The Dreaming

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Inigo’s Seventh Dream

  « ^

  Edeard woke with a mild hangover. Again. Last night was the third in a row he’d been out with Macsen and Boyd.

  He sat up in bed and ordered the light on. The high curving ceiling started to shine with a low cream radiance. One of his three ge-chimps hurried over with a glass of water and a small compaction of powder he’d got from Doctor Murusa’s apprentice. Edeard popped the little pellet on to his tongue, and took a drink to swallow. His mind drifted back to that morning years ago in Witham where Fahin had mixed his awful concoction of a hangover cure. It was still the most effective he’d ever had. Edeard was sure the pellets were little more than placebos, providing the apprentice with a small regular source of income. He finished the water quickly. Fahin had always said water helped flush away the toxins.

  The circular bath pool in the maisonette’s bathroom now had a series of small steps at one end so Edeard could walk down into it. He immersed himself up to his neck, settling into the seat shelf, and sighed in gratification. A ge-chimp poured in a soap liquid which produced a lot of bubbles. He closed his eyes again, waiting for the hangover to ebb away. The water temperature was perfect, exactly body warmth. It had taken him a couple of weeks experimenting to get that right; the bathing water in Makkathran was normally quite chilly for humans. He’d also remodelled the hole in the floor which served as a toilet. Now the ubiquitous wooden box employed by every Makkathran household had gone, replaced by a simple hollow pedestal which the room had grown for him. So much easier to sit on.

  Various other little modifications had turned the maisonette into quite a cosy home. The standard too-high cube-shaped bed was now a lot lower, its spongy upper surface softer and more accommodating. Alcoves had shelves in them. One deep nook in the kitchen area was permanently chilly, allowing him to keep food fresh for days just like the larger city palaces did.

  That was the greatest blessing of being in the constables’ tenement rather than the station dormitory. Edeard could finally choose what he ate again. Half of his first monthly pay had gone on a new iron stove to cook on. He’d installed it himself, adapting the hole the previous tenant had hacked into the wall for the flue. It had pride of place in the kitchen, along with a growing collection of pans. There was even a small basin which could be used for washing up, rather than dumping everything into the bath pool as most people did. He liked that innovation enough to consider sculpting another one in the bathroom just for his hands and face. Although that really would let everyone know he had the ability to rearrange the city’s fabric, sculpting it as easily as he once had genistar eggs.

  Everyone who visited the maisonette.

  So, no one, then.

  Macsen had brought a girl back from the theatre last night. One of the dancers! As pretty as any of the grand family girls, but with an incredibly strong, supple body. He knew that because of the revealing clothes she wore when she danced on stage. Edeard gritted his teeth and tried not to be jealous. He and Boyd had struck out again. Though overall it had been a pleasant evening. Edeard enjoyed the theatres a lot more than just sitting round in taverns getting drunk. There were often several musicians up on the stage. Always Guild apprentices. Young and with passion. Just listening to some of their songs, so full of contempt for the city authorities, made him feel wickedly disloyal to the Grand Council. But he knew the words to many of the popular ones, of which several were Dybal’s compositions. It was loud in the theatres, some of which were no more than underground storerooms. He’d been startled the first time he heard drums being played, it was as if the musicians had somehow tamed thunder.

  One day they’d go and see Dybal playing, so Macsen promised. Edeard hoped it would be soon.

  The bubbles started to disappear from the pool as the water cycled through the narrow slits around the bottom. Edeard groaned and climbed out. A ge-chimp had a robe waiting for him. He pulled it on as he walked though into the kitchen area and sat at the small table. It was right next to a cinquefoil window, giving him a view over the rooftops towards the centre of the city.

  A ge-chimp placed a glass of apple and mango juice on the table, along with a bowl of mixed oats, nuts, and dried fruit. The juice was nicely chilled; the ge-chimps knew to leave it in the cold nook for an hour before serving it. He poured milk (also cold) into the bowl and started to eat, looking out across the city as it came to life under the rising sun.

  It would have been a fine life indeed if he could just stop brooding about all the lawlessness haunting the streets and canals he could see. The squad had finally managed to get some convictions in the court over the last few weeks. But nothing important; some shop thieves in their early teens, a mugger who was drunk most of the time; once the Guild of Clerks sent them out to arrest a landlord defaulting on taxes. They had no impact whatsoever on the gangs who were at the heart of Makkathran’s problems.

  “You ready?” Kanseen longtalked as Edeard buttoned up his tunic.

  He pulled his boots on. New, costing over three days’ pay -but well worth it. “Coming.”

  She was waiting on the walkway outside, an oilskin cloak slung over her arm. “Going to rain today,” she announced.

  He eyed the wide clear sky. “If you say so.”

  She grinned as they started down the awkward stairs. Every morning he was tempted to sculpt them into something less dangerous—write the miracle off to the Lady.

  “This’ll be your first winter in the city, won’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Edeard couldn’t quite imagine Makkathran being cold and icebound, the long summer had been gloriously hot. He’d become a good football player (he considered), with his team finishing third in Jeavons’ little park league. Most taverns had seats and tables outside, where many pleasant evenings had been spent. There had even been a few days when he’d started sketching again, not that he showed anyone the results. After saving up some coinage, he and Salrana had finally taken a gondola ride around the city.

  “It’ll be fun,” Kanseen said. “There’s loads of parties leading up to New Year. Then the Mayor throws a huge free ox-roast in Golden Park for lunch on New Year’s Day—except everyone is normally so hung-over they’re late. And the parks and plazas all look so clean and fresh when they’re covered in snow.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You’ll need a thick coat. And a hat.”

  “On our pay?”

  “I know some shops that sell quality for reasonable prices.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And don’t forget to get in an early supply of coal for your stove; the buildings are never quite warm enough in midwinter and the price always go through the roof after the first snowfall. The Lady will damn those merchants, it’s criminal what they get away with charging.”

  “You’re happy this morning.”

  “My sister’s having her boy’s naming ceremony this Saturday. She’s asked me to be a nominee for the Lady.”

  “Nice. What’s she going to call him?”

  “Dium, after the third Mayor.”

  “Ah, right.”

  “And you haven’t got a clue who that is, have you?”

  He grinned broadly. “Nope!”

  She laughed.

  That was the way it was between them these days. Best friends. Any discomfiture left over from that night after the graduation had long faded. Which he was sort of pleased about. He didn’t want them to be awkward round each other, but on the other hand he couldn’t quite forget about that kiss, nor the way both of them had felt. He’d never quite had the courage to bring up what they’d said. Neither had she.

  Which had left him wrestling with his thoughts about Salrana, who was always so sunny and generally lovely. It was now incredibly hard to ignore how feminine she’d become. And he suspected she knew that. Of late her teasing had taken on quite an edge.

  ***

  The rest of the squad were waiting in the main hall at Jeavon’s constable station, sitting around a tab
le finishing off their breakfast. Unlike Edeard, few of them cooked for themselves. Macsen had on a pair of glasses with very dark lenses, not too dissimilar to those Dybal wore. Kanseen took one look at him and burst out laughing. “Were you boys out in the theatres again last night?”

  Macsen grunted, and scowled at her over his cup of strong black coffee.

  Edeard desperately wanted to ask him what Nanitte, the dancer, was like. It must have been a fantastic night to leave him so wrecked. But friends though they were, Kanseen didn’t have much tolerance for that kind of all-boys-together talk.

  “Some news for you,” Boyd hissed, checking round the rest of the hall’s bench tables to make sure no one was paying attention.

  “Go on,” Edeard said as he drew up a chair. There was something almost comical about Boyd’s behaviour.

  “My brother Isoix is being leaned on again. They came round the shop yesterday evening as he was shutting up, and said they wanted twenty pounds to ‘put out the fire’. They’re coming back this morning to collect.”

  Edeard didn’t like it. Three times in the last few months Boyd had told them about gang members harassing his brother at the family bakery. There’d never been any specific threat, just warnings about falling into line. Softening him up. Well, now the demand had been made. “That’s very stupid of them,” he said slowly.

  “What do you mean?” Dinlay asked.

  “They must know Isoix’s brother is a constable. Why would they risk it? There are hundreds of shops in Jeavons without that kind of connection.”

  “They’re gang members,” Dinlay said. “Greedy and stupid. This time, too greedy and too stupid.”

  “The ones that turn up won’t be important,” Kanseen said. “Thugs who’re affiliated, that’s all.”

  “Are you saying we shouldn’t help him?” Boyd asked hotly.

  “No,” Edeard said. “Of course not. We’ll be there to make the arrest, you know that. What Kanseen is saying is that this arrest alone won’t stop the problem.”

  Macsen hooked a finger over his glasses and pulled them down to look out over the top of the rims. “We’ve got to start somewhere,” he croaked.

  “You make it sound like we’re the ones who are going to break the gangs,” Kanseen said.

  “Somebody has to. I don’t see the Mayor or the Chief Constable doing it.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  He shrugged, and pushed his glasses back up. They all looked at Edeard.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “And make sure you’re all wearing your drosilk waistcoats. I don’t want to have to explain casualties to Captain Ronark.”

  ***

  Boyd’s family bakery was at the northern end of Macoun Street, not far from the Outer Circle Canal. The street was narrow and twisty with baroque buildings lined up on either side, making direct observation difficult. At ground level, the sharp turns limited the squad’s farsight. The three-storey bakery itself had a central square tower with a soft-ridged mansard-style roof. Tall crescent dormer windows protruded above a mid-storey balcony, while beneath that the lower floor was reached by several flowing steps from the street leading to a wide entrance arch between two curving bay windows. Each one was filled with racks of loafs and cakes. Three ugly metal chimney stacks from the coal-fired ovens rose out of holes hacked into the tower eves, blowing thin smoke into the dampening air.

  Edeard positioned his squad carefully. The gang would want a fast exit route, so Macsen and Dinlay were in a shop between the bakery and the canal. Kanseen was covering the other end of Macoun Street, wondering round the stalls of a small arcade, her cloak covering her uniform; while Edeard himself settled down in the first floor living room opposite. It belonged to a family who ran a clothing shop on the ground floor, and were close friends with Isoix. Boyd himself had returned home for the day, and was helping out in the bakery, dressing for the part in white apron and green cap. Edeard was uncertain if he should use the ge-eagle. In the end he settled for having it perch in a deep guttering furrow on the bakery’s tower, almost invisible from ground level. It scared the ruugulls away, but no one else noticed it.

  “At least we won’t have to escort them far to the Courts of Injustice,” Macsen pointed out as they started their vigil. Edeard could actually see one of the conical towers of Parliament House through the living room’s balcony window.

  They waited for two hours. Between them, they raised the alarm five times, only to be proved wrong on each occasion. “So many citizens look so disreputable,” Kanseen declared after a couple of adolescents ran down the street after their third hands snatched up oranges from a grocery shop display. “And act it.”

  “We’re all paranoid today, that’s all,” Macsen longtalked back. “We see the bad in everyone.”

  “Is that a song title?” Dinlay asked.

  Edeard smiled at the banter. There was a lot to be said for being squad leader. He was sitting in a comfortable arm chair, drinking tea which the wife of the shop owner kept bringing up for him. She brought a rather nice plate of biscuits each time, too. His good humour faded as the young hooligans turned a corner out of sight. Foreboding rose into his mind, strong enough to make his skin tingle. He knew that awful sensation from before. “Oh shit,” he whimpered.

  “Edeard?” Kanseen queried,

  “It’s happening.”

  “What is?” Macsen asked.

  “They’re here. It’s about to start.”

  “Where are they?” Boyd asked. “Which ones?”

  “I don’t know,” Edeard said. “Look, just trust me, please be careful. I know we have to be.” He could sense the uncertainty in their minds, they weren’t used to him saying such things. It was difficult to get to his feet, his body was reacting so badly. When he did press up against the balcony window he found it hard to concentrate on the street below.

  “I think I see them,” Boyd said.

  Two youngish men were walking up the steps into the shop, while a third stood outside. Through Boyd’s eyes, Edeard and the rest of the squad watched them swagger into the shop. Isoix straightened up from behind the counter. “I told you before,” he said. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Yes, you do,” the first man said. His gaze kept darting nervously to Boyd who was standing at the other end of the counter from Isoix.

  Wrong, Edeard knew. Why would a gang member be worried about a shop assistant?

  “Boyd, he knows what you are,” Edeard sent in the most direct longtalk he could manage, praying the gang members wouldn’t pick it out of the general background of Makkathran’s telepathic babble.

  “Huh?” Boyd grunted.

  The gang member glanced at him again, then turned back to Isoix. “Give me twenty pounds, or we’ll torch this place,” he said loudly.

  “No,” Edeard said. The hairs on his neck were standing proud. “No no no.” Wrong!

  “You,” Boyd said. He pulled his apron aside to reveal a constable’s badge pinned on his waistcoat. The two gang members turned to face him.

  “I am a city constable, and I am placing you under arrest for threatening behaviour with intent to extort.”

  “How do you like that, you bastards?” a gloating Isoix shouted.

  “Everyone, close in,” Edeard ordered. He pushed through the narrow door on to the balcony. The gang member left on the street glanced up. And smiled.

  “Oh shit,” Edeard growled.

  “It’s him,” the gang member declared in a powerful longtalk. Then he started running.

  Inside the bakery, the first gang member pulled out a small knife. He flung it at Boyd, who swayed backwards. His third hand just managed to push the blade aside. Isoix snatched up a much larger knife, and threw it at the gang members as they fled through the doorway. It whirled out into the street, narrowly missing a woman who was walking by. She screamed.

  Edeard vaulted over the balcony rail and dropped to the street below. Landed badly, rolling as his ankle gave way. His shoulder smacked into
one of the steps leading up to the clothing shop door. He yelled at the bright pulse of pain, tears squeezing out of his eyes.

  His farsight caught Boyd leaping over the bakery counter. Kanseen was sprinting up Macoun Street, her cloak abandoned on the ground by the stalls. Macsen and Dinlay were moving out of their shop, confident and eager. Their shields combined as they stood in the middle of the street, blocking the way. All three gang members were racing towards them.

  “Let them go,” Edeard ordered.

  Macsen’s face registered bewilderment that came close to anger. “What?”

  Edeard had regained his feet, he started to totter down the street. “Leave them.”

  “You can’t be serious.” The three gang members were barely twenty yards from Macsen and Dinlay.

  “It’s a set-up. They knew we were here.”

  “Crap,” Dinlay sent. “I can scan them completely, they’ve got a couple of small blades between them. That’s all.”

  “There’ll be more, somewhere, waiting for us. Please, just let them go, I’ll track them with the ge-eagle.”

  Macsen hesitated. He took a step towards the side of the street.

  “No!” Dinlay hissed fiercely. He opened his arms wide as the three gang members charged towards them.

  “Dinlay, stop it,” Edeard yelled. He was running now, ignoring the pain in his ankle. Kanseen wasn’t far behind, charging along like a warhorse, her teeth gritted in determination. Boyd came skidding down the steps from the bakery, and took off after them.

  “Stop,” Dinlay proclaimed loudly, holding out a hand as if that alone would bring the whole city to a halt. “You are under arrest.”

  “Oh crap,” Macsen growled under his breath, and instinctively started to move back towards Dinlay. They came together as the three gang members ran into them. Fists swung, legs kicked out. Third hands scrabbled and pushed. Macsen went down with one of the gang members sprawling on top of him, his head cracked against the pavement. Dinlay was shoved hard against the wall of a hat shop, flailing wildly to regain balance. Then the gang member on top of Macsen was scrabbling to his feet, and fled with his companions. Dinlay started to chase after them.