The Dreaming

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “There’s going to be a test,” Edeard said wearily.

  “Oh right. It’s only the exam at the end which counts. Don’t worry. Listen, I’ve got a friend in the Lawyer’s Guild. A couple of gold shillings and he’ll gift us the whole Sampsols.”

  “That’s cheating,” Dinlay said hotly.

  Macsen put on a suitably wounded expression. “In what respect?”

  “In all respects!”

  “Dinlay, he’s just winding you up,” Kanseen said as she got up to leave.

  “I’m being perfectly serious,” Macsen said, his face as innocent as a newborn.

  “Ignore him,” she said, and gave Dinlay’s shoulder a gentle shove. “Come on let’s find some lunch before we go out.”

  Dinlay managed one last scowl before hurrying after Kanseen. He started to ask her something about the residency laws.

  “Must be true love,” Macsen warbled cheerfully as they turned out of sight.

  “You’re evil,” Edeard decided. “Pure evil.”

  “Only thanks to years of practice and dedication.”

  “You know he’s going to be our squad leader, don’t you.”

  “Yes. He’ll get his appointment the day after the Eggshaper Guild announces its sculpted a ge-pig that can fly.”

  “I’m serious. His grades will be way above ours, plus his father and a whole load of family are already constables. Senior ones at that.”

  “Chae isn’t stupid. He knows that’ll never work.”

  Edeard wanted to believe Macsen was right.

  “Um, Edeard, are you really not interested in Clemensa?” Boyd asked.

  “Ho, this is perfect,” Macsen said, rubbing his hands together. “Why, do you fancy your chances?”

  “Actually, yes,” Boyd said with more courage that Edeard had credited him with.

  “Good for you. She’s a lovely girl. As randy as a drakken in a bloodfrenzy, I just happen to know.”

  Boyd frowned. “How do you know?”

  “Evala told me,” Macsen said smoothly. “Her last boyfriend was dumped for not having enough stamina.”

  Boyd gave Macsen a suddenly entranced look. “I’ll come with you tonight. But you have to get Evala to put in a good word for me.”

  “Leave it with me, my fine friend. You’re as good as shagged senseless already.”

  Edeard rolled his eyes and promised the Lady he’d be good for evermore if she’d just stop Macsen from being… well, Macsen. “Come on, let’s get something to eat before the constables grab it all again.”

  “Oh yes,” Boyd said. “Our helpful and welcoming colleagues. I hate the way they treat us.”

  “Only for another two months, that’s all,” Macsen said.

  “You really think they’ll show us any respect after we qualify. I don’t.”

  “No they won’t,” Macsen agreed. “But at least we can shovel shit on to the new probationees. I know it’ll make me feel better.”

  “We’re not going to do that,” Edeard said. “We’re going to talk to them, help them with problems, and make them feel appreciated.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what I would have liked to happen with us. That way more people might just be encouraged to join up. Haven’t you counted the numbers, not just at this station but citywide? There aren’t enough constables in the city. People are starting to organize themselves into street associations to take on the gangs. That’s going to undermine the rule of law.”

  “Great Lady, you really mean it, don’t you?” Macsen said.

  “Yes,” Edeard said forcefully, and let them sense his mental tone so they knew he wasn’t joking with them. “I know what happens when civil government means nothing. I’ve seen the violence that the barbarians use when a society leaves itself open to any bastard who knows how weak it is. And that’s not going to happen here. Makkathran can’t be allowed to tear itself apart from within.”

  “I don’t know why you’re worried about Dinlay being squad leader,” Macsen said, equally serious. “You’re the one. Sir!”

  ***

  Edeard was still slightly self-conscious about wearing the constable uniform in public. Only the white epaulettes distinguished probationees from regular constables. The rest of it was actually real as Macsen put it. A smart dark-blue tunic with silver buttons up the front; matching trousers with a wide regulation leather belt containing a truncheon, two pepper-gas phials, a pair of iron handcuffs with a fiendishly tricky six-lever lock that was just about impossible to pick with telekinesis, and a small first aid pack. Under the tunic was a white shirt, that Sergeant Chae made very sure was indeed an unblemished white each morning. Boots were up to an individual, but they had to be black and at least ankle-high (but not over the knee); they also had to shine from polishing. The domed helmet was made from an epoxied drosilk mesh, with padding on the inside to protect the wearer’s skull from a physical blow. Like the others, Edeard had bought his own drosilk waistcoat which was supposedly tough enough to resist a bullet. Macsen had gone one further, and bought drosilk shorts.

  In theory the cost wasn’t too bad. But in practice every constable needed two tunics, and at least three shirts. Then there was a constant supply of flaked soap for the dormitory’s ge-chimps to wash everything. Edeard gained considerable kudos when the others found how good he was at instructing the ge-chimps with laundry tasks. After the first week Chae stopped trying to find fault when they turned out in immaculate uniforms each morning.

  The daily routine hardly varied. In the morning they would have various physical and telepathic teamwork training sessions, followed by lectures. In the afternoon they would be taken out on patrol under the alarmingly vigilant eye of Chae. Sometimes their division captain, Ronark, would accompany them. Evenings were theoretically all their own. Study was advised at least during the week.

  Edeard always hated it when Ronark did come out with them to ‘check on progress’. The man was in his eighties, and was never going to rise any higher than his current position. His wife had left him decades ago, his children disowned him. That just left him the constables, which he believed in with a religious fervour. Everything was done according to regulation; variations were not permitted, and such infringements were subject to severe fines, restrictions and demotions. Jeavons station had one of the lowest recruitment rates in the city.

  Nobody paid any attention to them when Chae led them out of the station at one o’clock precisely. Ronark was standing at his curving fish-eye window above the big double gate, observing the shift change, clocking the patrols in and out on his ancient pocket watch. Out on the narrow pavement, a squad was double-timing back to the station, its corporal red faced and panting as they tried to minimize their delay. Three ge-dogs scampered along beside them, happy at the run.

  Probationary constables were not permitted genistar support. Thankfully, Chae kept a discreet silence about Edeard’s ge-eagle, which now lived with two others in the station’s rooftop aviary.

  Jeavons was a pleasant enough district. It even had a small park in the centre which a team of city ge-monkeys kept in good horticultural order. There was a big freshwater pond in the middle, with exotic scarlet fish measuring a good two feet long—they always seemed sinister to Edeard who disliked their fangs and the way they looked up at everyone who stood by the rail watching them. But the park had a football pitch marked out, and he occasionally joined the games at weekends when the local lads ran a small league. He rather enjoyed the fact that Jeavons didn’t house many grand families; its buildings were on a relatively modest scale, though the mansions along Marble Canal were regal enough. The carpenters, jewel smiths, and physicians all had their Guild headquarters there. It was also the home of the astronomical association, which had been fighting for Guild status for seven centuries, and was always blocked by the Pythia, who claimed the heavens were a supernatural realm, and astronomy verged on the heretical. Boyd, of course, was full of gossipy facts like that as they walked the windi
ng streets; he probably knew the layout better than Chae.

  Today Chae led them over Arrival Canal and into the smaller Silvarum district. The buildings here were oddly curved, as if they were once clusters of bubbles that had somehow been compressed. Squeezed-up insect hives, Boyd called them. None of them were large enough to be palaces, but they all belonged to wealthy families—the smaller merchants and senior Masters of professional Guilds. The shops all sold goods far beyond Edeard’s dwindling coinage.

  As they passed over the ornate wooden bridge Edeard found himself walking with Kanseen.

  “So you’re not going out tonight?” she enquired.

  “Nah. I don’t have much money left, and I really need to study.”

  “You’re serious then, about turning this into a career.”

  “Ask me again in a year’s time. In the meantime I’m not going to blow it by being stupid. I need to graduate.”

  “All of us do,” she said.

  “Humm.” Edeard eyed Macsen, who was lingering on the end of the bridge, exchanging some good-natured words with a gondolier passing by underneath. The gondola’s benches had been removed, replaced by a simple slatted platform carrying a pile of wooden crates. “For someone supposedly thrown penniless on the street, Macsen seems to have a lot of coinage.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” she said with a superior smile.

  “What?”

  “His mother has been taken up by a notorious Master in the Musician’s Guild. She’s living in a nice little maisonette in Cobara district. Apparently he’s a hundred and ten years older than her.”

  “No!” Edeard knew he shouldn’t be interested in this gossip, but such talk was Makkathran’s second currency. Everybody had some piece of hearsay or rumour about the District Master families that they couldn’t wait to share. And scandal was the hugest currency of all.

  “Oh yes. He used to be in one of the travelling bands which tour round the Iguru and villages in the Donsori Mountains.” She leant in closer to murmur. “Apparently he had to stop touring some while ago because there were so many offspring in those villages. Now he just tutors apprentices at the Guild building and plays for the families.”

  Some little memory surfaced in Edeard’s thoughts; late night talk in a tavern several months ago that he wasn’t supposed to hear, and she had said notorious. “You’re not talking about Dybal?”

  Kanseen’s smile was now victorious. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

  “But… wasn’t he caught in bed with two of the Lady’s novices?”

  “That’s part of his myth. If he wasn’t so popular with his satire songs they’d have thrown him out of the Guild decades ago. Apparently they’re very upbeat. The younger members of noble families idolize him, while the older ones want him to wind up in the bottom of a canal.”

  “Yeah, but… Macsen’s mother?”

  “Yes.”

  Kanseen seemed disturbingly pleased with herself, mainly because of his incredulous reaction. That was the way with her, always coming on just that little bit superior. He didn’t buy it, that was just her way of coping with the probationary period, establishing a reasonable barrier around herself. It couldn’t be easy being a girl in the constables; there certainly weren’t many.

  Chae started off heading directly for the plaza where the Chemist Guild headquarters was situated. The pavements between the buildings were a reddish brown in colour, with a central row of thick cones rising to waist height. They were filled with soil and planted with big saffcherry trees whose branches created a verdant roof between the bowed walls on either side. Pink and blue blossom was just starting to fall, forming a delicate carpet of petals. Edeard tried to keep searching the pedestrians for signs of criminal activity the way Chae kept telling them. It was hard. Akeem’s memory had remained crystal clear and true on one aspect of city life: the girls. They were beautiful. Especially those of the noble families, who seemed to use districts like Silvarum to hunt in packs. They took a great deal of care about how they appeared in public. Dresses which had plunging necklines, or skirts with surprising slits amid the ruffles; lace fabric which was translucent. Hair styled to look carefree. Makeup skilfully applied to emphasize smiles, cheekbones, huge innocent eyes. Sparkling jewellery.

  He passed one gaggle of maidens in their mid-teens who wore more wealth with the rings on one hand than he would earn in a month. They giggled coyly when they caught him staring. Taunted:

  “Can we help you, Officer?”

  “Is that really your truncheon?”

  “It’s a long truncheon, isn’t it Gilliaen?”

  “Will you use it to subdue bad people with?”

  “Emylee is very bad, Officer, use it on her.”

  “Hanna! She’s indecent, Officer. Arrest her.”

  “Does he have a dungeon to throw her in, do you think?”

  Third hands performed indecent tweaks and prods on private areas of his body. Edeard jumped in shock before hastily shielding himself, and turning bright red. The girls shrieked amusement at his behaviour and scuttled off.

  “Little trollops,” Kanseen muttered.

  “Er, absolutely,” Edeard said. He glanced back—just to make sure they were causing no trouble. Two of them were still checking him out. More wild giggles rang down the street. Edeard shuddered and faced front, hardening his expression.

  “You weren’t tempted, were you?” Kanseen asked.

  “Certainly not.”

  “Edeard, you’re really a great bloke, and I’m glad to be in the same squad as you. But there’s still a lot of the countryside in you. Which is good,” she hastened to add. “But any family girl would eat you for breakfast and spit out the pips before lunch. They’re not nice, Edeard, not really. They have no substance.”

  Then how come they look so gorgeous? he thought wistfully.

  “Besides,” Kanseen said. “They all want District Master first sons for husbands, or guildsmen or, if they’re desperate, militia officers. Constables don’t come close, not in status or money.”

  After the plaza they made their way along to the markets. There were three of them just a couple of streets away from the Great Major Canal which boarded Silvarum’s northern side. Open areas not quite as big as the plaza, packed full with stalls. The first one concentrated on fresh food. A quilt of canvas awnings formed an undulating ceiling, stitching all the stalls together, whilst providing a strangely warm shade underneath. The still air was heavy with scents. Edeard stared at the piles of fruits and vegetables with mild envy as the stallholders called out their prices and promises of taste and quality. It had been a long time since he’d sat down to a truly decent meal like he used to eat at the Guild compound back in Ashwell. Everything at the station hall came wrapped in pastry; and none of the ge-chimps in the kitchen had ever been instructed in the art of making salad.

  “Those are melancholy thoughts,” Kanseen said quietly.

  “Sorry,” he said, and made an effort to be alert. Chae said markets were always rife with sneak thieves and pickpockets. He was probably right. Here, as always, the stallholders greeted them warmly, with smiles and the odd gift—apples, pears, a bottle or two; pledges of a good deal if they came back off duty. They liked the constables to be visible. It discouraged pilfering.

  Edeard had been dismayed by the reception they received in some districts and streets as Chae led them right across the city. Sullen expressions and intimidating silences, unshielded emotions of enmity. People turning their backs on them. Third hands jostling when they were close to canal banks. Chae, of course, had walked on undaunted, but Edeard had been unnerved. He didn’t understand why whole communities would be repelled by law and order.

  They moved on to the second market, the one specializing in cloth and clothes. There was a dismaying number of young women strolling along, examining colourful fabrics, chattering happily among themselves. He kept a small shield up, and did his best not to make eye contact. Though there were some truly pretty girls that just begge
d for a second look. Macsen, had no such inhibitions. He chatted happily to any girl who even glanced in his direction.

  “You never said which district you come from,” Edeard said.

  “I didn’t, did I?” Kanseen agreed.

  “Sorry.”

  “You need to stop saying that, as well,” she said, and smiled.

  “Yes. I know. It’s just that all of you are used to this.” He gestured round. “I’m not. There are more people here in this market than ever lived in Ashwell.” For a moment he was struck by real guilt. He thought about his home less and less these days. Some of the faces had faded from memory. Not Akeem, that never would; but Gonat now—did he have red hair or was it dark brown? He frowned from the effort of remembering, but no clear image came.

  “Bellis,” Kanseen said. “My family lives in Bellis.”

  “Right,” he said. Bellis was on the eastern side of the city, close to the port, and directly over the Great Major Canal from Sampalok. They hadn’t patrolled round there yet. “You’ve never been back to see them.”

  “No. Mother didn’t approve of my becoming a constable.”

  “Oh. I’m sor—Shame.”

  “I think she would have preferred me to take the Lady’s vows.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “You really are from the countryside, aren’t you?”

  “Is that bad?” he said stiffly.

  “No. I guess that’s where the values this city used to have are kept alive, out there beyond the Donsori Mountains. It just gives me a shock to hear someone with convictions, that’s all. You’re rare in Makkathran, Edeard. Especially in the constables. That’s why you make people uncomfortable.”

  “I do?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Yeah.”

  “But… You must believe in values. Why else did you join?”

  “Same as half of us. In a few years I’ll shift over to bodyguard work for a District Master family. They’re always desperate for people with a constable’s training and experience. Particularly one like me; female constables are very thin on the ground. And the noble ladies need protection as much as their husbands and sons. I can just about name my own price.”