Edeard hoped he hadn’t just groaned out loud from the terrible boredom. He was now as adept as any Makkathran citizen at veiling his emotions from casual farsight, but if Master Solarin from the Guild of Lawyers used the word “thus” one more time … It was a mystery how the old man could talk so long without a break. Rumor at the station was that Master Solarin was over two hundred fifty years old. Edeard would be surprised if that were true; he certainly didn’t look that young. His white hair had receded so far that the top of his skull was completely bald, something Edeard had never seen before, though the remaining strands were long enough to reach down over his shoulders. And his limbs were horribly thin and frail, while his fingers had swollen to the point where he had trouble flexing them. His vocal chords, however, suffered no such malaise.
Along with his fellow probationary constables, Edeard was sitting at a bench in the small hall of the Jeavons station, listening to the weekly lecture on basic Makkathran law. In another two months they’d be facing a batch of exams on the subject, which they had to pass in order to graduate. Like all of them, he found Solarin a sore test of patience. A quick scan showed that Boyd was almost asleep. Macsen’s eyes were unfocused as he longtalked the girls in the dressmaker shop at the end of the street. Kanseen appeared to be paying polite attention, but Edeard knew her well enough now to see that she was as bored as he was. Dinlay, though, was sitting up with rapt attention and even taking notes. Somehow Edeard could not quite laugh at that. Poor old Dinlay had so much to prove to his father and uncles, he undoubtedly would pass his exams with high grades. That presented the rest of them with the very real danger that once they graduated, Dinlay would be appointed their squad leader. It would be something he took very seriously.
“… thus the precedent was set for the lower ancillary court to hear any application to evict when a civil malfeasance is suspected of taking place within the property itself. In practice a full hearing is unnecessary, and you may request a provisional eviction notice from the duty magistrate who acts as de facto high council to the lower court. And that, I’m afraid, brings this session to its successful conclusion. We will deal with the criteria for such application next week. In the meantime I’d like you all to read Sampsols Common Law, Volume Three, Chapters Thirteen through Twenty-seven, by the time I return. It covers the main parameters of weapons usage within the city wall. I might even enliven our time together with a small test. How exciting that will be, eh? Until then, I thank you for your interest and bid you farewell.” Solarin gave them a vague smile and removed his gold-rimmed glasses before shutting the big book he had covered with annotations. His ge-monkey placed it carefully in a leather shoulder bag along with the other books the lawyer used for his lecture.
Dinlay stuck his hand up. “Sir?”
“Ah, my dear boy; sadly I am in something of a rush today. If you could possibly write your question down and submit it to my senior apprentice at the guild, I’d be most grateful.”
“Yes, sir.” Dinlay’s hand came down, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment.
Edeard remained seated as the lawyer walked slowly out of the hall, assisted by two ge-monkeys, wondering what Solarin would actually look like rushing somewhere.
“Olovan’s Eagle tonight?”
“Huh?” Edeard shook himself out of his absurd daydream.
Macsen was standing over his desk, a smug expression on his face. “Clemensa will be going. Evala said she’s been asking about you. A lot!”
“Clemensa?”
“The one with the dark hair always tied up in a long tail. Big chest. Big legs, too, sadly, but hey, nobody’s perfect.”
Edeard sighed. It was another of the girls from the dressmakers. Macsen spent most of his time sweet-talking them or trying to set them up with his friends. Once he even tried to match Kanseen with a carpentry apprentice; he would not be doing that again. “No. No, I can’t. I am so far behind on my law texts, and you heard what Solarin said.”
“Remind me.”
“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 putting you on,” Kanseen said as she got up to leave.
“I’m being perfectly serious,” Macsen said, his face as innocent as a newborn’s.
“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 his family are already constables. Senior ones at that.”
“Chae isn’t stupid. He knows that’ll never work.”
Edeard wanted to believe that 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 than Edeard had credited him with.
“Good for you. She’s a lovely girl. As randy as a drakken in a blood frenzy, 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 to me, my fine friend. You’re as good as shagged senseless already.”
Edeard rolled his eyes and promised the Lady he’d be good forevermore 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 onto the new probationers. 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 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. “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 epaulets distinguished probationers 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, and 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 the individual, but they had to be black and at least ankle-high, though not over the knee; they also had to shine from polishing. The dome 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 step further and bought drosilk shorts.
In theory the cost was not 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 before, and his children had disowned him. That left him only the constables, which he believed in with a religious fervor. Everything was done according to regulations; 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 center that 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 on weekends when the local lads ran a small league. He enjoyed the fact that Jeavons did not 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 winding streets; he probably knew the layout better than Chae did.
Chae led them over Arrival Canal and into the smaller Silvarum district. The buildings there were oddly curved, as if they used to be clusters of bubbles that somehow had 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 inquired.
“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.
“Hmm.” Edeard eyed Macsen, who was lingering at the end of the bridge, exchanging good-natured words with a gondolier passing by underneath. The gondola’s benches had been removed and 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 the Cobara district. Apparently he’s a hundred and ten years older than her.”
“No!” Edeard knew he should not be interested in gossip, but such talk was Makkathran’s second currency. Everybody had some piece of hearsay or rumor about the District Master families that he or she couldn’t wait to share, and scandal was the greatest currency of all.
“Oh, yes. He used to be in one of the traveling bands which tour the Iguru and villages in the Donsori Mountains.” She leaned in closer to murmur, “Apparently he had to stop touring a 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.”
A little memory surfaced in Edeard’s thoughts: late-night talk in a tavern several months earlier that he wasn’t supposed to hear, and she had said “notorious.” “You’re not talking about Dybal?”
Kanseen’s smile was 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 did not buy it; that was 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 were not many.
Chae started off by heading directly for the plaza where the Chemist Guild headquarters was situated. The pavements between the buildings were a reddish brown in color, 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 blossoms were 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 app
eared in public: dresses that had plunging necklines or skirts with surprising slits amid the ruffles; lace fabric that was translucent; hair styled to look carefree; makeup skillfully applied to emphasize smiles, cheekbones, huge innocent eyes; sparkling jewelry.
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. Then they taunted him:
“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 behavior 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 guy, 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 seeds 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.”
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 46