The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “Don’t forget,” Kristiana said. “Tonight. Me and Ranalee.”

  Boyd watched in awe as the girls hurried along the walkway to the stairs. They were giggling after a few paces, arms linked, their heads leaning in together to not quite whisper.

  “The Alrado theater in Zelda district,” Kristiana’s longtalk shot at him.

  “I’ll be there.” Edeard smiled happily at their departing backs.

  “Two!” Boyd exclaimed once the girls were clattering down the stairs.

  Edeard knew his smile was now boastful. He didn’t care.

  “Lady! How do you do it. Step aside, Macsen; the new king is on his throne.”

  “How was Saria?” Edeard countered. “Wasn’t last night your fifth?”

  “Ninth, actually.” Boyd’s grin turned sinful. “She’s a Matran, you know, sixth daughter of their next District Master.”

  “Good for you,” Edeard said. He still didn’t really know his way around Makkathran’s aristocracy, though he’d certainly met an awful lot of the younger members recently.

  “She let slip that she’d be amenable to a proposal. Can you imagine that? Me, the son of a baker, marrying into the Matrans!”

  “Is it so unusual?”

  Boyd slapped Edeard’s back. “Oh, you country boy!”

  Edeard wondered what his friend would have to say on the subject of a second daughter in the Gilmorn family. Right from the beginning he’d thought the city’s obsession with lineage and money was unhealthy, as if such considerations were paramount. Of course, it might just be that Ranalee was a lovely person as well. Only one way to find out.

  They made their way across the low bridge over the Outer Circle Canal and into the Majate district. Arminel’s trial was being conducted in the central chamber of the Courts of Justice, the largest there was. Outside, the walls of the big antehall were punctured by a series of deep arrière-voussure arches leading to the offices of the judiciary and their clerks. A lot of people in fine robes were already gathered there waiting when Edeard and Boyd arrived. Edeard respectfully acknowledged the looks cast in his direction as they made their way over to the cluster of constables around Captain Ronark. He recognized several members of the Upper Council: Imilan, the Chemistry Guild’s Grand Master; Dalceen, the District Master of Fiacre; Julan, District Master of Haxpen; and Finitan, of course, who at least seemed genuinely welcoming with the sly grin he shot at Edeard.

  “About time,” Kanseen said as they joined the constables. “We’re about to go in.” There was the faintest hint of suspicion leaking through her guarded mind. Edeard reckoned that was deliberate; she usually had a very strong shield. She never voiced any dismay at the success he was having with girls right now, but he knew it bothered her. In any case, he knew she’d had numerous invitations from various Grand Family sons, though that would more likely be a cause of annoyance for her.

  “They wouldn’t start without him,” Macsen teased.

  “I’ve given my testimony,” Edeard said with a straight face. “I don’t really need to be here.”

  Kanseen pulled a face at him.

  “And yet your ego delivered you here in time,” Macsen said equally innocently. “How fortunate we all are.”

  “Any word on Dinlay?” Edeard asked, ignoring Macsen’s taunt. He was slightly disappointed their squadmate wasn’t at the Courts of Justice. When they’d all visited Dinlay last, just a couple of days ago, the doctors had said he was almost ready to leave the hospital. It would be light duties only for another month or so, but the bullet wound was healing well.

  “Bit much to expect him to be here as soon as he’s out,” Captain Ronark said. “He’ll probably start tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” Macsen said.

  “Here we go,” Sergeant Chae said.

  Master Solarin from the Guild of Lawyers emerged from the nearest archway, assisted as always by a couple of ge-monkeys. After the debacle of Arminel’s previous trial, Edeard had asked Captain Ronark if the district station could retain its old legal tutor as prosecuting council this time. To his surprise, the captain had agreed. But then, as everyone in the whole city knew, this time Arminel and his cohorts were going to be found very, very guilty. It was just that Edeard felt more comfortable with Solarin prosecuting. At least the ancient lawyer knew how to present a case and wouldn’t succumb to any procedural tricks employed by the defense.

  “All waiting for me?” Master Solarin said cheerfully. “How very flattering. Come along, then; let us do battle one last time.”

  The clerk of the court appeared at the big doors leading to the central chamber. “The case of Makkathran versus Arminel, Gustape, Falor, Harri, and Omasis is called to session,” he announced loudly.

  Master Solarin made his painfully slow way to the central chamber, with everyone else falling into place behind him, as tradition dictated.

  Once again Master Cherix had been retained as Arminel’s defense counsel. He followed the constables in, accompanied by two junior lawyers, seemingly unperturbed by the stature of the case.

  “Wish I could afford him,” Boyd whispered to Edeard and Kanseen as they made their way to their seats. “In fact, if I ever do get arrested, I’m going to ask for him.”

  “When you get arrested, you mean.” Kanseen smiled back at him.

  Edeard grinned. But Boyd was right. Even with an open-and-shut case, Cherix had been flawless in his presentation, citing Edeard’s provocation, the grudge between Arminel and Edeard, inflamed tension, and the panic on the day, doing his best to mitigate the ultimate sentence.

  “They had to have someone that good,” Chae said as the squadmates settled in their benches. “It’s politics. The trial must be seen as fair.”

  When the central chamber was filled to capacity, the clerk called for silence, and the three judges walked in.

  The day before the trial began, Solarin had told them that Owain, the Mayor himself, would take the role of chief judge of the proceedings. It was a very rare event for the Mayor to sit in court even though his office was the head of the judiciary. Edeard somehow hadn’t been surprised. Politics. Again. The city wanted to see the gang members punished. And there was an election in the spring. The nature of the case gave Owain the perfect justification to step in.

  Owain and his two fellow judges called the court to order and requested the closing statements from both counsels.

  Edeard listened with a growing sense of excitement, maybe even a sense of suspense. It was a foregone conclusion. Solarin’s relentless speech made that perfectly clear, expertly demolishing the mitigating circumstances Cherix had so carefully built up. But even so, Cherix almost made Edeard feel sorry for Arminel: a life led astray through no fault of his own, dreadful childhood, abandoned by parents, fallen into crime because the city didn’t care …

  Surely they won’t fall for this. As he looked at the faces of the judges, they were totally impassive, their minds perfectly shielded.

  After the submissions, Owain announced a recess so the judges could consider their verdict. Edeard and the others found themselves back out in the antehall again, trying not to let their feelings leak to everyone else.

  Grand Master Finitan came over to talk to them. “Any doubts about the outcome?” he asked quietly. “You seem subdued.”

  “No, sir,” Edeard said. “But Cherix is good.”

  “He has to be. The Grand Council can’t afford any accusation of bias.”

  “Politics.”

  “You are becoming a proper citizen of Makkathran, aren’t you?”

  “I do my best, sir.”

  “I know.” Finitan drew him away from the other constables. “Then consider this: The offer you will be made after the case is over is not about ability; it is made to test you.”

  “Sir?”

  “If you accept, it will show you understand the city’s politics and indicate you play by the same rules as the rest of us. If you refuse, if you claim you’re not worthy or wish to demonstrate your
humility before the Lady or something along those lines, then you’re telling everyone you’re a dangerous idealist.”

  “Yes, sir,” Edeard said blankly; he didn’t have a clue what the Grand Master was talking about.

  “You have my blessing either way. But it has to be your own choice. I would simply ask you to consider what you can accomplish on the outside looking in. Think about it.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Finitan patted Edeard on the shoulder and went back to the group of Masters from the Grand Council.

  “What was that about?” Macsen asked.

  “I haven’t got the faintest idea.”

  The three judges took two hours to deliberate. When the court was recalled, Arminel and his four fellow accused were made to stand as Owain read out the findings.

  On extortion all five accused were found guilty.

  On conspiracy: guilty.

  On the attempted murder of two constables, a charge leveled at Arminel alone, he was found guilty.

  Arminel kept his face and mind composed the whole time. Edeard was expecting the man at least to glance in his direction, but his resolve never wavered.

  Owain then put a square of scarlet drosilk on his head. Edeard finally saw Arminel tense up.

  Gustape, Falor, Harri, and Omasis were sentenced to twenty years in the Trampello mines. They were led away to the holding cells. Arminel stood alone, facing the three judges.

  “The crimes you have been found guilty of are exceptional,” Owain declared. “I don’t believe that I have ever encountered such deliberate wickedness in my time on the Grand Council. To compound this, you have constantly refused to cooperate with the constables and tell them the names of other members of your vile criminal organization. While this might earn you their gratitude, it does nothing to encourage leniency on my part. We have never had the death penalty on Querencia. For this you can thank the Lady, who in her wisdom believes that there is no human soul which cannot be redeemed. However, I see no sign that your salvation is possible. As a consequence, I find myself with no alternative but to sentence you to incarceration in the Trampello mines for the remainder of your life. May the Lady bless your soul upon its ascent into the radiant heavens, for no one else will.” He banged the gavel. “This court is concluded.”

  The spectators filed out of the central chamber while Edeard and his squadmates sat on their benches in a mild daze.

  “Wow,” Macsen said.

  “Life,” Boyd said.

  “That’s just about unheard of,” Kanseen said.

  Master Solarin turned to face the constables. “I believe the last case where a life sentence was issued was forty-two years ago: the Golden Park Ripper. A most unpleasant individual. Before your time, of course. For that you may consider yourselves lucky.”

  “Wow,” Macsen said again.

  “Congratulations, young man,” Master Solarin said, and put his hand out.

  Edeard took the old man’s hand gently. “Thank you, sir. You got the verdict for us.”

  “I didn’t have much work to do, thanks to your extraordinary gift. I wish you luck in your future endeavors. It has been a privilege to be your legal instructor. But to use an ancient phrase, I think you have outgrown me now.”

  “Oh, no, sir. I’m hoping for a lot more cases.”

  “And you’ll get them; of that I’m in no doubt. And I’m not the only one, it would seem. Do you see the gentleman over there?” His gnarled finger pointed with only a slight tremor.

  Edeard and the others glanced in the direction the old lawyer indicated. They saw a man in a flamboyant blue jacket and gray drosilk shirt making his way along the main aisle. He was probably approaching the end of his first century yet still was hale and healthy, with thick brown hair hanging over his collar, only a few strands of which were turning silver. He had heavy gold rings on every finger and loops of gold chain around his neck. His face was fattening, the result of many years of good living. Even so, he looked physically powerful. He was watching them with pale green eyes that were overshadowed by a broad forehead. Some accident or fight long ago had left him with a jaw that he was unable to close straight, giving him slightly lopsided features. His whole appearance was one of a successful, self-confident merchant. As if to confirm this, he was accompanied by two beautiful girls who wore expensive dresses and a lot of jewelry. They were several years younger than Kristiana, Edeard decided with a little burst of sympathy for them. Then he met the man’s gaze. It was a scrutiny every bit as intense as the one the Pythia had given him all those months ago. Edeard instinctively knew there was an enmity between them and returned the stare levelly even though he didn’t know why.

  “Who is that?” he asked quietly.

  “That,” Master Solarin said with extreme distaste, “is Captain Ivarl.”

  “Does he have some kind of ship?” Edeard asked. He was mildly put out by the way the others groaned disparagingly.

  “No,” Chae said. “He doesn’t own a ship, though he makes out he used to captain a merchantman. Ivarl is the owner of the House of Blue Petals.”

  Edeard had heard of that establishment: a bordello in the Myco district, next to Makkathran’s port.

  Captain Ronark had come forward to stand at Edeard’s shoulder. “If the gangs in this city can be said to have a leader,” Ronark said, “it is Ivarl. He at least likes to style himself the master of our criminal fraternity. It was probably he who sent Arminel back to ambush you.”

  “Ah,” Edeard said. He smiled politely and inclined his head toward the villain.

  Ivarl returned the gesture, tipping his gold-topped cane in Edeard’s direction. Master Cherix came up behind him and murmured something in his ear. Ivarl smiled tightly and came over to the constables.

  “My congratulations on an exemplary case,” he said. His voice was rough, and Edeard suspected the injury that had left his jaw askew also had caused some deeper damage.

  “Thank you,” Edeard said with a heavy dose of irony.

  “This city is so much better off without such people,” Ivarl continued. “They are cheap vermin; they bring nothing to our lives. You, though, are an exceptional man, Constable Edeard.”

  “I do my best.” Edeard was uncomfortably aware of the way Macsen and one of Captain Ivarl’s girls were smirking at each other. He wanted to smack his friend hard.

  “As do we all,” Ivarl said. “Everyone in their own small way contributes to the flow of life of this fine city. In this respect, I extend an invitation to you and your friends to enjoy the hospitality of my house.”

  Edeard was very much aware that everyone was waiting for his response. So this is what Finitan was warning me about. I’ve shown the gangs that not all constables are pushovers, that their usual violence doesn’t work against me, so they want to see how far I’m going to take this. Politics!

  He allowed an old, deeply personal image to leak from his mind: the smoldering ruins of Ashwell, with corpses protruding from the ruins.

  “I haven’t been down to your district of the city yet,” Edeard said. “But I’m planning on visiting soon.”

  Ivarl’s pudgy lips pressed together in a big display of disappointment. He shrugged elaborately. “I look forward to meeting you there, young man.” He turned and walked away, a girl clinging possessively to each arm.

  Only then did Edeard notice the looks the others were giving him. “What?”

  Captain Ronark smiled. “Good man, Edeard. I knew you wouldn’t betray yourself.”

  Chae gave him an admiring grin and walked out with the captain.

  “Where was that place?” Boyd asked with trepidation.

  “The village I grew up in,” Edeard told him.

  “Lady, just seeing it frightened me.”

  “I wanted some emphasis. I wanted to make sure Ivarl understood.”

  “Oh, I think he got it. You don’t have to worry on that score.”

  “Shame, though,” Macsen said wistfully. “Did you see the blond one?�
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  “You peasant,” Kanseen hissed at him.

  “Hey! I can make noble, painful sacrifices, too, you know. You have to have standards to be a part of the Waterwalker’s squad.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Edeard said wearily.

  “Too late,” Boyd said. “Far too late.”

  It was midafternoon when they got back to the Jeavons constable station. They claimed their usual table in the hall, and the ge-monkeys brought over plates of sandwiches and mugs of tea. Of late the station food had improved; local shopkeepers, grateful for the noticeable reduction in gang activity in the district, were keen to supply the constables with their better products at reasonable prices.

  Edeard appreciated the gesture, but it made him aware of the expectations settling on his shoulders. And now I’ve seen the real enemy. Arminel might be gone, but Ivarl can send a dozen more just like him onto the streets. A hundred.

  After the elation of the trial it was a sobering thought. He hadn’t really changed anything, just made himself famous. And ultimately, what use is that to people?

  “Result, or what?” Boyd said as he picked up one of the sandwiches, a malted roll containing ham and cheese with a strong tomato chutney. He bit in contentedly.

  All the other constables in the station were making a point of coming over to congratulate them on the verdict. Edeard was getting embarrassed by the admiration.

  “Yes. A result all right,” Kanseen said, picking through the rest of the sandwiches. “But it’s only one result.”

  “Trust you to pour on the ice water,” Macsen said.

  “She’s right,” Edeard said. “We’re going to have to do a lot more than this before the gangs even start getting worried.”

  “Not so. Ivarl is worried enough about the Waterwalker to crawl out from under his rock and get a firsthand look,” Boyd said.

  “Will you please stop calling me that.”

  “I thought Arminel would get thirty to forty years at least,” Macsen said. “But for the rest of his life? He’s only, what, thirty? That’s at least a hundred and fifty years in Trampello. It’s not exactly a pavilion on the Iguru. A hundred and fifty years! Owain must really want to be reelected.”