father. He had the same broad forehead and strange green eyes. But where Ivarl’s powerful frame had started to inflate, Buate was slim and muscled, as if he’d spent his life doing hard physical work. He was also younger than his half brother, probably no more than seventy, with luxuriant black hair arranged in trim ringlets that hung below his collar. It was a fashion that was current amid the Grand Families in the city’s northern districts, as was the expensive gold-embroidered leather waistcoat that he’d left unbuttoned to reveal a vivid scarlet shirt. His jewelry was more discreet than Ivarl’s: a couple of gold bands on his fingers and one diamond stud earring. A very large diamond, Edeard noted.