At midday, Edeard slid up through the floor. The man was sitting on the bed at the time, eating some sweet green grapes. He stared in fascination at the way the floor around Edeard seemed to remain solid, his farsight examining it keenly.
“Now, that really is impressive, Waterwalker,” he said with a rueful grin, and popped another grape in his mouth.
“Thank you,” Edeard said. “And you are?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter.”
“It might to your wife or children.”
“Not married. Thankfully. Too quick on my feet. But congratulations on your engagement. Quite a catch, young Kristabel.”
“Why were you following us?”
The man glanced at his chest, fingering the scorch mark on his indigo shirt. “Just going about my business, Officer. I wasn’t following anyone. Someone assaulted me, and I woke up in here.”
“Yes. That was me. Sorry about the shirt. It’s a nice one. Where would I get one like that?”
“A coastal town called Chelston; it’s north of here. Several days’ sailing in a strong wind.”
“You do understand that I won’t let you out of here until I get some answers?”
“What happens when you don’t get them? Do you try to beat them out of me?”
“No, of course not. You just stay here until you answer to my satisfaction. Apparently isolation is quite an effective method of encouraging cooperation.” Edeard glanced around the underground chamber the city had converted for him. “I’m not sure isolation is supposed to be quite as comfortable as this, but I’m a bit vague on the method. Sorry about that.”
“Asking tough questions in Makkathran is usually a little different,” the man admitted too casually. “It normally involves blades and fire and heartsqueeze and lungsqueeze. Only the Waterwalker could come up with an interrogation as strange as this one.”
“But you know it’s going to work. You’re already getting disturbed by the confinement. I can tell. So why don’t you skip the whole unpleasant part and tell me what I need to know; then I can let you out of here.”
“Where exactly is here, Waterwalker?”
“The constable station in Jeavons.”
“You’re a poor liar.”
“I know. Everyone tells me I can’t shield my thoughts the way you cityborn can. I leave too much emotion visible.”
The man popped down another grape and grinned. “You’re getting better.”
“Really? Have we met before?”
“Everyone knows you, Waterwalker.”
“But not everyone is frightened of me.”
“I’m not frightened.”
“Your family is; otherwise you wouldn’t be following me around.”
“I told you, I have no family. Wrong place, wrong time, that’s me.”
“Why do they fear me?”
“I know nothing of such things.”
“But if you had to guess?”
“That voyage I took up to Chelston, it’s a standard run for the captain. He knows the route, knows what to look out for. He’s sailed it all his life, as did his father before him, and his father before that, and so on back to the day the ship fell from the sky. It’s a route that keeps him and his family clothed and fed and comfortable; it is their life. It’s a route that works. How do you think he would feel if one day a reef suddenly appeared in the water ahead of him and threatened to rip the keel off his ship?”
“A smart captain would know how to steer around it.”
“His ship is very large and extremely heavily laden. It doesn’t turn easily.”
“I don’t suppose it does, not with people like you holding it on course. But you never know. Those waters on the other side of the reef might be easy to sail in.”
The man shook his head and sighed. “How can anyone so naïve get so far in this city? It is a mystery I doubt even the Lady can fathom.”
“Some say the Lady has chosen me to repeat her message to this world.”
“How wonderful. Are you really going to claim that you are Rah reincarnated?”
“No. Because we both know I’m not.”
“Ah, well, at least you’re not declaring you have a divine right to wreck a society that’s worked for two thousand years. That’s some comfort to me, I suppose.”
“I’m marrying Kristabel, who is a greater part of this city than a dozen minor families like yours. Do you really think I will destroy everything her family has built? It is to be my family.”
“Minor families? You think attempting to anger me will cause me to lower my guard?”
“Does it anger you? The really great families will hardly be bothered by the return to law and order. But you, you’re what? Something like a fifth son of a fourth son of a third son? Your branch of the family must have been kicked out of that fabulous mansion a long time ago. Do you look at it enviously every time you walk past? Do you hear the laughter coming over the wall? And now your father is what? Some market trader with delusions of grandeur? I bet he doesn’t pay all his taxes. Is that the only way you can keep paying the bills in your new little house? It that why you only have enough coinage to dress as pretty as one of Kristabel’s foot servants? Is that why you joined this woeful little association of thugs, so you could fool yourself you’re part of the Grand Families again?”
“Really, Waterwalker, I expected better. But you are very young, aren’t you? I remain to be convinced you have what it takes to see this to the bitter end. For it will be very bitter indeed.”
“As far as you are concerned, the end has already passed you by. When banishment is enacted, you will be escorted from the city. You will not return. Ever.”
“Unless you’re claiming a timesense greater than our beloved Pythia, you cannot speak of the future. So I’ll just wait here to see how it plays out, thank you.”
Edeard tilted his head to one side to regard his unnervingly suave opponent curiously. He hadn’t been expecting anything quite this difficult. “Were you one of the four on the tower?” Edeard had returned to the base of the tower three times since his fall, examining the city’s memories of that day. He’d felt the footsteps of his four assailants on the staircase winding up the center three hours before the pistol exchange, but try as he might he simply couldn’t backtrack them successfully. They came from a large crowd of worshippers attending the afternoon service at the church, several hundred people milling around together. It was too confusing to single out one set of feet. And of course, after he fell, no one knew what had happened on top of the tower until he regained consciousness. Even then he’d only told his friends. So no attempt had been made to apprehend the mysterious foursome when they scurried back down in the middle of the confusion and panic that raged around the base of the tower for well over an hour.
The man smiled. It was a harsh expression. “When you fell, you thought it would be to your death. You didn’t know you were going to live. That is our greatest concern. Who helps you, Waterwalker, and why?”
“The universe helps those who lead a good life. It says so right there in the Lady’s scriptures.”
“Answer me that one question, and I will answer all of yours.”
Edeard gave a weary shake of his head. “You will stay in here until you cooperate. I don’t imagine it will take long. Isolation is an evil foe. And you are as isolated as it is possible to be on this world.” “Do you truly believe you have time on your side?” “We will see whose ally time really is. I’ll be back. Eventually.” He told the floor to let him through and sank away.
The financial courts were situated in the middle of Parliament House, running along the south side of First Canal. The nine horseshoe arch bridges connecting the buildings on both sides of the water were so thick, containing whole suites of rooms, that they essentially formed a tunnel over the little canal. Because of that, light inside the courts was supplied almost entirely from the concave octagons decorating the vaulted ceilings. They might as well have been underground for all the diffe
rence the high slit windows made, looking out into the shadowed cavity beneath the bridges. The dusky lighting certainly added to the general sense of gloom pervading the eighth court when Edeard crept in quietly at the back of the semicircular chamber. It wasn’t laid out like a law court. Instead, long tables were arranged in tiers, with the tax investigators at a round table at their center. Lamps were lit on the ends of each table, jamolar oil producing pools of yellow light across the untidy stacks of paper and files. To Edeard’s first glance it was as though paper had come alive to breed faster than drakkens. There couldn’t be so many accounts relating to the House of Blue Petals. But each table had at least two clerks sitting at it. They were all dressed the same, in shirts and waistcoats. Most seemed to be wearing spectacles. None were under fifty.
The tax inspector’s waistcoat was lined with silver; otherwise there was no way to distinguish between him and his fellow guild members. He would consult a page from a very large ledger and ask a question relating to income or expenditure. Then Buate’s team of clerks would mutter among themselves and go through files and books before producing receipts or affidavits and offering an explanation for how the money was spent or received. At that point the clerks retained by the Mayor’s Inspector General would counter the claim, producing different bits of paper or an entry in the ledger of the business concerned that was different from Buate’s contention.
After listening to the evidence, the inspector would write laboriously in his ledger and move on to the next question.
Three years’ worth of records were subject to investigation. Every day’s purchase of drinks had to be accounted for. Three years of the House of Blue Petals buying and cleaning bed linen. Three years of genistar husbandry. Three years of replacement mats behind the bar. Three years of crockery, acquisitions and breakages, and depreciation and amortization. Three years of the girls’ cosmetics and hairstyling. Three years of hair clip acquisition, each batch meticulously recorded and queried.
Buate sat at a table at the far side of the court. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes glazed, his skin paler than the drab lighting could shade. He looked up as Edeard walked in. His expression of misery slowly changed, as if his facial muscles were regaining strength, hardening his cheeks and jaw into a look of pure fury.
Edeard met it without flinching as the inspector demanded to know about higher than normal expenditures on smoked toco nuts on the sixth Thursday of June two years ago. Buate never shifted his gaze from Edeard while his clerks struggled to produce receipts for the jars.
In the end, it was Edeard who looked away first. He could barely believe it, but he was close to feeling sorry for Buate. Theirs was an epic struggle for the soul of an entire city. It should be fought out there on the streets and along the canals, followers slugging it out with fists and third hands while their political masters plotted and schemed in Council. Not this. This was inhuman.
And I did it to him.
Edeard bowed his head to look at his boots, every inch the little boy at the back of the class struggling not to giggle. He hurried out of the finance court, then stopped in the cloister and laughed out loud. Clerks in their drab claret and olive-green waistcoats stared at him disapprovingly.
“Sorry,” Edeard said to them and their guild in general. He made an effort to compose himself, then walked on toward Center Circle Canal. He could do that. He could leave the court after a good laugh. Good gloat, if I’m honest. Buate couldn’t. Buate had to stay there for six hours every day, as he had done for ten days now. And the investigation was likely to last another eight days at least, Edeard had been told.
If only we could do this to each of the hundred. We’d have broken them by now. We wouldn’t need banishment; they’d have fled screaming through the city gates long ago.
But this kind of financial scrutiny was reserved for the larger city businesses that were constantly cheating on taxes. The Chief Constable had had to press hard with the Inspector General to get an inspector to launch his formal examination of Buate’s accounts. It had used up a great deal of time and cost far more than it would ever produce in fines. Worst of all, the clerks still hadn’t found any tangible link between Buate and Ranalee’s family. Of course, that didn’t really matter; he was just using the tax investigation as a major irritant against Buate while the Jeavons constables built up the one hundred list. But a proven link would have been nice.
Edeard left the merged domes of the Parliament Building behind and crossed over the delicate white wire bridge of Center Circle Canal. The patch of land ringed by the little canal was too small to rate as a district. People just called it Rah’s Garden, a small green oasis in the middle of government’s commotion. He walked along simple paths lined by tall, perfectly shaped flameyews. Roses were throwing out their first blossoms of the season, releasing a gentle scent into the still air. Several freshwater ponds were joined together by small streams that were crossed by small brick humpback bridges. As he crossed them, he could see big emerald and scarlet fish gliding around smoothly; they seemed to regard him slyly as he went by.
On the other side of Rah’s Garden, the rear of the Orchard Palace rose before him, higher than any of the domes behind it. Captain Larose was waiting for him at the bottom of the broad symmetrical perron that led up to the palace. Edeard straightened his dress jacket, though it was something of a lost cause beside the captain’s ceremonial uniform.
“Waterwalker.”
“Just you today, Captain?”
“’Fraid so, old chap. Inside the palace I’m naught but a humble guide.”
“Then guide me in, please.”
They ascended the three levels of the perron and went in through a high arching door. Five long cloisters led away from the hallway.
“Congratulations, by the way,” Larose said. “Kristabel’s a fine catch.”
“Thank you.”
“I met her myself a few times. Obviously, I didn’t make much of an impression.”
Edeard thought it best to let that one slide past.
“Did you really farsight Sergeant Chae’s soul?”
“Yes.” Edeard finally had learned to stop sighing as he answered that question twenty times a day. It was disrespectful.
“That must put life into perspective, eh?”
“Death isn’t quite so frightening, but that doesn’t mean that life shouldn’t be celebrated.”
“You are an extraordinary fellow,” the captain declared as they emerged into the Malfit Hall. Edeard could well imagine the captain reading A Gentleman’s Guide to Marriage and hanging on every word.
They passed into the Liliala Hall, where Edeard stopped to regard the ceiling with the same astonishment as the first time he’d seen the images in Malfit Hall. The storm swirled silently above him; light flickered all around, casting strangely angled shadows as lightning bolts zipped through the clouds. Then Alakkad slipped through a breach in the scudding clouds: a smooth black ball of a world threaded with hundreds of glowing red lines as vast rivers of lava surged along the surface.
“I never knew this was here,” an enchanted Edeard said, craning his neck as he tried to see the entire ceiling at once. “Can you see all of Gicon’s Bracelet?”
“You know your astronomy.”
“Some of it. We had a very old telescope in the guildhall where I grew up. My Master enjoyed watching the skies. He always said he was trying to see if another ship was on its way to Querencia. I think he was actually watching for Skylords.”
“Indeed. Well, if you wait long enough, you’ll see all the worlds in the Bracelet.”
Clouds surged back across Alakkad. Edeard would have loved to linger. The Bracelet was always his favorite feature in the night sky, five small planets rotating around one another, orbiting farther out from the sun than Querencia itself. The ancient telescope had never shown him Alakkad in such detail. He wondered how Vili would look in here, or the Mars Twins.
Larose led him through into the series of splendid chambers
that made up the Mayor’s private rooms. Owain was waiting in the oval sanctum, sitting behind the largest desk Edeard had ever seen. He wondered what on Querencia could be in all the drawers but held back from probing with his farsight.
“Waterwalker,” Owain said with a genuine smile. “My full and sincere congratulations on this day. You’re a very lucky man.”
“Thank you, sir.” It appeared the whole city was pleased for him and Kristabel.
Owain waited until Larose left. “First off, allow me to apologize profusely for the episode in Eyrie.”
“Sir?”
“Those Ladydamned pistols. My guild has held them in safekeeping for over a thousand years. They are perhaps our most closely guarded secret. How they came to be removed is still a mystery. Even if you managed to get them out of the vault, there are guards, locks … It should be impossible. It has been impossible until now.”
“Do you know who was responsible?” Ronark and Droal had interrogated all the gang members they’d apprehended that night, but they were nothing more than couriers; no one knew the actual source of the guns, the man who was offering them for sale.
“We think we’ve identified the principal thief,” Owain said, “though he has of course conveniently vanished. I’m ashamed to say he was one of my guild’s senior journeymen, a man called Argian.”
“I don’t recall the name.”
“Studious man, destined to be a Master, though perhaps not to sit on the guild council itself. Here.” Owain gifted his image.
Edeard was quite proud of the way he held his composure, shield firm, no sense of surprise leaking out. “Argian” was the man he was holding in the underground cell. “I’ll let the constable stations know; the patrols can watch for him.”
“Good man. Though I suspect he’s left the city. Betraying us in such a despicable fashion carries a heavy penalty. He must have known that. I hope they paid him well.”
“Yes, sir.” Edeard was desperately trying to work out connections. It was inevitable that the family agents would have someone inside the Weapons Guild, and probably every other guild, come to that. It would be easy now to find Argian’s family, who would never acknowledge any association, especially as they would know he was being held by the Waterwalker.
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