The Temporal Void

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Not just on the borders,’ Edeard said. ‘Ordinary bandits are everywhere in the countryside, and growing bold. You will have to move decisively once you’re Mayor.’

  ‘If, my boy, and it’s still a big if. Owain is no fool and he has a lot of support in the city. People like his One Nation call.’

  ‘But what we are talking about is the same.’

  ‘Essentially, yes, but I will instigate it differently. Securing the City must come first, without that all will be lost. Owain is using unification to rally the city behind him, the city as it is. Ultimately, that will fail.’

  ‘We’re making progress,’ Edeard said. ‘I have a new tactic which we’re almost ready to deploy. It’s a bit of a gamble, but it might help resolve the current stand-off.’

  ‘Then let us pray to the Lady that it does.’

  Edeard stood, almost ready to go. ‘Master?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Finitan said with a kindly smile. ‘This doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘I need a small genistar to scout round without drawing attention to itself.’

  ‘An interesting challenge, I will see what I can sculpt for you.’

  ‘And I was also wondering if you know how to see through a concealment. I’m convinced the people who set the trap for me in Eyrie were able to perceive me.’

  Finitan gave Topar a fast bemused glance. ‘As there is absolutely no such thing as concealment, then there could be no way to penetrate it.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Edeard said in disappointment.

  ‘Certainly no such thing as this.’

  Finitan’s gifting rushed into Edeard’s mind, a hugely complex methodology he could barely comprehend.

  ‘I’ll be sure I remember to not use it, then, sir.’

  ‘We’ll make a true Makkathran citizen out of you yet, my boy.’

  *

  The uniforms that arrived from the tailor were amazingly comfortable, made from some weave of cotton and drosilk that was as soft as it was strong. Edeard hadn’t expected that. Unlike the dress uniform which Kristabel had given him, these were all for everyday use. They lacked the sheer gaudiness of militia uniforms, but the tailor had somehow contrived to make them a lot more glamorous than the ones Edeard had bought from the regular constable supplier. Platinum buttons shone brighter than Dinlay’s ageing over-polished silver ones. The cut was subtly different, making him look sharp and smart, the kind of tunic a member of the nobility would wear if they could ever lower themselves to sign on at a station. And the shirts made mountaintop snow look grey by comparison. The tailor even supplied a special mix of soap flakes for the ge-chimps to use, so as not to sully that purity. And, as for the knee-high boots, space between the nebulas wasn’t that black nor did it possess such lustre.

  The first morning he put one on Edeard stood nervously in front of his maisonette’s mirror and looked at the figure he cut. No way could he stop the prideful smile from lifting his lips.

  Dashing, he decided, yes, very dashing.

  The long weather-cloak helped, held by an emerald-encrusted brooch round his neck which he was trying to pin into place one-handed. His third hand ruffled it, and he admired the swirl it made around him. Nice touch. He practised the ruffle again, making the fabric flare out and undulate in slow motion. Perhaps it could become his signature; at night he would brighten the city’s orange lights to silhouette himself as he emerged from nowhere to bear down formidably on criminals, cloak swirling like angry smoke behind him. At such an impressive sight the fight would go out of them, and they’d abandon their wrongdoing, sinking to their knees in contrition. Okay then!

  ‘Yow!’ The brooch pin jabbed into his fumbling thumb. Edeard shook it, then sucked the drop of blood away. ‘Lady-damn.’ All right, so the image needs a bit of work.

  He fixed the brooch in place, settled the hat on his head, and ran a finger along the rim, ending in a salute to himself. ‘Now that’s what I call an officer of the city.’

  Macsen called it something else entirely as Edeard strode purposefully into their small hall at Jeavons station. Young Felax dropped his jaw in astonishment as Edeard walked past the bench he was sitting at. A cheeky chorus of wolf-whistles echoed round the small hall.

  ‘Happy to see you’re not abandoning your roots,’ Kanseen sniped.

  Edeard unclipped the brooch and removed his weather-cloak with a flourish. ‘Anyone else jealous?’

  ‘I’m so glad you taught us concealment,’ Boyd grunted. ‘Because there’s no way I’m walking down a street next to that.’

  Dinlay glared at him for the indiscretion. ‘You look very smart,’ he said. ‘People have expectations from us now, it’s right that you should look the part.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Edeard acknowledged. He looked round the hall. There were ten constables sitting at the tables now, men he trusted implicitly, reading through reports. The way files were building up they’d soon have to contract the Guild of Clerks to keep track of it all, Edeard thought ruefully.

  ‘Seventy-two of them now,’ Doral said.

  ‘That’s good,’ Edeard acknowledged. Most of the files in the hall were those on the excluded, which were still being added to. But his team had been going through them, and assessing the reports from stations across the city, along with the priceless information coming in through Charyau and his network of merchants and traders. Edeard’s old notes from his days spying on the House of Blue Petals were also examined keenly. Slowly and surely, they were identifying the senior echelons of the gangs. The leadership rarely met in person, so there was no hard evidence actually tying them together in any criminal act. But the way they collaborated and respected each other’s territories meant that they knew each other, that they were organized along formal lines. In fact, it was intriguingly like a mirror to the way in which the interests of the established nobility locked together. Edeard was still a little irked that they hadn’t proved a connection between the gangs and the more disreputable aristocratic families – such as the Gilmorns, for example.

  ‘Can’t we just go and arrest them?’ Boyd whined. ‘Surely seventy-two is enough? And Buate is still having to appear in the financial court each day.’

  Edeard pulled a face. ‘I’d like it to be a hundred,’ he said. There was something about the number which was impressive. It would show Makkathran’s citizens how they were making huge inroads against the gangs. That it wasn’t just exclusion warrants and the promises of the Mayoral candidates they were deploying.

  The idea wasn’t to get convictions, Edeard knew he didn’t have enough evidence for that. But a little known clause in the articles of arrest meant that if a constable swore there were grounds for suspicion that the detainee was involved in illegal activity they could be held for twenty-two days without charges being filed. The twenty-two days was supposed to allow the constables enough time to gather evidence and interview all concerned.

  Edeard reasoned that with the entire leadership, or as many as he could reasonably identify, taken off the streets and held incommunicado for half a month, the gangs’ ordinary street soldiers would be completely lost. ‘A body without a head,’ as Macsen had summed it up.

  If gang resistance crumbled as Edeard hoped, liberating people from their tyranny, the prospect of it all coming back at the end of the twenty-two days would be a colossal argument in Finitan’s favour to bring about the banishment. Finitan was also planning to introduce emergency legislation to the Grand Council as soon as the arrests began, extending the detention period to a full month. Forty-four days would take them past the election. It was slightly underhand, Edeard thought, but then this was Makkathran – he wasn’t about to change it overnight.

  He sat down at the table he used, and gave the neat grey cardboard folders a dispirited look. No matter how hard they worked, or how much he delegated, the paperwork never got any smaller.

  ‘Something more for you to read,’ Dinlay said.

  Edeard looked up to see his friends clustered together, smiling as Dinlay h
eld out a small red book.

  ‘A gift from all of us,’ Kanseen said.

  Edeard took the book. It was very slim. Small gold-leaf lettering on the front read: A Gentleman’s Guide to Marriage.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, genuinely grateful.

  ‘What does it say about the stag night?’ Macsen asked. Caught himself, threw Kanseen a panicked look. ‘I mean, friends’ night,’ he corrected.

  She just groaned wearily.

  Edeard flicked through the pages. ‘An evening may justifiably be set aside for a fellow to bid his male acquaintances farewell, in the full knowledge that his bachelor ways are about to end. This should be a tasteful evening, revisiting those places retaining fond memories, and sampling their delights for the last time.’

  ‘I don’t want another night at Olovan’s Eagle,’ Dinlay protested. ‘This is supposed to be special.’

  ‘We could start at the Rakas restaurant in Abad, the one we went to after graduation,’ Kanseen said.

  Edeard was about to agree, but Salrana had been with them that day. ‘Maybe a different one,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a theatre in Fiacre I know of,’ Boyd said breathlessly. ‘The dancers take their clothes off as they dance.’

  ‘Do they?’ Edeard asked.

  Kanseen deliberately focused on a point just above Edeard’s head, her jaw set firm.

  ‘That’s not reliving the past,’ Edeard conceded.

  ‘We’ll start off at the dog track in Andromeda, then make our way through some of the classy taverns in Lillylight,’ Macsen said. ‘There are plenty of good restaurants and theatres there, so we can make our choices on the night.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ Kanseen said.

  ‘Julan has to get the vote through Council first,’ Edeard complained.

  ‘It’s considered bad form to vote against a Consent bill,’ Dinlay said. ‘There hasn’t been a nay vote for over three hundred years.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘We know,’ they said in union.

  Edeard was supposed to spend the evening choosing the suit to wear at the charity ball thrown by the District Master of Nighthouse. Due in a fortnight’s time, it was given every year to raise funds for city hospitals. Kristabel had accepted his excuse that there was just some constable work which had to be done at night. ‘Be careful,’ she told him, which almost made him feel guilty. Almost.

  It was certainly the first time Edeard had ever been grateful to Buate; but the gang lord had arranged a meeting with several others on their One Hundred list. A get-together of that magnitude couldn’t be ignored.

  As dusk fell he led the squad out of the station. All of them were immediately aware of the three ge-eagles overhead, and a couple of small ge-dogs loitering down the street. It had been a while since the gangs had used actual people to spy on their comings and goings from the constable station.

  ‘I want to try something,’ he told the others. ‘We’re not going to use the tunnels for a while.’

  They followed him over Marble Canal bridge into Drupe, where the streets grew narrow, and the buildings tall. The ge-eagles kept level with them, drifting and soaring on the night air.

  ‘I’ve been reading your book,’ Edeard said. ‘Apparently, after marriage, I shouldn’t complain to Kristabel about events relating to managing my estate if they go poorly.’

  ‘Yeah, I always avoid that when I’m with Saria,’ Boyd said. ‘It’s for the best.’

  ‘Nor should I be querulous about the proportion of the household budget spent on her wardrobe. Apparently it’s her duty to always look her best for me, and support me in public.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Kanseen said.

  ‘And I must not feel inadequate if I cede an argument to her.’

  ‘That has to have been written by a woman,’ Dinlay pronounced.

  It was already dark at the foot of the buildings when they walked into Moslet Avenue, little more than a deep crevice between walls six storeys high. Small vaulting tube bridges linked the two sets of buildings, with slender orange light slits on their underside shining a weak glow down on to the pavement. The alley was a series of sharp corners, which restricted farsight, while its narrow width made anyone following them highly conspicuous. Precisely the kind of place that usually provided Edeard with excellent cover while he vanished down into the tunnels below.

  He ordered the orange light strips on the bridges to dim down, turning the darkness to a claustrophobic force. A sweep round with his farsight showed him they were alone as they went round the first corner. Then he followed that up with a more subtle look, using the technique Finitan had gifted him. Someone was sneaking into the alley; registering in his mind as a grey swirl, like a small bubble of fog. At the core was the outline of a man.

  ‘Keep going,’ he told his friends. ‘We need to hurry.’

  They started to jog forwards. Edeard observed the figure behind them quicken his pace.

  ‘Okay, stop here.’ he ordered as they went round the second corner. They were directly under one of the small bridges, invisible to the ge-eagles above. The concealed pursuer hurried round the corner, to see the squad huddled together as if performing some illegal act. Edeard’s arm came up, pointing at him, cloak swirling to follow the move.

  The narrow alley was suddenly drenched in brilliant white light. A terrific bang ricocheted off the confining walls.

  Edeard’s miniature thunderbolt struck the figure square in his chest. He was flung backwards to sprawl on the ground, concealment vanishing in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Great Lady,’ Dinlay gulped.

  Edeard was watching the figure keenly; the man was twitching but making no attempt to get up. Farsight revealed he was still alive, his thoughts chasing an agitated sleep pattern. The thunderbolt must have knocked him unconscious, though his heart was still pumping wildly, and not entirely regularly. His thick leather jacket was smoking from a burn spot where the discharge had struck.

  ‘Take care of the ge-eagles,’ Edeard told Kanseen as his third hand lifted the inert figure, and drew him towards the squad. The birds would have witnessed the flash, he couldn’t help that. But they would have been dazzled. Their owners still wouldn’t know what was going on in the alley.

  Once Kanseen had confused the already flustered genistars overhead, Edeard asked the city to let him into the drain tunnel below the street. The squad sank down, taking their captive with them.

  Once they were safe below the surface, Edeard examined the man his third hand was still holding above the trickle of water. He was plain enough, probably in his late forties, with dark curly hair and a small, neatly trimmed beard. ‘Anyone know him?’ Edeard asked.

  ‘I don’t remember him from any of our lists,’ Dinlay said.

  Macsen let out a pained sigh. ‘He won’t be, look at how he’s dressed.’

  Edeard gave the unconscious man a closer look. The clothes were simple, a black leather jacket worn over an indigo shirt, and beige suede trousers. Ankle length boots with discreet silver hooks for the laces. The kind of garb that could be worn anywhere in Makkathran without drawing undue attention. However, these days Edeard was familiar enough with the city’s tailors to know quality when he saw it. ‘Expensive,’ he said.

  ‘Certainly not cheap,’ Macsen said. ‘So we know he’s not from the gangs, not directly.’

  ‘The families?’

  Macsen’s face produced a pained expression. ‘Again, nothing you could ever prove, not that he’ll tell us anything.’

  ‘What then?’ Boyd asked. ‘Come on, you obviously know something.’

  ‘Look exactly where we are and how we got here,’ Macsen said with the kind of serious, level voice that was unusual for him. ‘And that blast of light you knocked him out with, Edeard, that’s something new. There’s rumours that your maisonette is different. A fall off a tower can’t kill you. Small wonder the families are extremely interested in you.’

  ‘The families can throw light lik
e that,’ Edeard said defensively. ‘I just have greater strength.’

  ‘No, it’s more than just strength. Can anyone else see souls? Can they talk to the city itself? Nobody can. You stand above us, Waterwalker. A long way above.’

  ‘So?’ Dinlay said. ‘We’ve always known Edeard is far more talented than the rest of us put together.’

  ‘This goes way beyond psychic talent.’ Macsen gave Edeard a level stare. ‘You frighten people, Waterwalker. Even I’m nervous of you, and I know you better than most in this city. I don’t think you’ll abuse the power you have. But, face it, what’s to stop you? That’s why you’re drawing this kind of attention.’

  ‘I would never . . .’ Edeard broke off, appealing to his friends. ‘I want the city to work, to be a home we can all depend on, a place where everyone can be safe. You know that, that’s why you’re helping me. Isn’t it?’ he asked, aghast that they might not share his ambition.

  ‘Yes,’ Kanseen assured him. ‘But you have to admit, Macsen has a point. Not only have you got your talent, but you’re popular as well. I bet if you stood for Mayor, you’d get a sizeable amount of the votes.’

  ‘I don’t want to, I support Finitan.’

  ‘I know that,’ she told him. ‘The point is, the Grand Families see how much support you have, and they know you want to instigate change. Change for them, a return to more democratic rule, the introduction of accountability, will diminish their power, and Lady help them, their wealth, too. That’s what the city’s entire political structure is geared around: preserving and expanding their estates. If you wipe out the gangs, you’ll go after them next, and the way they’ve distorted and abused Rah’s constitution. That’s inevitable.’

  ‘Some people say you are Rah,’ Boyd said. He shrugged. ‘It’s true. I’m often asked. They think you’ve come back from the Heart to restore the city to the haven it was in the beginning. The gangs and the bandits we’re plagued with right now, that’s the kind of chaos Rah led his followers away from.’