The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Buate was sitting behind the desk, gazing at his visitor with aristocratic contempt. Unlike Ivarl, who had always kept the office tidy, he had left papers and legal scrolls scattered everywhere. As if to counter the difference, Nanitte was there as before, sitting on a broad velvet-covered couch to one side of the desk; above her gauzy skirt she wore a strange narrow corset of leather straps that looked uncomfortably tight. She gave Edeard a blank stare, her mind perfectly shielded.

  Edeard used his third hand to close the door. “It will only be the one visit,” he said, deliberately ignoring Nanitte. Though there might have been a bruise on her cheek, the light was too poor for him to be sure. “This kind of visit, anyway.”

  Buate picked up a silver stiletto, playing with it absently. “And what is this kind of visit, Waterwalker?”

  “A friendly one.”

  “Indeed? What kind of friendship do you imagine we could have?”

  “Brief.”

  Buate laughed. “I see why my dear brother enjoyed having you as his sparring partner.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you at the funeral.”

  “I was busy in the provinces. I returned to Makkathran only after I heard the sad news.”

  “Do you know who killed him?”

  “I thought he drowned.”

  “No. He was dead long before he hit the water. Torture tends to do that.”

  “That’s awful. I trust you’re busy finding the criminals who did this.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

  “Ah. How interesting.”

  “Did you hear Grand Master Finitan has declared his candidacy for Mayor?”

  “It was the talk of the house tonight.”

  “His campaign will be centered on banishment.”

  “Yes, so I heard. I’m afraid he won’t be getting my vote. Too many of my friends would suffer under such a policy.”

  “That’s why you need to lead them away.”

  Buate’s detached amusement faltered. “Excuse me?”

  “I want you to go now. Leave the city. Take your colleagues and your business associates and your lieutenants with you. This way you’ll be able to leave with most of your money; you can live a good life in exile.”

  “Normally I’d just laugh at something so preposterous. But I can see you’re actually being serious.”

  “A lot of people are going to get hurt over the next few months. There will be deaths. You can avoid that. Think of this as an appeal to your better nature.”

  “You believe I have one?”

  “I think you’re smarter than your dead brother. He was a jumped-up thug, using equally stupid muscle against small fry. But now you’re here, and I see things are already changing. The gangs are targeting merchants and larger businesses now. You’re trying to integrate yourself deeper within the city’s economy and submerge yourself from legal challenge. That takes a more methodical mind.” He reached out with his third hand and aggravated a whole ream of paperwork on the desk, sending the sheets fluttering across the floor. Nanitte scrambled to pick up those which fell across her and the couch. “The mind of someone who appreciates paperwork.”

  Buate dropped the stiletto and watched the swarm of paper with disapproval. “Please don’t do that.”

  Edeard sent a last flurry of papers chasing up toward the high ceiling. “A smart legal mind. And I’ve grown to dislike lawyers.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am not acquiring businesses, nor have I any desire to. The House of Blue Petals provides a more than adequate income.”

  Edeard heard loud footsteps pounding along the corridor outside. He cocked his head to one side and gave Buate an expectant look.

  “Boss!” a man yelled.

  The doors burst open. A very out-of-breath Medath came charging in, his oilskin cloak scattering water on the polished floor behind him. “Boss! Boss! The Waterwalker was there. He caught us with Rapsail and—AAARGH!” Medath nearly fell over backward in fright. He clutched at his heart, eyes bugging as he drew a juddering breath. Buate was actually trembling in anger as he glared at his enforcer.

  Edeard smiled contentedly. “Timing is everything in our line of work, don’t you find?”

  “You can’t be here,” Medath cried. “You’re back there.” His finger pointed madly out toward the city. “I ran … Boss?”

  “Shut up.”

  Edeard made his smile vanish. “Leave the city. Take this cretin and all the others like him with you. You cannot win. Not against me.”

  Buate rose from the chair, his hands pressed palms down on the desk. “You understand nothing. Go back to your countryside, boy, before you and everyone you love gets hurt. This city is not for you.”

  They stared at each other as Medath continued to pant loudly behind them.

  “Makkathran is already mine,” Edeard said. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” He turned and started to walk toward the door.

  “You’re as weak as my brother,” Buate spit after him. “Next time it won’t be Mirnatha who gets taken.”

  Edeard spun around, flinging an arm out. Buate was torn from his seat to smash against the wall between two of the oval windows. He squirmed impotently seven feet above the floor. Thin worms of dazzling static crackled in the air around him, jabbing down at his clothes. Buate wailed in dread as tiny puffs of smoke jetted from each strike point.

  “If anything ever happens to her or any of my friends, you will join your brother in a manner that will make his passing seem a delight.” Edeard abruptly withdrew his third hand. Buate fell to the floor, landing badly on his shoulder. He grunted savagely from the pain.

  “You keep bad company,” Edeard told Nanitte, and closed the doors behind him.

  Edeard woke alone in his maisonette. His ge-chimps bustled around getting breakfast ready as he walked down the steps into his pool. For all the fun Kristabel and he had had sponging each other down in the beach house, he’d missed the sheer luxury of the bathing pool with its perfect temperature. At first he thought that might account for his melancholia; then he acknowledged that he missed not waking up with Kristabel.

  As he munched his way through the mix of nuts and fruit the ge-chimps had prepared, he wondered if he should longtalk her. It would be nice to find out when they could actually meet next; yesterday had been so ridiculously busy. He was sure that she would expect him to go to the Culverit mansion and be with her to spend a night together, even though they’d be a lot comfier in the maisonette with his modified bed and the other simple comforts he’d created. Then he paused with a glass of apple and mango juice halfway to his mouth. Of all the family girls he’d been with, he’d brought every one back to the maisonette except for the occasional night spent in an inn or that nightmare weekend with Ranalee. Not once had he been taken back to a girl’s bedroom at the family residence.

  Has Boyd ever gone back to Saria’s mansion for a night? I can’t remember. Lady, I wish I understood these kinds of customs better.

  The Grand Families could get quite stuffy about formalities.

  I’ll ask Kanseen; she’ll tell me.

  Until then, he foreswore longtalking Kristabel. Of course, if she were to call to him …

  Macsen was waiting by the gates at the tenement’s entrance. “How did it go last night?” he asked.

  “Not too good. Buate wasn’t inclined to leave Makkathran.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  “I knew it myself, but I had to put it to him.”

  Macsen grinned. “Your conscience … It’ll be the death of us.”

  “Most likely. But you should have seen Medath’s face. It was worth ten times the risk just for that. So how did your part go?”

  “Sentan and the rest of them trudged off down the south road. Quite a picture it was. We stayed by the gate for over an hour and sent a ge-eagle out to watch, but they never came back.”

  “Ah, well, four down, four hundred to go.”

 
; “We can’t do this four at a time. Besides, it took us five days of hard work just to uncover this one scheme.”

  “I know. We just have to hold the line until Finitan gets elected.”

  “You really think he will?”

  “He has to,” Edeard said earnestly. “Most people in the city want the gangs expelled. Owain doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “You don’t know that. He could pull out a policy that will be even more popular.”

  “If he wanted to be that popular, he’d enact banishment right now and stop trying to wreck our exclusion warrants campaign.”

  “The politicians in this city are a lot smarter and more devious than you give them credit for. You’ll see.”

  Edeard didn’t believe him; he knew Finitan would win. They reached Arrival Canal and went along to the first mooring platform to hail a gondola.

  “At least we get to see Rapsail’s hangover,” Macsen said.

  The meeting with Rapsail and Charyau was awkward and stilted. Charyau was torn between gratitude to the constables and fury at himself and Rapsail. Rapsail especially came off badly. “Waster,” “parasite,” and “worthless” were some of the more frequently used words. But Edeard was now quite accomplished at talking around reluctant citizens, especially important ones or those who considered themselves important.

  It wasn’t Charyau’s self-directed fury Edeard manipulated. It was the anger and fear the merchant felt toward the gangs that had come so close to taking his life’s accomplishments away from him. In the end there wasn’t that much to exploit. The whole experience meant that Charyau had undergone an almost evangelical conversion. Neph was going to get its first merchants association; of that he swore on the Lady’s life. He was going to compel his friends and rivals; there were old favors he would call in, he promised, social ties he could use, even financial debts. Together Neph’s merchants would stand against the gangs and this insidious new strategy. Everything he learned would be delivered immediately to the constables—by Rapsail.

  Edeard walked into the small hall at the Jeavons station in an exceptionally fine mood. Several probationary constables had delivered names that their station captains wanted added to the exclusion lists, which he passed on to Urarl’s team for checking. They did that as a matter of course now, making sure the names were genuine. Several traders and shopkeepers also had forwarded the names of people they suspected. Edeard sent runners to the relevant constable stations, asking that the new suspects be observed. Three new warrants needed drawing up by the Lawyers Guild, producing nine copies each, which he’d then humbly have to ask the District Masters and Representatives to sign.

  “I wish we could just have one warrant to cover all the districts,” Boyd complained.

  “After Finitan gets elected,” Edeard promised. “But I did have one idea after I saw Buate last night. If the gangs are taking shares in legitimate businesses, it’ll entail a lot of paperwork. Droal, how do we get the Guild of Tax Clerks to investigate someone we suspect of cheating on taxes?”

  “Get an inspector appointed to review the case.”

  “Dinlay, can you organize that?”

  Dinlay smiled. “My pleasure.”

  “Talk to the Myco station captain as well. The inspector should be given a constables escort while he’s in Buate’s office. I don’t want them intimidated.”

  “Leave it to me.”

  “That should leave Buate with a large annoyance,” Edeard said in satisfaction.

  “If he’s as smart as you say, he’ll have accountants who can face up to a tax inspector,” Macsen said.

  “Yes, but it will cost him time and money. I want to open up as many angles of attack as we can.”

  Edeard turned to his own paperwork, which was piled up on a couple of the benches. There were actually more sheets and scrolls than he’d seen in Buate’s office. He hadn’t realized how clerklike this battle was going to become. All he truly wanted was to be out on the streets arresting criminals.

  “Any gang activities we can smack down today?” he asked hopefully.

  “Some interesting talk coming out of the Ilongo stall holders association,” Macsen said. “I’m going to follow that up this afternoon.”

  “Good,” Edeard said. He wondered if Kristabel was having lunch right now. If so, it would be on the hortus on their mansion’s tenth level. A long table with a white awning fluttering idly overhead, family and friends gathered to chat and laugh with Makkathran as their backdrop, wine to drink, tasty food to eat, then an afternoon spent shopping or at a spa bath where they would prepare for this evening’s parties.

  He picked up a piece of paper from the newest pile. It was a report from the Lillylight station about attempts by gang members named in the exclusion warrants to infiltrate the district and menace their old haunts again. Their methods were becoming quite sophisticated: distracting bridge guards, disguising themselves.

  The small hall’s doors shut as the squad went out to lunch. Edeard looked up, realizing that just he and Kanseen were left. She was giving him a concerned look, which worried him.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  “Er, look, I asked you to tackle Medath because he’d believe he could overcome you. I knew he couldn’t.”

  Her lips came together reproachfully. “I’m talking about your week with Kristabel.”

  “What about it?” He suddenly realized that being here alone with her wasn’t an accident.

  “Edeard, please, the two of us …” She gave him a compassionate smile. “There’s a way we are closer than the others. I still almost think it’s a shame you and I didn’t happen, but well, now …”

  “I know. And I’m happy for the two of you. He needs someone like you. It’s a perfect match, and I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Edeard! This isn’t about me. I’m here as a friend asking if I can help. Why didn’t it work out? I mean, be honest. It’s not that you lack experience as a lover, now, is it? There have been enough girls these last months.”

  “I—” He knew he was blushing. Yes, Kanseen was a friend, a very good one, especially after … Well, anyway, he wasn’t used to talking about such things with her. The others, yes. That was boys’ talk. Not that they ever went into real detail. “Nothing was wrong. Thank you,” he said stiffly. “Not in any way.”

  Kanseen stared at him as if she were trying to figure out a major puzzle. It was almost as if she were angry with him. Then her expression suddenly changed to one of surprise, then dismay. Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, no. No!” It was as if she were beseeching him to say anything else.

  “What?” he asked apprehensively.

  “Edeard.” She stood in front of him and took both of his hands in hers. “You do understand what last week was, don’t you?”

  “Yes. If you must know, I had the most wonderful time of my life. It was a miracle I ever came back to Makkathran. Satisfied now?”

  “A week and the day,” she said it as if it were some kind of test.

  “Which day?”

  “Oh, Lady, you really don’t know.”

  “Er …”

  Kanseen tightened her grip. “Edeard, a Makkathran girl of good family, particularly one in Kristabel’s position, invites a man to spend one week outside the city with her for one reason; so they can both find out if they are compatible in bed. If you are going to spend the next two hundred years together, you really, seriously need to know that before you start.”

  “Two hundred years?” Edeard’s legs were somehow unsteady. The feeling of dread that was creeping over his entire body was horrifyingly similar to that time when he’d woken in Ashwell to discover the bandits. “What two hundred years?”

  “Marriage! You nincompoop. Oh, Edeard.” Kanseen was mortified. She let go of him and crammed her hands against her forehead. “If your week worked out that way, you are supposed to ask her father for her hand in marriage the dayyou return. That’s the custom. A week and the day.”

 
; “Oh, dear Lady, this isn’t happening.”

  “There was nothing wrong, was there? You just didn’t know.”

  “Kristabel thinks we’re getting married?” He sat down heavily.

  “She was expecting you to ask. Everyone was. We were all worried for you that it had gone wrong.”

  “Oh, Lady. Wait! Who else knows?” Because this is Makkathran, and everything is public.

  Now Kanseen looked really upset. “Well, there have been a few people speculating who was the one with the problem.”

  “A few?” He knew all too well what that meant. The whole Lady-damned city is talking about it.

  “She must hate me,” he said in an aghast whisper. Not Kristabel; not her angry with me. I can’t stand that.

  “No. Um, look, I’d better go over to Haxpen and explain.”

  “No!” Edeard sent his farsight surging into the Culverit ziggurat. He found her easily enough in her grandiose bedroom, curled up on the bed, her mind a low glimmer of pure misery. Little Mirnatha was in there, too, not saying anything, just miserable on behalf of her beloved older sister. In the corridors outside, servants mooched about, sullen and trepidatious. Julan sat in one of the day lounges, trying to radiate a composed persona, but he couldn’t keep the distress he felt inside from leaking through, the concern for his daughter.

  “Oh, Lady,” Edeard groaned in disbelief. “I am such an idiot.”

  “You didn’t know,” Kanseen repeated.