Edeard immediately bridled.
“Don’t say anything,” Kanseen ordered sternly. “Arguing in public will make you seem petty.”
“Do not fight among yourselves,” Bise said softly. “Your enemy is outside, and this conflict only strengthens him. Even now the forces who fear your freedoms are gathering in High Moat. I urge you to stand firm against them. Resist their occupation of your home, the last place in the city where you are independent men as Rah promised. I offer your families sanctuary within the walls of my mansion. Here they will be safe while you fight to establish your liberty against the oppression brought upon all of us by the Waterwalker.
“We have little time now. Listen to those who walk among you speaking with my authority. Resist the invasion of those who seek to banish you from this city which is your birthright.” Bise gifted a humble smile and stepped down into the tower.
“What in Honious was that?” Dinlay asked. “Some kind of election stunt?”
“I have no idea,” an equally confused Edeard said. He gave Argian a questioning glance. “Could he really be the top gang lord?”
“No,” Argian said. “It isn’t like that. The Diroals have strong links with the gangs. They profit from having business rivals weakened, but Bise is smart enough to keep his distance. This is something else entirely.”
“Oh, Lady,” Kanseen groaned. She was facing north, her eyes closed as her farsight ranged out. “The militia’s coming.”
“What?” Edeard gasped.
“The militia. A whole regiment by the look of it. They’re coming across High Moat.”
It took a second for Edeard’s farsight to find the long rank of men marching past the caravan pens. “What are they doing? The constables are holding the rioters in Sampalok; they can’t get over the bridges.”
“There is a complete breakdown of law and order inside Makkathran,” Macsen said tonelessly. “If you’re the Mayor, how would you feel about that? The militia isn’t going to reinforce the bridges; it’s coming in to stop the riots.”
“How?” Edeard asked. “This isn’t a militia job. The constables are much better trained to break up mobs.”
“They’re armed,” Kanseen said quietly.
The chill that Edeard had experienced at Boyd’s touch returned; of all the constables he’d organized to help today, only the sergeants and corporals were authorized to carry revolvers. “But the people on the streets …”
“And Bise has just told them to resist the invaders,” Dinlay said.
“They have to be stopped,” Edeard said. “The militia can’t shoot at civilians even if they are breaking the law.”
“People in the mob are armed,” Argian said. “It may be that the militia will be shot at first. That would be … convenient.”
“Will your people listen to you? Can you get them to stop this?”
“There is little to be done on the streets,” Argian said. “Though I will try and speak to those of my fellowship walking Sampalok today. But it is Motluk and his kind who ultimately hold sway.”
“Talk to him,” Edeard said. “This cannot be allowed to happen.”
“I will do what I can.” Argian turned and headed off along the street.
“With me,” Edeard told the others. “We have to get to High Moat and stop this.” He started running back to the concourse, his farsight ranging out. “Lady curse it, where are all the gondolas? Why are they never around when you need one?”
“You planning to give the militia a good soaking?” Dinlay asked keenly.
“Whatever it takes.” The nearest gondola Edeard could sense was in Lilac Canal, heading away from Great Major Canal. It would take far too long. He stood in the middle of the Mid Pool concourse, twisting about, racked by indecision. His support of Boyd had left him aching and enervated. He knew he didn’t have the strength to pull many more stunts like the water cascade, especially if he had to run the entire length of Sampalok to reach the High Moat bridge. “Lady damn it.” He sent his farsight straight into the Orchard Palace, finding the Mayor in the Upper Council chamber. “Sir, please, I have to talk to you.”
“Waterwalker.” The Mayor’s timbre was frigid. “The only reason you’re still in this city is so you can give evidence before the commission I’m setting up to examine today’s events and determine who is to blame. After that I have no doubt the Grand Council will pass a very specific act of banishment, with you as the sole name listed.”
“Sir, please. You have to call back the militia.”
“What Ladydamned choice have you left me? Makkathran has not seen the like of this disorder for over a thousand years. And it was all your idea. Arresting these hundred troublemakers was supposed to put an end to chaos. All you have done is provoke outrage and horror. People, decent people in Sampalok—and there are many, contrary to your propaganda—are suffering untold brutality at the hands of a wild mob. A mob you provoked. I am the Mayor, and I will not let that stand. It must be stopped.”
“Let me stop it, sir. I can use water on them again however many times it takes, a dozen if I have to. Please, you cannot let the militia shoot people.”
“Since you are so obviously very hard of understanding, I will say this in simple terms. You are to leave Sampalok at once. The officers of the militia are not savages; they will deal with this in a fast and professional manner. Do you understand? If you do not comply this instant, I will have Walsfol issue an order for your arrest. Not even you can withstand a hundred constables at once.”
“Yes, sir,” Edeard said. His throat was strangely hard, making it difficult to swallow.
“So what are we doing?” Dinlay asked.
Edeard stared around. The squad was still waiting for his word. And look where my ideas have gotten us. But I know what I am doing is right. I know it is. The politicians and families are twisting everything. He smiled grimly at his friends. “We’re doing exactly what Boyd told me: being bold. Are you with me?”
Macsen put on a pained expression. “Why are you asking that?”
Several constables were heading toward them, led by a very uncomfortable-looking sergeant. Edeard waved insolently at them. “I think we just stopped being constables.”
“Oh, Honious,” Kanseen groaned.
“You’ll really need to hold my hands for this,” Edeard said, suddenly relishing what he was about to do. His friends sensed his new mood and grinned. They held hands, the four of them standing together in the middle of the concourse. In broad daylight, with a hundred constables looking on and thousands of farsight gazes playing over them, they sank down through the solid surface, laughing defiantly all the way.
It was Macsen who screamed the loudest while they tore through the bright tunnel as if they were falling to Querencia from the very nebulae.
“Edeard, what are you doing?” Finitan’s longtalk asked when they surfaced in a deserted alley not far from the central bridge over Cloud Canal.
“I have to stop the militia, sir,” Edeard replied, impressed by how fast the Grand Master had found them. Then he saw a ge-dog at the other end of the alley.
“Listen to me, Edeard. Do not use force against the militia. You do not have universal approval among their officers. And Owain has given them a free hand to deal with the rioters.”
“Why?” Edeard asked. “Why is he doing this?”
“As the city sees it, he is clearing up the mess you have created,” Finitan said with infinite weariness. “In doing so he usurps you as the force of law and order within Makkathran and breaks the gangs at the same time. When people are killed in any number, this city will blame you. And because of that, they’ll vote for him at every election for the next hundred years.”
“All this is about votes?”
“No, Edeard. As I told you right at the beginning, it is about politics. Always. Those in power are not easily dislodged. Certainly not by good intentions.”
“But what about Bise? He’s offering people sanctuary in his mansion while the r
ioters defy the militia. He’s making things worse.”
“Bise is a sacrifice Owain is prepared to make. They were allies in the Council until this morning. Each wanted to claim credit for defeating you. Bise underestimated Owain’s resolve. It is a split which Owain has played perfectly. He is already talking of the Council putting Bise on trial for complicity, and there are enough of Bise’s relatives who will leap at the chance of taking his District Mastership should he be disbarred. All Bise can do is make his gesture of resistance in the hope it makes things worse for Owain.”
“Do you think it will?”
“I have no idea. They may yet reach an accord before the point of no return is breached. Whether they do or not, nobody is going to vote for me, not after today, probably not even me. I’m seriously considering offering Owain my allegiance; that way I might salvage some of my political influence. Possibly, if I work with him, I can be a moderating voice.”
“No, you can’t do that.”
“We all have to face reality, Edeard; he is consolidating the city behind him just as we hoped to do.”
“By causing people to die! There are family agents positioned among the crowd ready to escalate this conflict with the militia.”
“Then we will need the Lady to grant us a miracle, for I see no other way out of this. We are pressured on every side. And you, my brave friend, will have lost all you have achieved.”
“This can’t happen.”
“It already has. I will protect you as best I can, but I doubt that will be of much use tomorrow.”
Edeard bowed his head as he ended his longtalk with the Grand Master.
“What’s the matter?” Dinlay asked.
“We’re completely on our own,” Edeard told them. “Owain has won. He’s just swept the rest of us aside as if we didn’t exist.”
“But we do exist,” Macsen said urgently. “I am here with you to help stop the militia from killing people. Let us go and do that.”
Edeard’s farsight observed the first rank of the militia marching over the bridge from High Moat. “All right,” he said with no real conviction. “One last try.”
They were spotted as soon as they started walking toward the bridge. Thousands of farsight glances settled on them. More and more people became attuned to their position as the word spread across every district. The weight of attention was like the muggy air of a summer day pressing down on the four friends as they walked onward. Nothing else was happening in the city; everyone was watching the events in Sampalok. A vast barrage of longtalked jeers and remarks fell on them. Edeard blocked them all out, trying to think what to do.
A miracle from the Lady; that’s what Finitan said we needed. And he’s right. But the Lady only ever performed one real miracle here in the city: her church. I wonder … That would be bold beyond even Boyd’s imaginings.
The central bridge across Cloud Canal from High Moat was a low curve of the city’s substance lined by stubby emerald pillars with tangerine groves spiraling up the outside. It led over into a small plaza where tall espaliered fruit trees grew up the sides of every building, covering the bowed walls with thick lines of blossom. The mild scents of peach and plum were now overwhelmed by the acrid smoke that chuffed out of the barricades. Both Burfol Street and Jankal Lane, which led back into the heart of Sampalok, had been blocked by piles of furniture that the crowds had set alight. Behind them the shops and businesses had all been looted. Edeard and the squad saw several named on the hundred list moving among the confident crowd, congratulating friends, muttering instructions. He picked out a lot of pistols being carried openly. Inside the buildings it was a sorry story. Injured shopkeepers and traders nursed their wounds while their families watched the triumphalist carnival outside with mournful thoughts and a great deal of suppressed rage.
Edeard reached out to Kristabel. “Can you sense all this?” he asked.
“Yes, my love. Everyone in the city is watching Sampalok now. No one can believe the militia has been brought in; Father fears the worst, but there are so few voices in Council that will dare oppose the Mayor. Oh, Edeard, what a mess, and it’s my fault.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “It was my idea to drive them all into Sampalok, and look how many decent people have suffered already.”
“It was a good idea; imagine this replicated in every district. That’s what would have happened.”
“Would it? I don’t know anymore.”
“The responsibility is mine alone. Kristabel, I’ll probably have to leave the city soon. That’s if I don’t end up in the Trampello mines.”
“I’ll be with you; you know that. Wherever you go.”
“No, darling; you’re to be Mistress of Haxpen.”
“I don’t think I want to be, not if it is to be a Haxpen under Owain’s one nation rule.”
“Let’s not make any decisions until tomorrow, certainly not in the heat of the moment.”
“Whatever you say. Is there nothing I can do to help you? Please. I want to be there with you.”
“No. But there are a lot of people hurt already. They need doctors.”
“I’ll organize that; I’ll talk to the Medical Guild’s Grand Master. At least he’s no Owain ally.”
“All right, then.”
The alley came out on the Cloud Canal path just short of the bridge. Constables were standing on either side, watching helplessly as the militia regiment marched over. Soldiers were still arriving from High Moat, forming into neat ranks on the plaza, except for one platoon that had lined up four deep across the path. Twenty-eight revolvers were aimed at Edeard as he approached.
“I would talk to your lieutenant,” he said.
The front rank parted to let their lieutenant through. He was tall, in his late thirties, with blond hair curling out from under his black cap. Every brass button gleamed brightly on his green and sapphire tunic. A long saber was strapped to his white belt.
Edeard kept his mind tightly shielded as his spirits sank further. The lieutenant was like every clothead officer in the militia, a young aristocrat who qualified for a commission because of his infinite arrogance. Just for once he wished for one with a spark of intelligence and independence.
“Waterwalker.” The lieutenant inclined his head. “I’m Lieutenant Eustace. I’m in charge here, and I have comprehensive orders from my colonel not to let you pass.”
The name was somehow familiar to Edeard, but he was sure he’d never seen the man before. “If your orders are to stop the rioters, then I can do just that. I already have over at Mid Pool.”
“Which agitated the crowds elsewhere,” Lieutenant Eustace said. “You’re a menace, Waterwalker. The sooner you’re out of this city, the better.”
“People are going to get badly hurt,” Edeard said. “Surely you can see that. I cannot allow this situation to rise to a point where the militia fires upon the crowd. The constables are enough to handle this.”
“Your sudden concern for the criminal element is touching. Who has spent the past year provoking them, eh?”
“Please, let me try. I’m asking you man to man. What have you got to lose? If I do quiet them down, your colonel will be full of praise for you for taking the initiative. If I fail, then you just carry on.”
“Man to man, eh?”
Edeard nodded. There was something wrong here. The lieutenant’s face was completely expressionless.
“We have a saying here in Makkathran,” Eustace said. “Something a boy from the countryside probably isn’t aware of. Don’t piss in the canals; you never know when you’ll need to drink from them.” He waved his left hand in dismissal. It was a languid movement. Edeard saw the silver ring on his third finger and couldn’t help the groan of dismay that escaped his lips. It was shaped as a vine with a single ruby in the crest.
Jessile’s fiancé.
“Quite,” Lieutenant Eustace said thinly as he turned away. “Take one more step toward the bridge, Waterwalker, and we’ll find o
ut just how many bullets you can shield yourself and your squad against. Now fuck off back to whatever diseased cowpat you came from.”
“Forget him.” Dinlay sneered as the platoon closed ranks again. “Just go around them; use concealment. He’s not a problem. We can get to the plaza easily.”
Edeard stared past the hard-faced platoon aiming at him, watching their comrades who were still filing into the plaza. A gentle drizzle of ripe blossoms was drifting down around them like dry pink snow. “I can’t fight both sides,” he said.
“Just blast the lot of them with the water,” Macsen said. “Anything that’ll stop the shooting.”
“I’m not sure there’s enough here,” Edeard said, giving Cloud Canal a miserable look.
“Air, then,” Kanseen said. “Can you use air? Hit them with a hurricane?”
“Well, probably—”
A pistol shot rang out. All four of them instinctively recoiled from the terrible distinctive noise. The men in the platoon were glancing over their shoulders, becoming dangerously stressed.
“Oh, screw this lot,” Edeard growled. “We don’t have time.” Another shot sounded.
Edeard pulled an enormous column of water out of the canal beside the platoon. In the distance he heard, “Militiamen, take aim.”
Lieutenant Eustace shrank down from the water as it began to curve over the canal path. His platoon started to combine their third hands to ward it off. Edeard let the enormous weight fall free.
“Fire!”
The air thundered with the power of two hundred fifty revolvers fired together down Burfol Street and Jankal Lane.
“No,” Edeard yelled in horror.
His churning waterfall sent a dozen platoon members skidding off the path, scrabbling for a hold as they went over the edge into the canal.
“Fire!”
A second volley crashed out.
“Keep them off me,” Edeard told his friends. Macsen and Dinlay immediately started hammering the struggling, drenched platoon soldiers into Cloud Canal. Kanseen’s third hand snatched revolvers from those who had the presence of mind to take aim at the Waterwalker.
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 121
