The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  By the time he got back there after dealing with Tathal and Colfal, Felax had summoned Golbon and Jaralee, the last two remaining active members of the Grand Council committee on organized crime. Even now, after so long, Edeard hadn’t quite managed to wind it up.

  “New case,” he announced as he strode over to his desk. Golbon and Jaralee exchanged a surprised look. For the last seven years all they’d been doing was quietly closing case files and assigning them to the archives.

  Edeard sat at his desk. Behind him a neat row of tall slit windows looked out across Rah’s Garden and the Center Circle Canal. He always positioned himself so that he faced away from the view. “The Apricot Cottage Fellowship.”

  Golbon groaned. “Not that again. We looked into them a few years back. They’re just a bunch of young merchants looking to make their own association and build up some political clout. They use a few strong-arm tactics occasionally, but no more than established businesses. There’s no criminal activity.”

  “Good, then this will be a quick assignment for you,” Edeard countered. “I want the names of the fellowship, and yes, that includes my son-in-law. Get a rundown of their business affiliations. What they own: properties, land, ships, and so on. I also want a complete financial rundown on a herbalist called Colfal. See if you can find any ties to fellowship members.”

  “Why the sudden interest?” Jaralee asked.

  “I think I perceived one of them called Tathal use domination on someone he was doing business with. Colfal, as it happens.”

  “Ah, the impossible court case,” Jaralee said. Her first apprenticeship had been with the Guild of Lawyers, before she transferred to the clerks. That made her invaluable for Edeard’s investigations; her ability to piece together solid evidence from scraps of information in diverse files was legend, and her legal background enabled her to see what charges could legitimately be applied.

  “There have been cases where domination has been proved,” Golbon said.

  “Grand Family members testifying against ordinary citizens,” Jaralee countered. “It’s basically hearsay. The court chose to recognize it those few times because of the people involved. Legally, though, there is no acknowledged proof of tampering with another’s thoughts.”

  “I know there’s no legal basis,” Edeard said. “But if it did happen with Colfal, then it’s part of a greater criminal act. If we can establish that, we can go after the other facts they’ll have left behind.”

  “Okay,” Jaralee said. “As long as you understand no court will convict on that allegation alone.”

  “Understood,” Edeard said, trying not to think of Salrana. “There’s something else you should know. Tathal has a very strong psychic ability. Apparently even Marcol had difficulty countering him. Presumably this helps his dominance ability.”

  “Lady,” Golbon muttered. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”

  “I doubt it,” Edeard said. “But just be careful. Tathal isn’t the only strong rogue psychic in the city.” He told them about the occasional sweeps of farsight that had dogged him over the years. Even though he trusted them implicitly, he didn’t mention the tunnels. The only way those youngsters could have gotten down there was with the compliance of Makkathran itself. He didn’t know if it simply responded to any strong psychic or if it actively chose to help some and not others. Somehow he doubted the latter; it had only ever consciously communicated to him once, the day he’d learned of the Void’s true ability.

  “Are they linked?” Jaralee asked.

  “I don’t know, but I also want you to see if there’s any financial connection between Ranalee and the Apricot Cottage fellowship.”

  “I see,” she said in a neutral tone.

  Edeard did his best not to smile. Over the years the Grand Council committee on organized crime had expended a great deal of time and effort investigating Ranalee, all to no avail. Jaralee and the others had come to recognize the owner of the House of Blue Petals as Edeard’s personal obsession; he often suspected their diligence was less than it should have been because of that. “I know there was a, uh, physical connection between Ranalee and Tathal a few years ago. She was probably the one who taught him how to use dominance effectively.”

  Again, Jaralee and Golbon shared a knowing look.

  “We’ll look into it,” Jaralee assured him.

  Edeard and Kristabel took a family gondola from the Culverit mansion down to Mid Pool. It was late afternoon, with the falling sun polishing streaks of cirrostratus cloud to a tender gold. Warm air hung heavy over the city, redolent with scent of the sea.

  They weren’t the only ones enjoying the last of the balmy day; hundreds of gondolas were moving up and down Great Major Canal. Progress was slow. Edeard thought every gondola in Makkathran must be out on the water; he’d never seen so many of the sleek black craft together before. The streets and avenues along both sides of the water also were crammed with people.

  As he watched them, he noticed how many were elderly, being helped along by their families. Most of them were heading toward Eyrie.

  Kristabel caught his gaze. “How long?”

  “They’ll be here in nine days.”

  “Five Skylords,” she said, awed by the notion. “I wonder if that many ever came in Rah’s time.”

  “The Lady never gave numbers.” Edeard saw an old woman with an uncanny resemblance to Mistress Florrel being helped along by three younger woman; she could barely walk, her joints were so arthritic. Her mind leaked little spikes of pain, along with a mild bewilderment. He suspected she wasn’t entirely aware of what was going on. On the water below her, gondolas carried her contemporaries toward the crooked towers of Eyrie. The difference was money; they had enough coinage to make that last stretch of the journey in comfort.

  “How did they cope back then?” Kristabel wondered.

  “The population wasn’t as large as it is today. Fewer people lived in the city, so there’d be rooms they could all use without any of the trouble we’re having.” The influx of elderly travelers waiting for the arrival of a Skylord was reaching disturbing proportions. It had risen steadily in the years since Finitan’s guidance and word of the Skylords’ return spread out across the provinces. Now thousands flocked to Makkathran every month, all of them aided by family, swelling the numbers to a level where the city could barely cope. Once again the constables were fully deployed on the streets, quashing a hundred outbreaks of minor crime each day, from disputes over rooms to the inflated price for food charged to visitors. The constables also had to ensure free movement along those streets, which, given that a lot of the elderly had difficulty walking, was becoming quite taxing. The charity and goodwill of the permanent residents that had blossomed after the first couple of visits by Skylords were all but gone now.

  The gondola arrived in Mid Pool and headed up Trade Route Canal. They had to wait several minutes before the mooring platform at the end of Jodsell Street had a free berth. From there it was only a short walk along the street to the district master’s mansion at the center of Sampalok.

  Edeard always felt slightly bashful whenever he entered the big square at the heart of Sampalok. This was the place everyone associated with the day of banishment: the turning point in Makkathran’s life and that of Querencia itself. It wasn’t, of course: the true change had started in a secret vault under the Spiral Tower of the Weapons Guild, and nobody would ever know.

  The mansion of the Sampalok district’s master and mistress stood in the middle of the vast square, a six-sided giant of a building, each face a different pastel color, with its own high archway into the surrounding court. None of them had gates or doors; unlike their predecessors, the new district master and mistress didn’t turn away the people they were supposed to serve.

  In years past the square had been well traveled, with a few vendors setting up stalls to sell fruit and drinks. Kids ran about, dodging the fountains. But mainly it was open space. Not so any longer. Hundreds of modest bamboo-framed t
ents had been pitched outside the mansion’s walls. Even as he walked to the main gate, Edeard could see more being assembled, with lively ge-chimps scampering over the frame, binding the canes together. Families stood by with bundles of belongings they’d carried from their hometowns.

  Kristabel sniffed the air suspiciously. “I thought Kanseen had arranged sanitation wagons for the district.”

  Edeard shrugged, and they passed into the mansion’s court, with its white statues and neat bushes growing out of long troughs. The main doors were open, leading to a hall whose ceiling shone with a perfect white light. Broad wing stairs curved up to the first-floor gallery. They were easy to walk up, just as Edeard always intended. He’d never really known what layout to adopt inside the mansion; it was the outside he was so sure of. When the moment came, he’d sketched out an internal design similar to the one he’d disposed of, except now the lights were white, the baths were a sensible size, the beds were a decent height, and so on down a long list of architectural discomforts that Makkathran citizens had worked around for two millennia.

  Macsen and Kanseen were waiting in the small first-floor reception hall. They showed Kristabel and Edeard out onto the secluded balcony, where wine was waiting, as were Dinlay and Gealee. For his fourth wife Dinlay had fallen for a strapping redhead. Gealee was only twenty-eight years old and an easy three inches taller than her husband of two months. Seeing them standing together beside the balustrade with the setting sun behind them, Edeard had to concentrate really hard on maintaining his mental shield and not letting a single emotion seep out. All of Dinlay’s wives could so easily have been sisters. He knows it never works, so why does he always go for the same type?

  “Optimism,” Kristabel murmured.

  Edeard turned bright red. “Oh, Lady, did I …?”

  “No. I just know you.” Kristabel smiled brightly and embraced Dinlay. “Welcome back.” She kissed Gealee. “How was the honeymoon?”

  “Oh, it was just fabulous, thank you so much. The yacht you lent us took us to so many of these fabulous little harbors. Every town along the coast is so different. And the Oantrana Islands, they’re lovely, so unspoiled. I had no idea they were like that. I could live on any one of them.”

  Dinlay’s arm went around his new bride. “We can retire there,” he chided.

  She kissed him.

  Edeard gulped down some wine.

  Macsen’s arm went around his shoulder. “So what did you think of our guests?” he asked, gesturing at the big open square beyond the mansion walls.

  “There’s a lot of them,” Edeard said, glad of the diversion. Even though the visitors were enduring less than favorable accommodation, the city still boasted an atmosphere of optimism and relief. The mental aspect drifting along every street and canal was of anticipation. It was like the night before a carnival.

  “They’ll be gone the day after the Skylords come,” Kanseen said.

  “At which point the next wave will start to arrive,” Macsen said. “Edeard, we can’t go on ignoring this. I checked with the Guild of Clerks, and there are no rooms in Makkathran left unregistered. That’s intolerable. Where are our children supposed to live?”

  “Nobody is ignoring it,” Edeard said. “I’ve been to three meetings with the Mayor on this subject alone.”

  “And what was his amazing conclusion?” Dinlay asked.

  Edeard shot him a surprised look; his friend was normally more diplomatic. Maybe Gealee was different, after all. “He believes it will settle down after some time. We’re still experiencing an abnormally large surge of people seeking guidance. It’s inevitable at the start. The numbers will decline and level off.”

  “When?”

  Edeard shrugged. “It’s not the people actually seeking guidance that are the problem; it’s all the family members who come with them. They’re the ones creating the accommodation problems.”

  “That’s it? That’s the Mayor’s answer? Wait a few years and the problem will go away?”

  “Not quite. There are a lot of stopover inns opening around Makkathran. Most of the coastal villages within a day’s sail have at least one. More are opening each month. They will help.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Gealee said. “My brother’s children are in their twenties, and they can’t find anywhere in the city to live. Keral has traveled inland to see what kind of life he could have beyond the Iguru.”

  “Good for him,” Edeard said. “Too many of our children rely on the city.”

  “But we’ve lived here for two thousand years,” Gealee complained. “Why should we leave?”

  “Things are different now,” Macsen said. “The provinces aren’t the hardship they once were. There’s more than agriculture in the towns. Some of the guild halls out there rival those in Makkathran for size and ability.”

  “Then why don’t the Skylords visit those towns? Why is it always Makkathran?”

  Edeard wanted to answer. Kanseen and Dinlay were both looking at him as though they expected a reasonable explanation. He didn’t have one.

  “Only Makkathran has the towers of Eyrie,” Macsen said.

  That can’t be right, Edeard thought. Makkathran isn’t ours; it was never built for humans. “I’ll ask,” he blurted.

  Everyone stared at him.

  “Really,” he said. “When the Skylords come, I’ll ask them what they need to collect our souls. If the only place they’ll visit is Makkathran’s towers.”

  Gealee leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you, Waterwalker.”

  He grinned back at her, making sure he didn’t look at Kristabel. “My pleasure.”

  “This discomfort might help us,” Dinlay said.

  “Discomfort?” Edeard asked.

  “In Makkathran, with the stopover visitors,” Macsen explained, his face open and seemingly innocent.

  “How so?”

  “Discomfort breeds dissatisfaction. Everyone is going to take it out on the Mayor at the next election.”

  Edeard groaned, knowing what was coming.

  “The timing is good,” Kristabel said, suddenly keen. “If you’re right about the stopover inns, then the problem will be reduced considerably as your term starts.”

  “My term?” Edeard wanted to tell her to stop taking Macsen’s side; this felt too much like he was being ganged up on. “I’d have to get elected first.”

  “You’re the Waterwalker,” Kanseen said merrily. “Everyone will vote for you. Even the youngsters, now you’ve brought the Skylords back. Isn’t that right, Gealee?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said earnestly.

  Edeard added Kanseen to the list of people he couldn’t look at right now, though he wasn’t sure if the barb was intended for Gealee or Dinlay. Probably Dinlay.

  “Everyone knows it’s just a matter of time,” Dinlay said.

  “Do they?” He couldn’t quite maintain the disinterested attitude. Mayor? Finally. His mind wondered back to that spring day back in Ashwell, when his ge-cats had been such a success at the new well. Mayor and Pythia, he and Salrana had promised each other. We were children. That’s all. Children laughing glibly at a childish dream. But the idea that he could be Mayor still sent a thrill through him.

  “Come on,” Macsen implored. “This is the time, and you know it. Just say the word.”

  He glanced at Kristabel, who gave him a swift nod.

  “All right, then,” he said, and even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he could never hold in that smile of relief and anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

  The others whooped and applauded, giving him hugs.

  “Where in Honious do we start?” he asked. It was almost a protest.

  “You leave that to me,” Dinlay said. “I’ve been putting together a team for a while.”

  Edeard shrugged and shook his head. It was almost as if he had no say in the matter.

  Felax was standing in front of the thick wooden door into the Chief Constable’s office. He was agitated, which
was most unusual for him. “I’m sorry,” he said as Edeard approached. “I didn’t really know how to stop her.”

  Edeard gave the door a quizzical look as his farsight swept into his office. She was perched on one of the straight-backed chairs in front of his big desk. “Oh, Lady,” he muttered as dismay warred with curiosity. “Okay,” he told Felax. “I’ll deal with this.”

  Salrana turned slightly as he entered the office. Her hair was a lot shorter these days and colored a sandy blond. She was wearing a dark shawl over her sea-green dress, something a woman fifty years older might have on. Her big eyes regarded him with a kind of forlorn interest. After all, they hadn’t been in each other’s presence for over a decade—no small achievement, given the number of parties both attended. If he’d thought that she might finally be relenting, that Ranalee’s malign influence was waning, he was put right by the briefest flash of emotions flickering through her shield. Like him, she still couldn’t disguise her mind as well as a cityborn. So there were the embers of distaste and resentment burning alongside a brighter defiance. For once, though, there was uncertainty amid all that rancor.

  “This is unexpected,” he said as he walked past her. He didn’t pause or attempt to shake hands or even contemplate a platonic kiss.

  Her gaze followed him as he sat down. “Nothing’s changed,” she began.

  “Something must have, to bring you here.”

  “Call it desperation if you like. And I know you.”

  Edeard really was puzzled now. All the attempts he’d made to make some kind of peace between them had always come to nothing, and there had been a great many over the decades. Even then he’d still carried on helping where he could, especially with her no-good offspring. She must have known that. “What do you want?”

  “I won’t owe you anything. I won’t change, I won’t show gratitude.”

  “I’m not asking you to. What is it you want, Salrana?”

  She finally looked away, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “My husband, Garnfal, he’s going to accept the guidance of the Skylords. He’s not been well for over a year now.”