The Temporal Void (ARC)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Finitan's third hand unwrapped the package gingerly. Edeard gazed at the thing with utter loathing. The metal was tarnished, with ingrained rust corroding several areas, and the magazine had received several dents, but he would recognize the evil device to his dying day. 'Where did you get it?'

  'Where you left it,' Topar said. 'At the bottom of the new well in Ashwell.'

  'Huh?'

  'That's where I've been, and as you know it's not an easy journey at the best of times. I only returned last night.'

  'You've been to Ashwell?' Edeard thought he was over his life in the village with all its lost inhabitants, he really did, but staring at someone else who'd seen those forlorn ruins was triggering an avalanche of memories.

  'I sent Master Topar to try and confirm your story,' Finitan said. 'Which, I'm afraid, he has done in no uncertain terms.'

  'It was all as you described it,' Topar said. 'The weeds and moss have grown over the rubble, of course; but I knew Ashwell as soon as I saw it. The cliffs, the old rampart wall around. Even the well shaft you hid in was easy to locate; though it was mostly full of mud. How you moved that capping stone is a mystery to me. It took us a day to break it up and move the pieces away; then it was another week excavating the mud before we could recover the gun.' He gave the weapon on the desk a scowl.

  'So now what?' Edeard asked.

  'Now we've established the gun is real we need to know about those bandits,' Finitan said. 'If that's what they truly are. What can you tell us about their leader? You said you spoke with him.'

  'All I can tell you is his anger. He hated me because I'd killed his kindred in their ambush.'

  'Is that what he said?'

  Edeard struggled to remember. It wasn't easy; for so long now he'd been trying to banish this very memory. 'Friends. That's what it was, he called them: our friends. I was to die because of what I'd done to our friends. Yes.'

  'Interesting,' Finitan said. 'And how long between the ambush in the wood and the raid on your village?'

  'Not quite a year.'

  'So it wasn't an instinctive hot-headed response, then? They'd planned it out.'

  Edeard nodded, hanging on to the memory no matter the pain. 'They knew us. They knew Salrana. The one from the church, that's what he said. I suppose they must have been watching us. I never considered that before.'

  'Then they were organized?'

  'Yes.'

  'Hardly the kind of raid I would credit ordinary bandits with.'

  'Their clothes,' Edeard exclaimed. 'The ones in the wood were wild, savages; they daubed themselves with mud, and they didn't even have shoes. But the ones who came to the village wore proper clothes, with boots.'

  'And they had the repeat-fire gun,' Finitan concluded.

  'They're not bandits, are they?'

  'No, not the kind who have always lived around the edge of our society,' Finitan agreed. 'Though I suspect they are allied. These are the emissaries of something else entirely.'

  'What?' Edeard asked.

  'I don't know. But they are relentless.' Finitan gave Topar a small nod.

  'There were five in my travelling party,' Topar said. 'Only two of us made it back to Makkathran. Edeard, I'm sorry, but the province is all but lost. Eight villages have been overrun, and that was when I left just before New Year. The capital is fortified and afraid, with families leaving every day. Farmers are deserting their land and heading to the eastern provinces. None of the caravans visit any more. Their economy is failing. The neighbouring provinces no longer offer help in any fashion; they are too worried about their own bandit incursions.'

  Edeard's head sank into his hands. 'Witham?' he asked.

  'Yes,' Topar said. 'It fell not six months after Ashwell. Since then, the raids have increased. It's the same every time, they wipe out the entire village, no one is left alive, the buildings are torched. The senselessness of it all is shocking, they're not doing it for anything other than the pleasure of killing. There's no reason for it.'

  Tears were threatening to flow as Edeard thought of the pretty leatherworker apprentice he'd met at the Witham market. He'd never even managed to get her name, gauche boy that he'd been. And now she was dead, every garment or saddle or harness she'd laboured over was gone. Her family murdered.

  'It's not your fault,' Finitan said gently. 'Stop punishing yourself.'

  'I should go back,' Edeard said. 'I should go with the city's militia and burn them out of the land they've contaminated, every last one of them. He feared me before, and by the Lady he was right to do so. I will bring him and his kind to an end, one way or another.'

  'Just calm down,' Finitan said. 'There will be a time when we confront the bandits, and you may well lead that battle. But there are many things we have to do before that day arrives.'

  'Why?' Edeard snapped. 'If you and Owain combine in Council, you could send every militia brigade we have, and order the provinces to raise their militias with us. An army could descend on Rulan province. These new bandits would be wiped from Querencia for ever.'

  'Where do they come from?' Finitan asked. 'They're not barbarians, they wore clothes.' His third hand lifted the repeat-fire gun again. 'More importantly, where do they manufacture this? Do they have a city like Makkathran behind them? Two cities? A continent? We still don't know what lies beyond Rulan, not with any surety. All these things we need to establish beyond any doubt before we embark on some massive campaign to tame the wilds. Such a venture will be deeply unpopular both here in the city, and out in the country.'

  'And if you don't do it, these invaders will be standing in front of the City Gate within five years.'

  'That they will,' Finitan conceded. 'This is the greatest threat we have faced since Rah led us here two thousand years ago. I am deeply worried, Edeard. Something is out there, some society, moving with a malign purpose. A society inimical to ours, bent on destroying us for no reason we know. More important, they have these Lady-damned repeat-firing guns. You with your strength could ward off the bullets fired at you by one of these guns, maybe even two or three. But I doubt I could withstand such an onslaught; nor could many people. You talk of marching our militia against them. One man armed with this weapon could wipe out an entire cavalry troop. And they have concealment, too. We cannot send our Militia soldiers against them, it would be slaughter on an unbelievable scale. Edeard, I am frightened by this, do you understand? J do not know what will happen.'

  'Yes, sir. I understand.'

  'They're not settling,' Topar said. 'That's the strangest thing. The lands they have driven us from in Rulan are reverting to wilds; weeds and grass flourish in the fields, animals roam free; the ruins of villages are choked in vines and creepers. Nobody lives there, these strangers are not clearing us out so their own kind can dwell in our place. When we arrived at Ashwell, we had seen no one for over a week, and that was a week of hard riding. It was only coming back we clashed with them. Our luck was foul that day; some lone patrol or spy saw us, and we ran away as soon as we realized they were after us. It was as though Honious himself was tracking us. They were unrelenting. So now I've seen these guns used in anger, Edeard, I know what horror you faced. The Lady performed a miracle when she guided you to safety that night. All we could ever do was flee, and three times even that was not enough.'

  'Then what are they doing?' Edeard asked. 'What do they want?'

  'I don't know,' Finitan said. 'But it is imperative we find out.' He stared at the broken gun, abhorrence glowing in his mind. 'If we fail to stop them out in the provinces, then we will have to make similar guns just to survive. Can you imagine the carnage that will unleash on this world? The damage one man can wreak with such a gun, multiplied a thousand fold. For once such a thing is made, it cannot be unmade.'

  'It's already been made,' Topar said bitterly. 'We are not the ones at fault here.'

  Edeard reached out his third hand, and grasped the gun. He brought it over to hang in the air before his face, probing the complicated mechanism
inside with his farsight. In fact, there weren't so many components. 'Have you examined it?' he asked Topar.

  'I have done nothing less for months,' the Master said. 'The whole way home I have studied it.'

  'Is there some secret part, something that must have come from the ships that brought us to Querencia, or could any metalsmith build it?'

  'The mechanism is ingenious, but that is all. There is nothing out of the ordinary about it, no magic or impossible contraption. A competent weapons Guild Master would be able to fabricate such components. Even a journeyman should be capable, I suspect.'

  That caused Edeard to give the Grand Master a sharp glance. 'The long-barrelled pistols came from the Weapons Guild. An ancient design, Owain said.'

  'Yes,' Finitan said significantly, though his mind was tightly shielded. 'It could be they already have this or something similar in their deep vaults. Knowledge or artefacts left over from the ships.'

  'Is that where the invaders got theirs from, do you think?'

  Finitan allowed dismay to ease through his mental shielding.

  'I find it incredible that after two thousand years, we have never heard even a whisper of another civilization on Querencia.'

  'Nobody has ever successfully circumnavigated the planet,' Edeard said. 'Or so I was given to understand. Maybe that's why. Maybe it isn't geographically impossible, it's just that nobody ever gets past this other settlement.'

  'If they were that big and powerful, we would know of them,' Finitan said.

  'Perhaps we should ask the watching widow,' Topar said mordantly, then he gave Edeard a keen look. 'Actually

  'I haven't seen any souls since Chae,' Edeard countered. 'In any case, wondering where they are doesn't help us, it's what they're doing which is the problem.'

  'If only we could find where they come from, we might be able to know their full intention,' Finitan said. He sighed. 'We're arguing in circles. It is my response we should be determining.'

  'Perhaps a truce with Owain,' Edeard suggested. 'Makkathran needs to send scouts out into the wild beyond Rulan and track down the origin of the guns. 'I'd go…' he began uncertainly.

  'No you will not,' Finitan said firmly. 'We need you here to complete your victory over the gangs. Once the city is consolidated, we can start to make more detailed alliances with the provinces. That's what Owain never understands, we can hardly command unity with the countryside if we're unable to instil universal law here at home. Yet that unity must come in the face of these incursions. That makes you vital to my campaign, Waterwalker.'

  Edeard nodded reluctantly. 'After that?'

  'When the gangs are banished, and if I become Mayor, then it might be appropriate for you to track down your nemesis. Though the Lady knows how you will explain such an absence to your new wife.'

  Edeard flinched, he hadn't thought of that. 'Sometime you have to do what's wrong to do what's right,' he murmured quietly.

  'Indeed,' Finitan said. 'In the meantime, I will focus on winning this damn election. That way I can lay the groundwork for the inevitable struggle which is to come.'

  'It might come sooner than you think,' Topar said. 'The provinces around Rulan have already raised their militias. Their appeals to the Grand Council for help will arrive before long, people will come to understand what is happening out on our western borders.'

  '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 were as soft as they were 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 broach 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 broach 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 broach 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 undipped the broach 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 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 against the gangs.

  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 tin-constables enough time to gather evidence and interview all concerned.