The Temporal Void (ARC)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  The tax inspector's waistcoat was lined with silver, otherwise there was no way of distinguishing between him and his fellow Guild members. He would consult a page from a very large ledger, and ask a question relating to income or expenditure. Then Buate's team of clerks would mutter among themselves and go through files and books before producing receipts or affidavits, and offering an explanation as to how the money was spent or received. At which point the clerks retained by the Mayor's Inspector General would counter the claim, producing different bits of paper, or an entry in the ledger of the business concerned that was different to Buate's contention.

  After listening to the evidence, the inspector would write laboriously in his ledger, and move on to the next question.

  Three years' worth of records were subject to investigation. Every day's purchase of drinks had to be accounted for. Three years of the House of Blue Petals buying and cleaning bed linen. Three years of genistar husbandry. Three years of replacement mats behind the bar. Three years of crockery, acquisitions and breakages and depreciation and amortization. Three years of the girls' cosmetics and hair styling. Three years of hairclip acquisition, each batch meticulously recorded and queried.

  Buate sat at a table at the far side of the court. His shoulders slumped, eyes glazed, his skin paler than the drab lighting could shade. He looked up as Edeard walked in. His expression of misery slowly changed, as if his facial muscles were regaining strength, hardening his cheeks and jaw into a look of pure fury.

  Edeard met it without flinching as the inspector demanded to know about higher than normal expenditure on smoked toco nuts on the sixth Thursday of June two years ago. Buate never shifted his gaze from Edeard while his clerks struggled to produce receipts for the jars.

  In the end, it was Edeard who looked away first. He could barely believe it, but he was close to feeling sorry for Buate. Theirs was an epic struggle for the soul of an entire city, it should be fought out there on the streets and along the canals, followers slugging it out with fists and third hands, while their political masters plotted and schemed in Council. Not this. This was inhuman.

  And I did it to him.

  Edeard bowed his head to look at his boots; every inch the little boy at the back of the class struggling not to giggle. He hurried out of the finance court, then stopped in the cloister and laughed out loud. Clerks in their drab claret and olive-green waistcoats stared at him disapprovingly.

  'Sorry,' Edeard said to them and their Guild in general. He made an effort to compose himself, then walked on towards Centre Circle Canal. He could do that. He could leave the court after a good laugh. Good gloat, if I'm honest. Buate couldn't. Buate had to stay there for six hours every day, as he had done for ten days now. And the investigation was likely to last another eight days at least, Edeard had been told.

  If only we could do this to each of the hundred. We'd have broken them by now. We wouldn't need banishment, they'd have fled screaming through the city gates long ago.

  But this kind of financial scrutiny was reserved for the larger city businesses that were constantly cheating taxes. The Chief Constable had to press hard with the inspector General for an

  Inspector to launch his formal examination of Buate's accounts. It had used up a great deal or time, and cost far more than it would ever produce in fines. Worst of all, the clerks still hadn't found any tangible link between Buate and Ranalee's family. Of course, that didn't really matter; he was just using the tax investigation as a major irritant against Buate while the Jeavons constables built up the One Hundred list. But a proven link would have been nice.

  * * * *

  Edeard left the merged domes of the Parliament Building behind and crossed over the delicate white-wire bridge of Centre Circle Canal. The patch of land ringed by the little canal was too small to rate as a district, people just called it Rah's garden. A small green oasis in the middle of government's commotion. He walked along simple paths lined by tall perfectly shaped flame-yews. Roses were throwing out their first blossoms of the season, releasing a gentle scent into the still air. Several freshwater ponds were joined together by small streams, crossed by small brick humpback bridges. As he went across them he could see big emerald and scarlet fish gliding around smoothly; they seemed to regard him slyly as he went by.

  On the other side of Rah's garden the rear of the Orchard Palace rose before him, higher than any of the domes behind. Captain Larose was waiting for him at the bottom of the broad symmetrical perron that led up into the palace. Edeard straightened his dress jacket, though it was something of a lost cause beside the captain's ceremonial uniform.

  'Waterwalker.'

  'Just you today, Captain?'

  'Fraid so, old chap. Inside the palace I'm naught but a humble guide.'

  'Then guide me in, please.'

  They ascended the three levels of the perron and went in through a high arching door. Five long cloisters led away from the hallway.

  'Congratulations, by the way,' Larose said. 'Kristabel's a fine catch.'

  'Thank you.'

  'I met her myself a few times. Obviously I didn't make much of an impression.'

  Edeard thought it best to let that one slide past.

  'Did you really farsight Sergeant Chae's soul?'

  'Yes.' Edeard had finally learned to stop sighing as he answered that question twenty times a day. It was disrespectful.

  'That must put life into perspective, eh?'

  'Death isn't quite so frightening, but that doesn't mean that life shouldn't be celebrated.'

  'You are an extraordinary fellow,' the captain declared as they emerged into the Malfit Hall. Edeard could well imagine the captain reading A Gentleman's Guide to Marriage and hanging off every word.

  They passed into the Liliala Hall where Edeard stopped to regard the ceiling with the same astonishment as the first time he'd seen the images in Malfit Hall. The storm swirled silently above him; light flickered all around, casting strange-angled shadows as lightning bolts zipped through the clouds. Then Alakkad slipped through a breach in the scudding clouds. A smooth black ball of a world, threaded with hundreds of glowing red lines as vast rivers of lava surged along the surface.

  'I never knew this was here,' an enchanted Edeard said, craning his neck as he tried to see the entire ceiling at once. 'Can you see all of Gicon's bracelet?'

  'You know your astronomy.'

  'Some of it. We had a very old telescope in the Guild hall where I grew up. My Master enjoyed watching the skies. He always said he was trying to see if another ship was on its way to Querencia. I think he was actually watching for Skylords.'

  'Indeed. Well, if you wait long enough you'll see all the worlds in the bracelet.'

  Clouds surged back across Alakkad. Edeard would have loved to linger. The bracelet was always his favourite feature in the night sky, five small planets rotating around each other, orbiting further out from the sun than Querencia itself. The ancient telescope had never shown him Alakkad in such detail. He wondered how Vili would look in here, or the Mars twins.

  Larose led him through into the series splendid chambers that made up the Mayor's private rooms. Owain was waiting in the oval sanctum, sitting behind the largest desk Edeard had ever seen. He wondered what on Querencia could be in all the drawers, but held back from probing with his farsight.

  'Waterwalker,' Owain said with a genuine smile. 'My full and sincere congratulations on this day. You're a very lucky man.'

  'Thank you, sir.' It appeared the whole city was pleased for him and Kristabel.

  Owain waited until Larose left. 'First off, allow me to apologise profusely for the episode in Eyrie.'

  'Sir?'

  'Those Lady-damned pistols. My Guild has held them in safekeeping for over a thousand years. They are perhaps our most closely guarded secret. How they came to be removed is still a mystery. Even if you managed to get them out of the vault, there are guards, locks… It should be impossible. It has been impossible, until now.'

&n
bsp; 'Do you know who was responsible?' Ronark and Doral had interrogated all the gang members they'd apprehended that night, but they were nothing more than couriers; no one knew the actual source of the guns, the man who was offering them for sale.

  'We think we've identified the principal thief,' Owain said. 'Though he has of course conveniently vanished. I'm shamed to say he was one of my Guild's senior journeyman, a man called Argian.'

  'I don't recall the name.'

  'Studious man, destined to be a Master, though perhaps not to sit on the Guild council itself. Here,' Owain gifted his image.

  Edeard was quite proud of the way he held his composure, shield firm, no sense of surprise leaking out. 'Argian' was the man he was currently holding in the underground cell. 'I'll let the constable stations know, the patrols can watch for him.'

  'Good man. Though I suspect he's left the city. Betraying us in such a despicable fashion carries a heavy penalty. He must have known that. I hope they paid him well.'

  'Yes, sir.' Edeard was desperately trying to work out connections. It was inevitable that the family agents would have someone inside the Weapons Guild, and probably every other Guild come to that. It would be easy now to find Argian's family -who would never acknowledge any association, especially as they would know he was being held by the Waterwalker.

  'But let us ignore that today,' Owain said. 'This is your day, yes. A time to be joyful.'

  Edeard forced a grin.

  'Don't worry, Waterwalker. This next part is just a formality. You know it's considered bad form to vote against a Consent act. We're long past such barbarity.'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'It will be my pleasure to allow Julan to introduce it. So, are you ready?'

  'I think so.'

  'Well, I am. You and Kristabel will make a fine couple. And don't repeat this, but it never hurts to shake things up a bit. If you ask me the Grand Families are becoming somewhat jaded these days. Someone like you in their ranks is just what they need.'

  * * * *

  Edeard slid smoothly through the floor of the cell to find Argian pacing round and round the room. The man was getting jittery. He was starting to talk to himself. It had started with little mutters on the morning of the third day, progressing to full sentences. The cell walls relayed both the images and the sound to Edeard. It wasn't very revealing.

  'Well, we knew it wasn't going to be simple.'

  'That much support, it's difficult to break.'

  'Should we actually let him do it?'

  'If he marries her, he might pull back. Lorin's said before that he's besotted. Pity Ranalee didn't succeed, that would have been the answer to everything. Stupid bitch.'

  As he was eating his egg sandwiches for lunch: 'Poison. Not a fast one, something that would take weeks. Months. Yes yes. Months. No one would suspect then.'

  'Faster faster. The election might be the killer. Riots will make them think twice. Kristabel. It all rests on Kristabel. She's young. Foolish. But she understands family. She might. She might.'

  'We're right. We're right, though. Yes we are. His blood will pass to all of us.'

  'How does he do it? How?'

  Argian was gnawing on this thumb as Edeard emerged. He stopped immediately, shoving his hand behind his back with a guilty expression.

  'Your clothes are getting a little creased,' Edeard said pleasantly. 'I thought you might like some clean ones.' He held out the bundle of neatly folded shirts and socks he'd brought, with a jar of soap flakes and a flannel on top.

  'Thank—' Argian broke off, staring at them.

  'Found them in your room,' Edeard said.

  Argian made a polite bow of defeat. 'Very clever.'

  'Not really, Argian. I'm afraid it was Owain himself who gave me your name. Would you believe, you're the only official suspect for the theft of special pistols from the Weapons Guild.'

  'Owain?'

  'Yes.'

  'No.'

  'Yes. They've thrown you to the fastfoxes. I visited your mother. She's quite distressed by the allegations. I told her I thought you'd left the city. Best not to give her too much hope when it comes to ever seeing you again.'

  'I find all this highly dubious.'

  'Really, I thought they were being quite clever. Your friends obviously know I'm holding you, so they simply make sure I can charge you with a crime that involves the death of a constable. And there we are: suddenly you're no longer a problem. Was that part of the agreement when you signed up? Sacrifice yourself if you get caught? But then I don't suppose your kind ever did get caught before I came along, did you?'

  Argian sat on the side of the bed, and gave Edeard a brittle grin. 'I'm not telling you anything.'

  'You know, I'd made journeyman by the time I was seventeen,' Edeard said. 'You're what? Forty-eight isn't it? And still only a journeyman. No wonder you had to steal those pistols from a vault. I'd hate to use one you'd made.'

  'I believe we've already established that provoking me doesn't work.'

  'Yes. Actually, I don't think you ever were a journeymen, not really. I think it's just a tenure that gives you a facade of respectability.'

  'Oh well done. You actually worked something out for yourself. Or did your friend Macsen the bastard have to explain it to you?'

  'Provoking me is not a good idea. I don't have your restraint.'

  Argian held his hands wide. 'Do your worst. Oh yes, this is your worst, isn't it?'

  'Not by any means. But I'm not in any rush.'

  'I wouldn't count on that, Waterwalker.'

  'Care to elaborate?'

  'No.'

  'I see,' Edeard sighed. 'Well, I can't stay, I have to get ready for my engagement party. And Kristabel needs calming down.'

  'Why?'

  'There was one Master who didn't sign the Consent bill.'

  'Bise,' Argian said quickly.

  'Yes. Apparently he hates me enough to commit the sin of bad form.'

  'Shocking.'

  'Well, it's not me he has to worry about. As I've discovered today, Honious has no fury like a woman upset during her wedding arrangements.'

  'Poor Bise.'

  'I'm not sure when I'll be back. We have a lot of parties to attend.'

  Argian's self-control faltered. He gave Edeard a disconcerted look. 'You're really going to leave me in here?'

  'Not quite. This isn't working as well as I'd hoped. And I need it to work. I have to know exactly who I'm up against. You're the key to that.'

  Just for a moment a flicker of hope crossed Argian's face. Then Edeard dropped away through the floor.

  'Lady damn you!' Argian shouted after him. His clenched fists rose to the ceiling. He froze as a tiny motion caught his eye. The walls were moving. 'No,' he breathed. The cell was shrinking. He put his hands against the nearest wall, and started to push, adding his third hand to his efforts. 'No.' There was nothing he could do to prevent the inexorable motion. 'No! No no. Stop it.' He realized the ceiling was lowering as well.

  'NOOO!'

  * * * *

  Makkathran's opera house formed the heart of Lillylight District. A vast palatial sprawl which merged into the Manor of Octaves, where the Guild of Musicians was housed. When humans first moved into Makkathran they'd found a vast indoor amphitheatre, whose giant tiered ledges had a curvature impossible for humans to sit on comfortably. The lower half of the encircling wall comprised huge mullion windows of rectilinear tracery, and unusually for the city their crystal was coloured, sending out great rainbow beams to intersect the central stage. Above that, a thousand long white and violet stalagmites hung from the domed ceiling, as if it was the inside of some massive geode. As night fell, the spires fluoresced with the city's ubiquitous orange light. Grand Families had long ago staked their claim on various sections of the tiered ledges, and commissioned carpenters to construct elaborate benches. Over time, the benches had been walled off with carved panelling, producing snug private boxes.

  They also steadily expanded
back over the ledges, as Edeard discovered when he had to worm his way behind the boxes that cluttered the second tier to reach the Culverit family enclave. Kristabel, whose magenta satin gown had a wide flaring skirt, struggled to keep the obligatory smile on her face as she followed him along.

  'I always forget how cramped it is back here,' she complained.

  'We could always walk along the top of the boxes,' Edeard said cheerfully.

  Her smile vanished. He kept quiet until they reached the Culverit box.

  Inside, it was decorated in velvet and lace, with eight luxurious leather cushioned chairs along the front. Three servants were already there, preparing wine and fruit in their small panelled off section at the back. One of them took Kristabel's silk wool wrap. Edeard gave him his cloak, very self conscious of the gilded turquoise jacket and smoke-grey trousers he was wearing. Then he realized that no one could actually see into the box, and relaxed.

  'That's better,' Kristabel declared, as she settled in the central chair with a relieved sigh.

  Edeard sat next to her. It was like being on a throne, with an excellent view of the flat circular stage across the top of the boxes on the ledge below. Seclusion hazes protected several boxes as their occupants gossiped before the show began, or entertained people they shouldn't. When he peered over the little balcony rail, Edeard saw the ancient Master of Cobara with his teenage mistress in tow, shuffling along the gap directly underneath.

  'Don't you dare,' Kristabel said.

  'What?' an injured Edeard asked.

  'Ever do that to me,' she responded, her index finger lined up on the Master's bad wig.

  He leant over to kiss her, and realized the chairs were actually too far apart, so he had to get out and move over to her, which sort of wrecked the spontaneity. 'You are far too fabulously energetic in bed for me ever to even think of anyone else,' he murmured into her ear.

  'Behave.' But there was a demure smile on her lips that he recognized all too well.

  'You know,' he said licking her ear lobe, 'no one can actually see in here.'