The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  His third hand drew Captain Larose to the front of the falling zone the city had created for him.

  “I don’t have orders for you, because I am not the Mayor,” Edeard said as he looked up at the miserable man in his appallingly stained uniform. “However, I would like to suggest that the regiment help the victims of this day. Do you find that suggestion sensible, Captain?”

  “Yes,” the captain whispered.

  “Thank you. My pardon for any discomfort. Please, all of you, engage your safety catches; nobody wants an accident now.”

  The regiment sank slowly down to the ground.

  Edeard joined the line of constables on escort duty. The ones he fell in with were from Fiacre station; they welcomed him with muted smiles, trying not to appear too triumphal, but their thoughts were so bright, it was hard to disguise. His farsight showed him Kristabel arriving in Mid Pool. She was on a family gondola with Acena, their old doctor. Behind her was a procession of thirty gondolas, each with a couple of doctors and several novices.

  “The militia will be with you in a while,” Edeard told her. “They’ll help you aid the victims. Try and ignore the smell.”

  “I’m not sure I want their help,” she replied tartly.

  “No recriminations, my love. We all have to live together after this.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Can you talk to your father for me? I’d like a ship loaded with food and blankets to sail north this afternoon. It can anchor just offshore and supply the exiles with enough to get them through the next few days. We can’t just fling them out with nothing. There are children going with them.”

  “There are times, Edeard, when it’s really hard to live up to your standards of decency, but there isn’t a day goes by when I don’t thank the Lady you have those standards. I’ll talk to Daddy right away.”

  As Edeard and the banished made their way across Sampalok, small groups of constables guided other people to join them: the men who had had exclusion warrants issued against them. Sometimes their wives and children were with them; sometimes they came alone. As they walked onward, Edeard felt the continued intangible pressure of farsight pressing down on the morose column of unfortunates. He could feel the unconscious question brewing within the city’s residents: What next? It was a question he was a little vague on himself.

  “I need some advice, sir,” he said to Finitan.

  “I think all of us are redundant now, aren’t we?” the Grand Master replied.

  “That’s the thing. I can’t be seen as some kind of emperor standing outside the Council. All of us have to work within the framework of the law; otherwise it becomes an irrelevance, and people can’t live without the order it brings. That’s what today was about, restoring order. We can’t lose now. People have died.”

  “I know. Even until the last minute, I thought Owain would pull back. If you are willing to accept the constraints of the law, then it should be possible to start afresh. Not that it will be easy. However, once people have time to reflect, and then some encouragement, they should be able to see that you were acting for the best. We just have to have a strategy that can take us up to the election. That is when you and I both will face the ultimate judgment.”

  “I know that. I have some ideas.”

  “Very well, my boy; let’s hear them.”

  Kanseen, Dinlay, and Macsen were on the Cloud Canal bridge, sitting together on one of its twisty pillars. They’d spread their jackets on the next pillar to dry in the bright sunlight. Kanseen’s wet hair clung to her scalp like a bad beret. Her knuckles were grazed and muddy. Dinlay was trying to clean the one intact lens left in his glasses. Not that it mattered much; one eye was so badly swollen that he could barely see through it. His lip was split and still dribbling blood. He’d taken his boots off, so that his left ankle could be bound in a thick bandage. Macsen’s nose was broken. Two small wads of tissue were jammed up each nostril, scarlet with blood. His jacket was missing, and his shirt under the drosilk waistcoat was ripped, revealing a lot of scratches and bruises on his arms.

  They didn’t get up as Edeard approached; they just sat there watching him in silence. He stopped in front of them. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “I should see the other fellows.”

  Kanseen sneered. “If there was anything left of them.” “You stood by me,” he told them. “You believed in me. You took on Eustace’s idiots so I could get through.”

  Macsen turned to Dinlay and grinned. “Eustace’s idiots. Good name for that platoon.”

  “We can probably get it made official,” Dinlay conceded. He eased himself off the short pillar, wincing at the movement as he put some weight on his sprained ankle. “Come here.”

  Edeard embraced him, unbelievably happy that no harm had befallen his surviving friends—well, nothing permanent. Then Kanseen stepped into his outheld arms. Finally Macsen gave him a hug.

  “Ouch!”

  “You all right?” Edeard asked anxiously.

  “He might be a complete twit”—Macsen’s index finger probed his nose gingerly—“but he knows how to fight dirty, I’ll give him that.”

  “So,” Dinlay said. “We get to stay constables.”

  Edeard gave Macsen and Kanseen a mildly guilty look. “For the moment, yes. You going to help me with this escort duty?”

  Dinlay gave his bandaged ankle an annoyed look. “I don’t think I can make it all the way to North Gate.”

  “The doctors will be here soon,” Edeard assured him. “How about you two?”

  “Bloody Honious, it’s all go with you, isn’t it?”

  The march over High Moat was swift enough. By the time Ronark reached North Gate, Edeard counted nearly eight hundred people in the column. He hated it that so many women and children were being taken along, but there was nothing he could do about that, not now. It was always going to be like this.

  The road on both sides of the giant gate was deserted. Edeard and the constables stopped at the crystal wall. Bise, who was at the head of the column, paused at the giant archway through the wall.

  “A ship will anchor in Cauley Cove this evening,” Edeard told the former District Master. “It has provisions for you, all of you.”

  Bise glared at him. “Where are we supposed to go?”

  “There are fresh lands in the provinces. You can begin again if you wish.”

  “I am a District Master,” Bise yelled furiously. Over fifty members of the Diroal family were gathered behind him, all of them wearing clothes appropriate to their status and completely wrong for a march through the countryside. Hems on the fanciful skirts of the older women were already ragged and filthy as they dragged along High Moat’s dusty track. The men were carrying their fur-lined robes and sweating in their gaudy shirts and trousers. Two of the younger wives were carrying crying babes. Not one of them had footwear that would last more than a couple of days on the road.

  Edeard did his best not to feel guilt or sorrow at the misery arrayed in front of him. “If you had lived up to your responsibilities, you still would be,” he said. “Now leave while I’m still feeling generous.”

  “You won’t live past midnight,” Bise spit.

  Edeard smiled without humor. “I hope you’re not relying on Warpal or Motluk to make that a reality.”

  Bise paled. He glanced up at the archway and marched through with his head held high. His family trudged after him.

  “He’ll be in some friend’s Iguru pavilion by nightfall,” Captain Ronark declared. “Dressed in fresh clothes, sipping wine, and plotting revenge while the rest of these unfortunates are shivering on the side of the road.”

  “I know,” Edeard said as those named on the exclusion warrants began to file past, calling names and swearing vengeance. “The important thing is the banishment itself. Without the most active gang members, we can achieve order in the city. Besides, how long do you think Bise will be welcome in that pavilion? A fortnight? A month? How long would you feed and clothe his whole family? He’
ll be moved on eventually, farther and farther away from us.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Thank you for your support, sir,” Edeard said.

  “You would have it a thousand times over, Waterwalker. I’ve given my life to the constables and achieved so little. You have restored the city’s faith in us, in the law. That means a lot to me and probably to more people than you realize.”

  “I was hoping you could talk to Walsfol for me.”

  “I will have words. It might be easier than you expect. The Mayor’s actions today left a lot of people shocked and disturbed.”

  “I need to remain a constable.”

  “There’s a position that I believe would serve very well.”

  “What position?”

  “Captain of Jeavons station.”

  Edeard gave the old man a startled look. “But sir—”

  “I’m almost at retirement age, anyway, and there are posts in the Chief Constable’s office where I can sit out my time. Look at me. I’m here watching the worst bastards in the city march into banishment, people I’ve spent decades trying to stop. It doesn’t get better than this. You taking charge of Jeavons is fitting, and it will put you in a good position to achieve Chief Constable in a few years. Walsfol is my age, you know.”

  “That is … enormously generous, sir.”

  “It’s good politics. And I think you’ve learned what’s most important in this city now.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Eight constables escorted Buate to the North Gate. Edeard gave the man a dismissive glance and told the constables to let him go.

  “I don’t know what you are, Waterwalker,” Buate said, “but you’ll never last.”

  “You’re probably right. But while I’m here, you’re not. And that gives everyone a chance at a better life.”

  Buate turned away and walked through the North Gate.

  “Now, that’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” Kanseen said as Buate gave the grassland outside a disgusted look. He strode away, keeping himself apart from the other exiles tramping along.

  “Worth remembering, though,” Macsen said. “So what’s next, mighty Waterwalker?”

  “Sampalok and then a wedding,” Edeard told them. “And if you ever call me that again, you’ll find yourself living with Buate in a hut in the farthest province I can find.”

  “Ohooo, touchy!”

  “What do you mean, a wedding?” Kanseen asked.

  “I need to talk to yo—” Edeard broke off. His arm suddenly shot out, pointing at the last few stragglers in the column going through North Gate. “Not you!” He beckoned. “Come here.”

  The teenage lad gave a guilty start, looking around to try to see who the Waterwalker was pointing at.

  “Yes, you,” Edeard said.

  The lad certainly looked as though he should be exiled: curly brown hair that hadn’t seen soap for weeks, a scratchy beard just starting, a bad outbreak of spots on both cheeks. His clothes were clearly tailored for someone else, with a belt holding up trousers whose legs were crudely cut to size because he wasn’t particularly tall for his age. He wore a patched jacket with bulging pockets filled with food and some small silver items looted from Sampalok shops. His only expression was sullen, and he wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

  His parents came with him, clinging defensively. Edeard remembered the father, a gang member working the rackets out of Abad.

  “What’s your name?” Edeard asked.

  “You leave him alone,” the woman cried. “We’re going. What more do you bastards want from us?”

  The lad gave Edeard the kind of surly stare that only a Sampalok youth could manage. “What do they call you?” he asked benignly.

  “Marcol. What’s it to you?”

  “And your father is Arcton, I know, and your mother?”

  “Janeel,” she said uncertainly. “What is this?”

  “Marcol here has a very strong third hand.”

  Marcol reddened. “I don’t!”

  “There aren’t many in this city who can pull a ge-eagle out of the sky from such a height.”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  “You’re loyal to your parents, aren’t you?” Edeard mused. “You’d have to be if you’re leaving with them. You’re old enough to stay and look after yourself if you really want; after all, you’re not named in any warrant.”

  “You let him be,” Janeel said. Her arms went protectively around her son.

  “I ain’t staying here,” Marcol said defiantly.

  “I’ll make you an offer,” Edeard said. “I’ll cancel your father’s banishment if you sign on as a probationary constable at Jeavons station.”

  “What?” Arcton and Janeel gave each other a disbelieving look.

  “Edeard?” a puzzled Kanseen queried.

  “Two conditions,” Edeard said. “Marcol has to complete his probation and graduate, and you, Arcton, get a job and keep out of trouble.”

  “Are you serious?” Arcton asked.

  “I’m the Waterwalker.”

  “He doesn’t do funny,” Macsen informed them curtly.

  “Yes,” Janeel said. She looked ready to burst into tears. “Yes, we’ll do it.”

  “Marcol?” Edeard asked. “What do you say? It won’t be easy.”

  “Why are you doing this?” It was more like a grunt than a sentence.

  Edeard put his arm around Marcol’s shoulder and drew him aside. “Have you got a girlfriend?”

  “Yeah! Hundreds.”

  “Hundreds, eh? You’re lucky. I didn’t, not before I joined the constables. Do you know how many I had after I became the Waterwalker? Did you hear about that part of my life?”

  Marcol came perilously close to smiling. “Sort of.”

  “Girls, especially fancy family girls, like men in uniform, particularly those of us who are stronger than everyone else. They really like that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s never easy being a probationary constable, but can it be harder than trying to be a farm boy on the other side of the Iguru? Is that what you want to be?”

  “No.”

  “So will you give it a try? For your mom’s sake if nothing else. Look at her; she doesn’t want to be thrown out of the city. But I don’t have a choice: Your dad did wrong, except now you’ve got a chance to put it all right.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.” Edeard turned to Arcton and Janeel. “You can go home. Have him at Jeavons station seven o’clock tomorrow morning, washed and looking respectable.”

  “Yes, Waterwalker. Thank you, Waterwalker.”

  “What in Honious was that about?” Macsen asked. “You can’t seriously think he’ll make a constable?”

  Edeard grinned. “We did.”

  The last of the banished walked through North Gate. Edeard turned to address the big crowd of constables who had completed the escort duty. “People will remember this day because of what I did. But none of that would have been possible without your support, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the way you stood by me today. You made this happen just as much as I did.” His third hand reached for the giant iron hinges that held the gate itself. The latching mechanism creaked in protest as he lifted it. A flurry of rust flakes snowed down onto the grass from the cumbersome mechanism. Then he pulled the gate. The constables started cheering as the huge section of crystal swung back into the hole that Rah himself had cut it out of two thousand years before. It made such a crunching noise that Edeard thought the ancient crystal might finally shatter. But instead, it fit the archway perfectly. He thought such a dramatic gesture was an apt way to finish the banishment.

  Kathlynn, Kanseen’s sister, was standing in the square next to the pile of wreckage that had been the Diroal family’s possessions. She was holding little Dium in her arms; he was sucking on a honey ball and squirming around energetically. Dybal and Bijulee were standing beside her. All three of them were talking to Dinlay, who was sit
ting on a battered old pew of talcherry wood salvaged from the pile. A lot of Sampalok residents were busy salvaging. They swarmed over the mound like drakken on carrion. People were carrying off heavy bundles of stuff down the roads from the square. Edeard thought at least a third of it had been taken already. Incredibly, that included one of the huge gates from the outer wall. A quick scan with his farsight revealed the gate beside a smithy three streets away. The owner and his apprentices were already hammering at the big iron bindings.

  “Right,” Kanseen snapped as they emerged from Burfol Street and she saw Kathlynn. “What’s going on?”

  Kathlynn caught sight of them and waved happily.

  Edeard held up a finger, pleading: “One moment.”

  The Sampalok residents had stopped everything as the Waterwalker returned to the square, giving him nervous glances. He smiled at them. “Take whatever you want, please, then stand back.”

  Several of the bolder ones took him at his word and continued to pick through the remains.

  “Edeard!” Kanseen warned.

  “Ah, here we go.” Edeard had spied Kristabel emerging from one of the streets. She was wearing a lime-green dress and an apron with smears of blood on it. A Mother was walking beside her, an elderly woman stiff with suspicion. She presided over the Lady’s church in Sampalok, one of the most thankless tasks in the district. It showed in her demeanor. She was a lot tougher than most of the Lady’s Mothers Edeard had encountered.

  Bijulee embraced Macsen, while Dybal clapped him on the back. Macsen yelped at the impact. Kanseen had now been saddled with the wriggling Dium, who was delighted to see his auntie.

  Kristabel gave Edeard a quick kiss. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. But I really don’t want any more days like this one.”

  “There won’t be.”