But we made it despite everything this world threw at us. Edeard grinned at Makkathran as the wondrously familiar outline of his home grew clearer. You can see that, you can see our triumph in the patches and the damage and the cargo of knowledge we’ve returned with. We’ve opened up the whole world for everyone.
Slowly, though, his grin began to fade as he took notice of the thoughts swirling among the vast districts. The city’s mental timbre had changed. For a while he was puzzled by the flashes of anger shivering beneath the surface clamor of excitement at the flotilla’s return. Then he gradually became aware of the minds grouped together outside the north gate, thousands of them. Among those bright knots of rage and resentment he could find no hint of excitement or jubilation at the flotilla’s arrival. They were completely at odds with the rest of the city.
“Uh oh,” he mumbled under his breath. His farsight reached out to see what in Honious was going on. The first thing he sensed was the militia, deployed around the gate and in long dugout formations along the road through the greensward into the encircling forest. By tradition, that area outside the city was always kept empty and uninhabited. Not anymore. Dozens of huge camps had sprung up on the meadowland, and from what he could determine, a lot of the ancient trees had been felled, presumably as fuel for the campfires.
“What is it?” Kristabel asked as he struggled to shield the dismay growing in his own mind.
“Some kind of siege, but that’s not quite it.” He grudgingly gifted her his farsight.
“Oh, Lady,” she grumbled. “Where did they come from?”
He shrugged, trying to find some kind of clue. But such a feat was beyond farsight, especially at such a distance. “We’ll find out soon enough. And then everyone will expect the Waterwalker to put it right.” He couldn’t help how martyred he sounded, not to mention self-pitying.
“Edeard.” She gently rubbed the top of his back between his shoulder blades. “Why do you always punish yourself like this?”
“Because I’m the one who always has to sort everything out. Oh, Ladycrapit, it just never stops. Every time I think I’ve got it right, someone comes along with a fresh way to foul things up.”
“Darling Edeard, you’re really far too hard on yourself.”
“No, I’m not,” he said bitterly. “It’s my responsibility. I’m responsible for this whole world. Me. No one else.”
“Don’t be silly, Edeard.” Kristabel’s voice and mind hardened. “Now, please don’t do this whole intolerable burden thing again; I had enough of it before. What’s important now is to get the twins ashore; they need to get to the mansion to give birth, poor things. Concentrate on that if you have to have something to moan about.”
“Intolerable burden thing?” he asked quietly; he could barely believe what she’d just said.
“Yes,” Kristabel said firmly, giving him an uncompromising look. “The Lady knows how impossible you’d become before we built the flotilla. That’s the main reason I agreed the estate would pay for it all. And this voyage worked, Edeard. For the Lady’s sake, you were back to normal. You were you again. Now this. We haven’t even got ashore yet, and already you’re moaning that everything’s going against you.”
Ladydamnit, you have no fucking idea! He glared at her furiously and stomped off down the deck.
“Daddy?” Jiska asked with a worried frown.
But he was in no mood to talk, not even to her.
Thousands were lining the quays and wharfs as the flotilla’s longboats made it through the great waterside opening in the city walls into the Port district. There were fifteen boats in the first batch, all of them rowed by a regulation team of ge-chimps sculpted with broad shoulders and muscular arms, so the oars fairly whizzed through the water. Edeard was on the second boat; Kristabel and Taralee had taken the twins and Marvane ahead on the first. Edeard had a fast directed longtalk to an elated Rolar, making sure a couple of family gondolas were waiting in the port to take them straight back to the ziggurat. The twins were in a great deal of discomfort, in Edeard’s belief a condition partly owing to their fixation on giving birth on land. Taralee had privately confirmed they weren’t due for another couple of days yet, though they were complaining as if their labor had begun already.
He kept company with Jiska and Natran and Manel and a half dozen officers and their wives and children; it was a merry group, all of whom were waving frantically at the cheering crowds. Except him; he simply couldn’t summon the enthusiasm and sat at the back of the longboat in a private sulk.
“By the Lady, we’d given up on you at least a couple of years back,” Macsen’s directed longtalk declared. “Did you walk around the world instead? It’s taken you forever.”
Finally, Edeard consented to a grin. There was his friend standing at the head of the very hastily assembled official welcoming committee of Grand Councillors, district representatives, officials, and family. A huge group of them squashed onto Wharf One, anxious that no one should move about too much lest those on the front rank topple into the sea. They’d dressed in their most colorful and expensive robes, though the strong sea breeze blew their hair and hems about in an undignified manor. Macsen and Dinlay were at the forefront, of course, waving wildly. Dinlay had one arm around a tall, powerfully built girl. Edeard didn’t care that he didn’t know her. It wasn’t Gealee, which was all that truly mattered. His gaze switched to Macsen, who was by himself. The master of Sampalok had put on a disturbing amount of weight over the intervening years.
However, standing beside Macsen was Doblek, master of Drupe. It was he who wore the Mayor’s robes.
That’s different, Edeard mused. Before, it was Trahaval who was Mayor at this time. He tried to convince himself that was a good thing even though he remembered Doblek as a mildly inadequate district master who admired the old traditions. Not a reformer, by any means.
The longboat reached Wharf One. Once the dock handlers had secured them, Edeard made his way up the wooden steps to mounting roars of approval from the waiting crowds. It was an invigorating sound, sending the timid seabirds wheeling still higher above the Port district. Just like the banishment, but without the violence and turmoil.
Not too grudgingly, Edeard raised an appreciative hand and grinned back at everyone on the docks who was producing such an effusive greeting.
“Waterwalker!” Mayor Doblek opened both arms wide and stepped forward to embrace Edeard. “This is a joyful day. Welcome, yes, welcome back. Did you really voyage around the whole world?”
The city quieted slightly, hanging on to the Mayor’s gifting, awaiting the answer.
“We did,” Edeard announced solemnly, but he couldn’t help the smile widening his lips.
The cheering began again.
Edeard disengaged himself from the Mayor’s clutches, turning slightly. “Mayor, I think you know my senior captain, Natran. And my daughter Jiska.”
“Of course.” The Mayor moved along the line of arrivals, delighted with more official duty, keeping himself firmly at the forefront of public attention.
“It’s crazy good, Granpa,” little Kiranan said, clinging to Edeard’s leg while his parents were swamped by the Mayor.
“What is?” Edeard asked.
“The city. Is this everyone in the whole world?”
Edeard hadn’t thought of that. Kiranan had never known anyone other than the crews in the flotilla; now he was confronted by the city’s jubilant population. Small wonder he was more subdued than usual. “Not even close,” Edeard assured the boy. He pushed his farsight out to the smaller wharf on the other side of the port entrance, where Kristabel and the twins were transferring to the family gondolas. Rolar was embracing his mother, and a host of grandchildren were jumping about excitedly, threatening to capsize the glossy black boat. Burlal wasn’t among them. Edeard was nonplussed by that. Instead of his young grandson, a little girl was cavorting around Rolar and Wenalee, maybe five months younger than the boy he was expecting to see. It wasn’t somethin
g he’d considered, that with this world diverging from what had gone before, his own grandchildren might be different. He knew now he should have been prepared for it. For a start, he’d been blessed with Kiranan, as well as the twins’ pregnancy, neither of which events had gone before. But he’d really loved little Burlal; the boy was such a gem. He gave the girl sharp scrutiny, which she responded to with a start; then she looked back at him across the water before burying herself in Wenalee’s skirts.
“So who’s this, then?” Dinlay asked.
Edeard’s smile returned in a weaker form. No Burlal? Edeard was still thinking. Lady, but he didn’t deserve oblivion like Tathal. That’s not right, not right at all. “This is my new grandson, Kiranan,” he managed to say levelly as he ruffled the lad’s hair.
“Granpa!” The boy twisted away. “You’re Dinlay. You were shot once. Granpa has told me all about you.”
“Has he, now? Well, you come and see me one day, and I’ll tell you about him. Everything he thinks you shouldn’t know.”
“Really? Promise?” The boy looked up admiringly at his new friend.
“Promise on the Lady.”
“Welcome home, Edeard,” Macsen said, and took Edeard’s hand warmly.
“So where’s Kanseen?” Edeard asked.
Macsen’s wide smile froze. “We called it a day,” he said with what was an attempt to maintain a jovial attitude. “Best for both of us.”
“No! I’m … sorry to hear that.” Lady, you can’t do this to me. They were still together before.
“She said she’ll see you later.”
“Okay, then.”
“And this is Hilitte,” Dinlay said proudly, ushering the tall girl forward. “We’ve been wed these last seven months.”
This bit was easy. Edeard had done this many many times, every time he had begun again. So yet again and as always he kept a composed face and smiled politely as he held out his hand to the robust girl. “Congratulations.” No disapproval shown, no surprise at her youth (younger than Jiska, easily), no confusion at the somehow familiar features smiling coquettishly back at him.
Macsen moved behind him, his mouth brushing past Edeard’s ear as if by chance. “Nanitte’s daughter,” he whispered.
Edeard coughed, hoping to Honious he was covering his shock.
“Thank you, Waterwalker,” she said in a husky voice—yes, definitely similar to that of her mother. And that coquettish smile deepened, becoming coy, appraising.
Edeard quickly turned back to Macsen. “Lady, it’s good to be back.”
“So you really went the whole way around the world?” Dinlay asked.
“We certainly did. Ah, the stories I have to tell you.”
“And?”
Edeard knew exactly what the question was. “There’s only us. No one else.”
Dinlay’s disappointment was all the more prominent amid the rejoicing inflaming the city. “Ah, well,” he sighed.
“What’s going on outside the North Gate?” Edeard asked.
“Those bastards—” Macsen began.
“Macsen,” Dinlay said awkwardly. “The Waterwalker hasn’t even seen his family yet after four years. We’ve held the peace for this long; we can wait a day more. Edeard, it’s nothing to worry about. We have the situation under control.”
Macsen gave a reluctant nod. “Of course. I’m sorry, old friend. This is wrong of me. There’s so much I want to hear about.”
“And by the Lady, you shall,” Edeard promised.
It was several days before Edeard found the time to meet privately with his old friends. The first two days were spent happily enough greeting his family and getting to know the latest additions; then, for one day, he was banished to a lounge on the ninth floor of the ziggurat with the other senior males of the family, to feel worthless and faintly guilty while Taralee, two midwifes, several Novices, Kristabel, and even Marvane helped the twins give birth. For once they didn’t synchronize perfectly; Marilee gave birth to her two daughters a good five hours before Analee produced a son and a daughter. After that, of course, was the formal Culverit tradition of the arrival breakfast, where an overwhelmed Marvane sat in a daze receiving congratulations from his new family.
Lunchtime on the fourth day after the flotilla arrived back saw Edeard take a gondola down to Sampalok. He walked along Mislore Avenue to the square at the center of the district. Every building he passed was occupied. No matter how small or awkward, every cluster of rooms had someone living there: bachelor, bachelorette, couple, small young family, stubborn old widower or widow. There was nothing left for any newcomer.
At the end of the avenue the six-sided mansion was a welcome sight. He always felt a mild satisfaction every time he saw it, something he’d created, something oddly reassuring.
This time, the square around it had none of the makeshift camps of stopover visitors awaiting guidance. It was back to a pre-Skylord normality, with Sampalok residents strolling around the fountains while kids played football and hoop chase in the sunshine. Stalls on either side of Burfol Street were doing a good trade in sugared fruits and cool drinks.
People smiled graciously at the Waterwalker in his customary black cloak. Once there was a time when he would have welcomed such a greeting from the citizens of Sampalok; now he found it hard to return those smiles. But I’m being unfair. It’s not just this district that’s to blame.
He went into the mansion via the archway on the lavender-shaded wall and hurried up the stairs to the fifth floor, where Macsen had his private study. It was a simple room opening onto a balcony. Today the tall windows were shut. The desk was covered in leather folders, often with the ribbons untied to let the papers spill out; the tables were also piled high, as were various shelves and cabinets. Some of the chairs were also pedestals for the chaotic paperwork. It used to be an immaculately tidy room, Edeard reflected. As if reading his thoughts directly, Macsen gave a conciliatory grin as he got to his feet. “Before you ask: Yes, it has only got like this since she left.”
Edeard eyed the food (or wine) stains down Macsen’s shirt but said nothing. Some of the chairs already filled with paperwork had cloaks and robes draped over them. “Something that big will take a while to adjust to,” he said diplomatically.
“Have you seen her?”
“No. Not yet. Kristabel visited her last night.”
Macsen shook his head and sank back into the chair behind the desk. “She doesn’t even live in Sampalok anymore.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Oh, Lady, no. She said I was losing my focus or drive or something; the usual rubbish women spout. You know what they’re like. Nothing I did was ever right.”
“Yeah, I know what they’re like.”
“What? Even Kristabel?” Macsen seemed pathetically eager for confirmation, to know he wasn’t alone in his suffering.
“Especially Kristabel,” Edeard assured him, wishing he was being completely dishonest. But … Lady, she’s changed since we got back. And it’s all supposedly my fault.
Macsen picked up a crystal decanter and poured out some of the double-blended spirits the Rassien estate was famous for. He squinted at the golden brown liquid as it swirled around the tumbler, then swallowed it in one go. The decanter was held out to Edeard.
“No thanks.”
“You pity me, don’t you?” Macsen burped loudly.
Oh, Great Lady, I don’t need this. Not on top of everything else. “I don’t pity you. I’d like the old you back, but I’m prepared to wait.”
“Oh, Edeard, how I wish we’d gone with you. None of this would’ve happened. No Our City movement, no Doblek winning the election, none of the squalid blockade camps.”
“I heard they call themselves Our City; Rolar told me. Of course, I sensed the camps and the militia as soon as we reached port.”
“The militia has to be there to keep the peace. I even voted in favor of Doblek’s proposal to deploy them, may the Lady forgive me. There was
no choice, Edeard. We were facing citywide riots, possibly a massacre worse than anything Buate ever planned. Ilongo had endured two days of anarchy after Our City prevented the stopovers from using any of the free housing. What else could we do?”
“You did the right thing,” Edeard assured him. “You acted to save lives. That’s what we always did; that’s what we’ll always do.”
“What’s happening to the world, Edeard? Didn’t we do enough, saving it from Bise and Owain and the bandits? I tell you, in the Lady’s name the Skylords will stop coming if we don’t mend our ways, Edeard. I know it.” He reached for the decanter again, only to find Edeard’s third hand clamped firmly around it.
“Dinlay will be here soon,” Edeard said. “We’ll talk about the blockade and Our City then.” His farsight already had identified Dinlay walking across the square outside the mansion. “So tell me, do you both still attend the Upper Council?”
Macsen shook his head, on the verge of tears. “Jamico has been going on my behalf this past half year. I couldn’t face it anymore after the vote for the regiment. He’s a good man, and I’m proud to be his father. He’ll do better than I ever did.” His hand swept around in an expansive gesture. “I try and keep up with the petitions, Edeard, really I do, but people expect so much. I am not Rah, but they don’t understand that. They whisper I’m turning my back on them as Bise did. Can you imagine that? To be accused in such a fashion? There’s nothing I can do to stop the insidious, malicious, vicious whispers. It’s Bise’s old people behind it, you know. I’m sure of it.”
Edeard wanted to use his third hand to haul Dinlay through the air to the study’s balcony. Anything to break up this bitter tirade of self-loathing. “Dinlay’s almost here. Speaking of whom …”
“Ha!” Macsen managed half a smile as he shook his head. “You saw her. Exactly the same as all the others. Edeard, I swear on the Lady that somewhere out in the provinces there’s a secret guild that just keeps using the same mold to produce them. How else does he find so many of them?”
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