“There’s a … I don’t know, it’s like a little white nebula.”
“It’s not a nebula.”
She straightened up. “Edeard!”
“An hour ago it was several degrees farther from Alakkad. It’s moving. And before you ask, it’s not a comet, either.”
Kristabel’s anger vanished. She gave him a shocked look, then bent to the telescope again. “Is it a ship? Has it come from outside the Void like the one which brought Rah and the Lady?”
“No.” He put his arms around her and smiled down into her confused face. “It’s a Skylord.”
Mayor Trahaval was throwing a large party every second night, moving through the districts with a relentless pace to drum up support for himself and the local representative candidates who endorsed him. The Seahall was the only place in Bellis grand enough for such an occasion. With its unusual concave walls shaded a deep azure supporting a roof that was made from clashing wave cones, it really did have a marine theme, even down to the unusual ripple fountains that curved around the ten arching doorways. This evening the usual seating had been removed to make room for the tables laden with food, and a small band was playing at the center. The guests had been chosen with almost as much care as had gone into the lavish canapés. There was a broad mix of Bellis citizens to socialize with Trahaval and his entourage of stalwart supporters, from the smaller merchant families desperate for political influence to street association chiefs, local guildsmen, and ancient Grand Family patriarchs and matriarchs, as well as a vetted selection of “ordinary working folk.” The idea was the same as it was for every party in every election. Trahaval and the Upper Councillors would mingle with and talk to as many people as possible so they would spread the word among their friends and family that he wasn’t aloof after all, that he understood everyday problems, that he had a sense of humor and knew a good bit of gossip about his rivals and some Grand Family sons and daughters.
Edeard had no idea how many times he’d been to identical parties over the last four decades. The only number that registered was too many.
“Oh, come on,” Kristabel said quietly as they made their way under the gurgling water that surrounded the main doorway. “You can do this.”
“There’s a difference between can and want to,” he murmured back. Then people noticed that the Waterwalker and the mistress of Haxpen had arrived. Hopeful smiles spread like wildfire. Edeard put on an equally enthusiastic “happy to be here” face for everyone to see, twinning the burst of enthusiasm from his mind. He helped Kristabel out of her scarlet and topaz cloak, unbuttoned his own signature black leather cloak, and handed both to a doorman.
I wonder if the Opera House cloakroom fiends are here tonight? They’d get a good haul out of this lot.
“Macsen and Kanseen are here; look,” he said cheerfully.
“You’re not to talk to them until you’ve talked to at least fifteen other couples,” Kristabel ordered. “Once you and Macsen start, that’s it for the evening.”
“Yes, dear.” But he grinned because the rebuke wasn’t as sharp as they had been of late. Kristabel had actually brightened up considerably in the last few days since he’d spotted the Skylord. And anyway, she’s right. Macsen and I are a pair of dreadful old bores.
A third hand pinched sharply. “And less of that,” she warned.
“Yes, yes, dear.”
They smiled at each other, then parted. It was easier to work the crowd separately, they’d found.
A wine importer cornered him first. The man and his very young wife were keen for trade with Golspith province, where some excellent vineyards were producing some wonderful new varieties. The merchant’s third hand plucked a glass from a waiter. It turned out he was proud to be sponsoring all the party’s drinks for Mayor Trahaval tonight. Edeard took a sip and agreed the new wine was all he had promised. “So if you could see your way to mentioning the ruinous tariffs to your beautiful wife …” Which Edeard promised he would do.
Funny how people still thought he was the boss in their marriage.
Then came the street traders’ association chief. The man assured the Waterwalker of his vote and those of his fellows for Chief Constable, but then, Edeard had always taken care to maintain good relationships with the associations.
Next was a Guild Master from the shipyards. A local Councillor, a woman: “Just completely inspired by your wife, so I stood at the last election, and now I’m on the Council.” Three sons from the district’s Grand Families, wanting his opinion of joining the militia regiment. A shopkeeper. A chinaware dealer called Zanlan, who was the fifth son of a third son in a big merchant family, inordinately pleased to have broken free and set up for himself, importing interesting new cargoes from many provinces. “I’m a member of the Apricot Cottage Fellowship,” he told Edeard proudly.
“I think I’ve heard of it,” Edeard muttered diplomatically.
“We’re new, a generation like myself who aren’t going to sit about living off our families. Things are changing on Querencia, and we want to grasp those opportunities for ourselves.”
“That’s the kind of talk I like to hear,” Edeard said, genuinely impressed.
“Of course, none of the established guilds and associations recognize us. They’re probably frightened of the competition. And the Orchard Palace ignores us completely; we get frozen out of so-called open contracts.”
“Leave it with me,” Edeard promised. “I’ll make some inquiries.”
“All we ask for is a fair market.”
Then there was a blacksmith. A female apprentice from the Eggshaper Guild who was a little overawed and a little drunk.
He was on his fifth glass of the appalling new wines and his third plate of heavily spiced pastries when he caught sight of Jiska and hurried over. “You count as a party guest,” he told her. “Talk to me.”
“Oh, poor Daddy. Is Mummy bullying you horribly again?”
“I’m on a quota.”
“Sounds dreadful.” She gave him a knowing grin. Jiska was the second of their seven children, blessed with her mother’s fine-featured beauty but with Edeard’s dark hair. She was wearing a simple sky-blue dress with a narrow skirt, contrary to this season’s fashion. But then, Jiska had never gone for the excesses of Makkathran’s society, for which Edeard was extremely thankful.
“So where’s Natran?” he asked.
“He sends his apologies; there was some crisis at the ship. The new sails weren’t right; bad rigging or something.”
“There’s always a crisis with that ship. Is it actually seaworthy?”
“Daddy!”
“Sorry.” Actually, he quite liked Natran. The man was from a trading family, but after serving time with the family fleet, he’d acquired a boat of his own. He was determined to found his own fleet and fortune.
“He’s doing very well for himself, you know,” Jiska said defensively. “His agents have several profitable cargoes lined up.”
“I’m sure they have. He’s a smart young man with a whole load of prospects.”
“Thank you.”
“Uh … have you ever heard of the Apricot Cottage Fellowship?”
“Yes, of course. Natran is affiliated. It’s made up of people with a similar background to himself who’ve banded together for a greater political voice. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It’s a good idea. I like the way some family sons are striking out for themselves.”
“Well, the older merchants should start taking notice of the fellowship’s grievances. The way they treat legitimate competition isn’t exactly lawful.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You want to hear that, do you, Daddy? How my boyfriend and his friends spend their drinking time grumbling about unfair competition from larger rivals, how no one listens to them, how the world ignores them? I can talk for hours on the subject if you wish.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure they’ll find a way of making their presence known in th
e Council. Every other pressure group in the city certainly seems to manage.”
“Daddy, you’re such a cynic.”
“So when are you going to take him out to our beach lodge for a week and the day?”
The look she screwed her face up into was one of pure dismay. “Urrgh! I thought you wanted to rid Makkathran of useless tradition, especially something as demeaning as that one.”
“Er …”
“You know, I was eight before I found out the ‘Ignorant man’ song was all about you. That was a fun day at school; even my closest friends … Oh, never mind.”
“Ah, yes. I never did forgive Dybal for writing that one.”
“It’s horrible.”
I thought it was quite funny, actually. “It’s in the past, darling. Don’t worry about it. But my question still stands. You could do a lot worse.”
“I know. It’s difficult for him; this is only his second year as Captain. And we’re not going to rush into anything.”
“You’ve been going out for five years now,” he pointed out reasonably. “When you know, you know.”
“I’m sure love at first sight worked well for you and Mummy. But I need to know someone more than a couple of days.”
“It was not two days,” he protested. “I spent weeks wooing her.”
Jiska’s delicate eyebrow shot up. “Daddy, tell me: You didn’t just say ‘wooing’?”
He sighed in defeat. “You know, maybe if your generation did a bit more wooing, I might have a few more children married off.”
“I’m not even forty yet.”
“And still beautiful.”
She pouted. “You old charmer. No wonder Mummy fell for you.”
“Just so you know, I don’t have any problem if you and Natran do want to go before the Lady and marry.”
“Yep, got it, Daddy. Actually, got that four years and eleven months ago. Anyway, my big brother is certainly doing his bit. You know what?” She leaned in, eyes agleam.
“What?”
“I think Wenalee is expecting again.”
He gave his daughter a sharp look. “You haven’t farsighted that, have you?”
“Really, Daddy! No, I did not. And I’m shocked you should think so.”
“Yeah,” he growled. Jiska had a farsight even more powerful than his own.
Maybe I should get her to track down my secret watcher. But the idea of Wenalee being pregnant really buoyed him up. A third grandchild. That would be something. He loved having little Garant and Honalee (everyone called her Honeydew) running around the tenth floor. Rolar, his oldest, certainly hadn’t wasted any time settling down and starting a family.
“Uh oh,” Jiska murmured silkily. “Twins warning.”
Edeard scanned around to see Marilee and Analee worming through the guests, heading straight for him. His fifth and sixth children were identical twins, and right from the start they’d relished making a play of their matched looks, always styling their hair the same and wearing indistinguishable clothes. Tonight they’d dressed in synchronized satin gowns, except Marilee’s was shimmering burgundy while Analee sported yellow-gold. Edeard smiled indulgently at them; not that they deserved it, but what could a father do? They were twenty-five and the absolute stars of Makkathran’s high society. As tall as he, slim like their mother, faces where girlish wickedness forever lurked among exquisite fine-boned features, and thick raven hair that came from his mother’s family. Add their good looks to their status, and basically, whatever they wanted, they tended to get, from clothes to pets and parties to boys.
“Daddy!” they chorused delightedly. He was kissed simultaneously on both cheeks.
“We’ve been very good tonight.”
“We talked to so many people.”
“And convinced them to vote for you.”
“They all got reminded of what you did for the city.”
“Even though it was so long ago.”
“A debt like that can never be ignored.”
“So they’ll remind all their friends.”
“And their family to get out there on election day.”
“And put their cross where it counts.”
“Or they’ll have to answer to us.”
Being talked at by the twins was like being deafened by birdsong. “Thank you both,” he said.
“So now we’ve done our duty.”
“And we’d like you to set us free.”
“Because there’s a super party at the Frandol family mansion tonight.”
“And we’ve found us a suitable escort.”
They both giggled and looked at their father pleadingly.
“Uh …” Edeard managed.
“Utrallis.”
“He’s gorgeous.”
“And tall.”
“And serves in the Pholas and Zelda regiment.”
“But he’s independently wealthy, too.”
“Not just some minor son.”
“A gentleman of honor.”
“Happy to serve his city.”
“All right.” Edeard held his hands up. “Go on, go away, the pair of you. Have fun.”
“Oh, we will.”
Another burst of giggling assaulted Edeard’s ears as they turned away. Each girl raised a gloved hand. Two fingers beckoned imperiously. Through the melee of guests Edeard saw a young man in his militia dress uniform, all polished buttons and perfectly tailored scarlet and blue jacket. Utrallis couldn’t possibly be older than the twins, though he held his broad shoulders square and had a strong jaw. Edeard regarded his nose charily, suspecting a distant Gilmorn heritage—he had a nasty flash memory of Ranalee and the helpless lad in her office. Their eyes met, and the young man produced such a panicked guilty look as his cheeks flushed crimson that Edeard couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Then Utrallis was suddenly caught between the twins and hauled off.
Jiska shook her head as she sighed. “And he looked so sweet. Poor thing. How is it they’re always so elated at the start of the evening, then when morning comes, this tragic broken husk creeps out of the ziggurat looking like he’s managed to escape from Honious itself?”
“The twins aren’t that bad,” Edeard said mildly.
“Daddy, you’ve got such a blind spot when it comes to them.”
He grinned roguishly. “Because I was so tough on you.”
Jiska raised her glass. “I’ll get around to Natran, don’t you worry. I suppose five years is long enough.”
“No pressure. From me. Besides, it’s only two months till Marakas goes before the Lady.”
She smiled with a kind of fond bewilderment. “I can’t believe he’s marrying that one. I mean … Heliana is nice, and shapely, but really, what else has she got? Are men genuinely that shallow?”
“Of course we are.”
“Poor Taralee.”
“Taralee will do fine; she’s destined for great things. One day she’s going to be grand mistress of the Doctors Guild.” He was still inordinately proud of his youngest, not yet twenty-two and already a Doctors Guild journeyman. She’d completely eschewed the dizzy party life the twins had chosen so she could devote herself to medicine.
“Let’s see,” Jiska mused. “After the election you’ll be Chief Constable. So now that Dylorn’s joined the militia, you just need me or one of the twins to become a Novice and work our way up to Pythia, and you’d be king of the city.”
Trying to visualize either of the twins in a novice’s robing was plain impossible. “Not the first time someone’s accused me of that ambition,” he said.
“Really? Why?”
He looked at his daughter, smart, elegant, courted by every eligible man in the city, completely carefree, and with such astonishing opportunities ahead of her. But above all, his greatest triumph was to make her safe, to give her that wonderful future. Yet she didn’t see that. The battles fought before her birth meant very little to her generation. It was a depressing thought how established he’d become, just to be taken for grant
ed as one of Makkathran’s principal figures. No questions asked, no need to prove himself, not anymore.
“Long old story. Ask Macsen sometime.”
“Oh, Lady. I know he’s your oldest friend, but I really can’t take any more of those stories about the old days.”
“Good old days,” he corrected.
“If you say so, Daddy.”
It must have been something about Jiska’s skepticism or the appearance of the Skylord, but Edeard gave Macsen an unusually critical appraisal as he made his way over to his friend. The robes of office Macsen wore were fanciful, allowing thick fur-trimmed fabric to flow easily around him. It was a generous cut, perhaps designed to deflect attention from the equally generous belly Macsen had cultivated over the last couple of decades. His handsome face, too, was now a lot rounder. A fashionable short beard showed several gray strands.
“Edeard!” Macsen opened his arms wide and hugged him enthusiastically as if they’d been parted for years. Edeard gave him a slightly stiff response. After all, they had seen each other at least twice a week most weeks for the last forty years.
“Lady, this wine is dross,” Macsen complained, holding up his glass to the twilight seeping through the crescent windows.
“Stop whining; one of my potential voters donated it,” Edeard replied.
“In which case I’ll be honored to quaff a few more bottles for the fine chap.”
Lady, we even talk like the aristocrats these days. “Don’t bother. I don’t really care if I make Chief Constable. Face it, we’ve had our day.”
Macsen gave him a startled look. From the corner of his eye, Edeard saw Kanseen frown, but as always her mental shield allowed no knowledge of her feelings.
“Speak for yourself, country boy,” Macsen said; he was trying for a jovial tone but couldn’t quite reach it. “Anyway, from what I gather, you’re well ahead of our glorious current incumbent. Makkathran needs you to take a more prominent role.”
Edeard nearly said Why? but managed to hold his tongue. “I suppose so.”
Macsen draped his arm around Edeard’s shoulder and drew him aside with several insincere smiles directed at the group he’d been chatting with. “You want us to return to the old days? After everything you did?”
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 165
