The Temporal Void

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Edeard?’ Kanseen queried.

  ‘Actually, that’s good news,’ he told them.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘We finally have a link between the gangs and a Grand Family. Can we prove she’s the partner?’

  ‘The Occupancy Deed is filed at the city Registry,’ Dinlay said, taking off his glasses to give them a polish. ‘It’s considered privileged unless a crime has been committed either on the premises or by the owner. We could lodge a request in the lower court to view it. But all it tells us is who’s claimed residence rights to the structure, and as we know Buate is family it won’t tell us anything new. And the articles of corporation governing the Blue Petal’s business will be held by the Guild of Tax Clerks. However, the nature of the business means the arrangement with Ranalee isn’t likely to be written down anywhere.’

  ‘So it’s just hearsay?’

  Dinlay shrugged. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this is what you managed to discover while I was away?’

  ‘As my soon-to-be-father says, everyone’s a critic,’ Macsen said with mock dismay. ‘No, actually, we have been doing difficult observation work under dangerous conditions for little pay and scant thanks from our corporal and station captain.’

  ‘For the love of the Lady, will you tell me what is going on?’

  ‘We followed several gang members who are covered by exclusion warrants – with good reason. One of them was a member of an enforcer crew,’ Dinlay said, grinning broadly. ‘They’ve just told a merchant called Charyau in Neph that they want a third of his business. He imports salsponge.’

  ‘What the heck is salsponge?’ Edeard demanded. ‘And I swear on the Lady if just one of you gives me that pitying look over this I will dump the lot of you headfirst in Birmingham Pool and hold you under.’

  Boyd opened his mouth ready to explain. A frown creased his forehead, and he turned to Macsen. Macsen pursed his lips and gave Kanseen inquisitive stare.

  ‘Well don’t ask me,’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard of it before.’

  ‘It must be valuable,’ Dinlay mused. ‘Charyau has a big family, who dress in fine clothes and carouse all over the city; and there’s also two mistresses he covers in jewellery.’

  ‘Did he agree to their terms?’ Edeard asked.

  ‘No,’ Boyd said. ‘The Lady blessed him with a backbone and a lot of pompous bluster. He refused.’

  ‘So we followed the enforcer crew home to Sampalok.’

  ‘You went into Sampalok?’ Edeard asked in surprise.

  ‘Like I said: difficult and dangerous,’ Macsen announced portentously. ‘Which is why we know that they’re going to kick the crap out of Rapsail, Charyau’s firstborn, as the first warning. And they’re going to do it tonight.’

  ‘Where?’ Edeard asked eagerly.

  Riorn Street was a sinuous pathway on the northernmost corner of Abad, linking the Roseway Canal to the Great Major Canal. The buildings which made up its walls were all tall and imposing, though one of them did incline outwards, allowing broad strands of unkempt gurkvine to dangle down from the eves like a living partition along the street. It was the building next to the overhanging vegetation which housed the Reckless Colonel, a restaurant and theatre of good repute, where the wealthier sons of the city’s gentlemen congregated for a pleasurable night among their own.

  Good, expensive food was to be found on the starched white linen cloths of its hexagonal tables; the cellar was stocked with an enviable selection of vintage wines from across Querencia. The lounge area offered deep and cosy chairs and settees, while the dancers who graced the stage performed their elegant moves with amazing agility to the pitch-perfect house band. Five large doormen stood outside the glossy wooden doors, physically and telekinetically strong, their presence alone enough to deter anyone foolish enough to be born beneath a certain status in life.

  It was after two o’clock in the morning when one of them tipped his tall peaked hat to Rapsail, who tottered unsteadily down the three awkward steps to the pavement. A heavy rain was lashing the street, dimming the orange lights shining down from the building walls. Rapsail tightened his leather cloak around his long blue and scarlet jacket as he grunted his inebriated ‘goodnight’ to the doormen, and began to weave an unsteady route towards the Great Major Canal.

  Alcohol suppressed his farsight as much as it did his optical focus. He had no awareness of the five men lurking in the deeper shadows and alleys off Riorn Street. Nor did he notice as they emerged from their secluded refuges to walk both behind and alongside him. It was only as they started to close in that he frowned with intoxicated confusion.

  ‘I say, hello you fellows,’ he slurred.

  A third hand closed around his ankles. For a moment his legs moved sluggishly, then he peered down at his immobile feet. Rapsail blinked down at his polished leather shoes with their fashionable brass and silver buckles. They didn’t seem to be doing what he wanted, which was to get him far, far away from this place.

  ‘I say, that’s off.’

  One of his assailants laughed. They circled him now, dark spectres with hoods pulled over their heads, faces shadowed and wreathed with a seclusion haze. Rain pattered heavily on their oilskin cloaks to form quick rivulets over the fabric.

  ‘What do you want?’ Rapsail’s instinctive self-preservation was starting to get through his alcohol-saturated brain. He tried to longshout, but that required too much concentration.

  A hand tugged his hood away from his head.

  ‘I warn you, I have friends in this city. Powerful friends.’

  ‘This is a message for your father,’ Medath, the enforcer crew’s leader said.

  ‘What message?’ Rapsail asked as the rain slicked down his hair.

  ‘He’ll understand.’

  A fist slammed into Rapsail’s podgy stomach. The young man doubled up immediately, falling to his knees. Tears of pain mingled with the rain on his cheeks. ‘Oh sweet Lady, no. I have money. Please.’

  ‘It’s not your cash we want,’ Medath explained patiently. ‘It’s your inheritance.’

  Two of the men pulled leather-weighted coshes from under their cloaks, while two more used their third hands to pinion Rapsail in his cowed position.

  ‘After all,’ Medath said reasonably. ‘You won’t be needing it. Cripples don’t have anything to spend it on.’

  Rapsail whimpered piteously.

  ‘Damage him,’ Medath ordered. ‘Badly.’

  Two coshes were raised into the air, slick with water. They kept on rising, pulled out of grasping fingers to whirl away into the night. Both men grunted in surprise. Medath fell into a crouch, long blades sliding into his hands. He scanned round with his farsight, probing every doorway and alcove along the street as his telekinetic shield hardened. One of the other enforcers aimed a kick at Rapsail’s head. His boot was yanked backwards, sending him crashing down. There was a sickening slap as his face smacked flat on to the pavement. He yelled ‘Help me’ through the blood pouring out of his mouth and nose. Then froze in terror as he was tugged violently across the pavement. He slid away from his comrades at frightening speed, hands scrabbling at the wet surface to no effect. His shrieks were cut off as he vanished round the corner.

  ‘Dear Lady!’ another gasped. He started to run. His feet left the ground, and he was propelled through the air to crash into the nearest wall. He crumpled to the ground, stunned.

  The remaining three enforcers closed together. Medath kept his blades held ready; the others drew pistols. Laughter echoed down the street. It was too much for one. He fired at a clutch of shadows. The bullet stopped a mere couple of feet from the pistol muzzle, hanging in mid-air. Raindrops curved neatly around it.

  ‘Waterwalker,’ Medath breathed.

  ‘Good evening.’ Edeard walked forward, his body becoming visible amid the wavering shadows and unceasing rain as he reached the middle of the street. The rain avoided him, parting above his head to leave his splendid new tunic perfectly dry. Behind him, Kan
seen and Dinlay emerged from nowhere.

  ‘You’re under arrest,’ Edeard said. He extended a hand, and the two pistols were wrenched out of their owners’ fingers. ‘Cuff them,’ he told Dinlay. He turned to Kanseen. ‘Get the knives.’

  Medath watched her approach. He rotated the blades skilfully, and proffered the handles towards her. Edeard was walking towards the enforcer who’d been flung against the wall, bending over as the man groaned weakly.

  ‘I’ll take those,’ Kanseen said, and held out a hand for the knives.

  It was Medath’s one chance, he sent them flying towards her with a vigorous flick of his wrists. At the same time he shoved his third hand against Edeard with his full strength. ‘Fight them,’ he bellowed at his two accomplices. Kanseen stumbled as she warded off the knives, tumbling on to the pavement. Dinlay was grappling with one of the enforcers, while Edeard came to his aid, swiftly restraining the second with a resolute telekinetic grip. By the time they’d got them both subdued and cuffed, Medath had sprinted away. Edeard’s farsight followed him charging over the iron bridge just above Mid Pool.

  Macsen and Boyd cast off their concealment. Boyd had the unconscious first enforcer slung over his shoulder. Macsen hurried over to Kanseen and helped her to her feet.

  ‘Well, that was humiliating,’ she said as she tried to brush water off her uniform trousers.

  ‘He believed it,’ Edeard said. His farsight showed him Medath was over the bridge and into Pholas Park.

  ‘For a real tough guy, he can run very fast,’ Boyd observed in amusement.

  Edeard turned to the man he’d cuffed. ‘Hold your arms out, Sentan.’

  ‘You know my name.’

  ‘Of course I know your name. I know your house, I know what you ate for lunch, your girlfriend, your three children who’ve got themselves proper jobs. Now hold your arms out.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Edeard used his third hand to pull Sentan’s arms up. The man flinched at the force.

  ‘Please,’ he implored. ‘I . . . I’ll stop this. By the Lady I will.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Edeard said. He slipped the key into the cuffs and unlocked them. Sentan gave him a frightened look.

  ‘I’m not arresting you,’ Edeard said. ‘Any of you.’

  ‘Please, Waterwalker, oh please, no. Don’t kill me.’

  ‘Shut up. I’m tired of wasting my time in court with people like you. So this is what you’re going to do: leave.’

  ‘I . . . what?’ Sentan gasped.

  ‘You and your friends are going to leave Makkathran. Tonight. Now. My squad will escort you to the South Gate. You will walk through it and you will not come back.’

  ‘Where will I go?’

  Edeard leaned forward, putting his face an inch from Sentan. ‘What do your victims do after you’ve beaten them, after you’ve snapped their bones and made their blood run over the floor of their homes while their children are made to watch, after they’ve been carried off screaming in pain to the hospital? They get on with their lives as best they can. Do you understand me now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you come back. If you set foot in my city again. I will know. Do you believe that? Do you believe me?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then go.’

  Sentan bowed his head in defeat. Edeard went over to Rapsail, who was still kneeling on the ground. He was a mess, his trousers soaking wet, hair plastered against his head, cloak in disarray. ‘Thank you,’ he sobbed. ‘Thank you, Waterwalker.’

  ‘Get up,’ Edeard told him without sympathy. Behind him, Dinlay and Macsen were sorting out the cowed enforcer crew; moving them down the street on the start of their journey out of the city.

  Rapsail managed to clamber to his feet, and stood swaying as the rain continued to lash against him. Edeard made an effort to calm down; he was sworn to protect Makkathran’s ordinary citizens, but people like Rapsail made it difficult to feel any empathy for his kind.

  ‘There’s a reason you were picked on tonight,’ Edeard said coldly. ‘Your father didn’t come to us, to me, when Medath’s friends gave him their ultimatum. If I don’t know what the gangs are up to, I cannot protect you from them. Tonight you were lucky, and for that you are in debt to my squad.’

  ‘Of course,’ Rapsail said. ‘Father will pay you handsomely for your services. We are gentlemen of honour.’

  ‘I do not want money,’ Edeard ground out.

  Rapsail was sobering fast, even in his befuddled state he could sense Edeard’s anger. ‘Of course not, I apologize profusely, Waterwalker. Er, what do you want?’

  ‘Information. Your family is not the only one they have come visiting. Tomorrow, when you have sobered up, I will visit you and your father, and we will discuss how the constables can remove the gangs’ influence from your fellow merchants.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’

  Edeard beckoned Kanseen over. ‘Get him back home in one piece. Tell his father I’ll be there in the morning.’

  ‘I’ve really got the good duties tonight, haven’t I?’

  Edeard grinned awkwardly. ‘You did well, I know that wasn’t easy for you. Thank you.’

  ‘Huh!’ But she couldn’t help a small flash of gratification from leaking out. ‘Come on, sir,’ she said, and took a grip on Rapsail’s shoulder.

  ‘I say, a girl constable.’

  ‘Yes. Sir.’

  ‘And a jolly pretty one, too.’

  Edeard and Boyd drew in a sharp breath together, wincing. But Kanseen allowed Rapsail to continue living.

  ‘Let me come with you, Edeard,’ Boyd said as the unlikely pair walked away. ‘Please.’

  ‘I can handle this.’

  ‘They nearly killed you last time.’

  ‘I was trying not to cause a fuss, then. I think we all know those days are behind us now.’

  Boyd gave him a very sceptical stare. ‘All right.’

  ‘I need you to go back to the Reckless Colonel. Somebody there was longtalking directly to the enforcer crew. Make it clear to the owner he’s now on my shitlist; I want his full cooperation from now on. And see if you can turn the informer as well.’

  ‘Lady, is that all?’

  ‘We all have different abilities; that’s what makes us good as a team.’

  ‘All right, but just be careful.’

  ‘All I’m going to do is introduce myself.’

  ‘What if Ranalee’s there?’

  ‘The Lady isn’t that cruel. Is she?’

  Edeard had stayed out of Myco ever since the night of the fire. He knew he was physically capable of protecting himself from anything Ivarl and his lieutenants could throw at him. What he lacked was motivation. He hadn’t quite lost his nerve as far as confronting Ivarl – or his replacement – was concerned. It was just that he needed time to restore his confidence. The kidnapping and Kristabel had done that.

  Edeard slid up smoothly and silently, up through the city-altered floor into the lounge of the House of Blue Petals to find it nearly deserted. The doors were closed and locked. Two drunks were snoring on couches, with blankets thrown over them by considerate staff. Three ge-monkeys and a couple of tired stewards were busy in the room at the back, washing the last of the glasses. The fires in the iron stoves had sunk to a cosy red glimmer.

  He took a good look round. The furniture was similar to last time, though it was all new of course. Even the piano looked the same. There were no globes full of oil, or any other container for that matter. No beagle, either.

  Edeard shed his concealment, and walked up the stairs to the gallery. Several of the rooms were still occupied by girls and their clients. The madam and two doormen were sitting in a small parlour, eating a very late supper as they waited for the girls to finish.

  It felt strange to be visible as he walked along the corridors and up stairs where before he had always crept about like a nervous ghost. As he approached the long room on the third floor which Ivarl used to hold
court in, the doors swung open for him, pulled by someone’s third hand. Edeard walked through.

  ‘I wondered when you’d pay me a visit,’ Buate said.

  That he and Ivarl shared a parent wasn’t in question. Edeard guessed it must be their father. He had the same broad forehead and strange green eyes. But where Ivarl’s powerful frame had started to inflate, Buate was slim and muscled, as if he’d spent his life doing hard physical work. He was also younger than his half-brother, probably no more than seventy, with luxuriant black hair arranged in trim ringlets that hung below his collar – a fashion that was current amid the Grand Families in the city’s northern districts. As was the expensive gold-embroidered leather waistcoat that he’d left unbuttoned to reveal a vivid scarlet shirt. His jewellery was more discreet than Ivarl’s, a couple of gold bands on his fingers, and one diamond stud earring. A very large diamond, Edeard noted.

  Buate was sitting behind the desk, gazing at his visitor with aristocratic contempt. Unlike Ivarl, who had always kept the office tidy, there were 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 you as his sparring partner.’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing you at the funeral.’

  ‘I was busy in the provinces. I only returned to Makkathran after I heard the sad news.’