The Temporal Void (ARC)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Edeard held up his hands apologetically, as if mystified by what he was witnessing. 'I'm not doing anything.'

  Larose's eyes bugged. He managed to bring his arm over and round, the revolver muzzle tracking down slowly towards Edeard.

  'I really wouldn't do that if I were—'

  Larose fired. The powerful recoil force sent him cartwheeling fast back down Burfol Street. He careered into several of his men on the way, sending them spinning off. It wasn't good for their inner ears.

  Edeard pulled a face as the first soldier was spectacularly sick fifteen feet above the pavement. Instead of splattering down, his vomit oscillated through the air, forming strange nebula shapes of its own. The horrified soldier next to him watched helplessly as he collided in slow motion. Then others started to spew up. The regiment's initial cries of shock changed in pitch to become wails of disgust.

  Edeard held up a finger in remonstration. 'Don't go away. I'll be back in a little while; we can talk about you holstering your weapons then.' He turned to face the mansion. This time, nobody on the battlements took a pot-shot at him.

  The entirety of Makkathran was very quiet.

  The Waterwalker looked up at the distant figure of District Master Bise. 'You claim jurisdiction here, yet you forget that with power comes responsibility. You and your family have continually abused your position and allowed the gangs to spread throughout your district. You encourage defiance and manipulation of the law to your own ends. The result of this is the misery and deaths that we have witnessed today.'

  'It is not me who brings—'

  'BE SILENT.' Edeard aimed his right hand. A colossal bolt of lightning snapped out from his fingertip, striking the top of the tower roof a yard from where Bise was standing. Smouldering chunks of wall twirled out, falling to the courtyard far below. Bise cowered, his arms raised in front of his face.

  'You forget, Master Bise, that neither you nor the Grand Council is the final authority here. We are all guests of the city itself. Living here is not a right, it is a privilege. As of this day the city revokes that right for you. The family Diroal is hereby stripped of its position and wealth; half of all its money will be redistributed as recompense among those of Sampalok who have suffered this day, the remainder will go to the new Master. I also add to that list of banishment all those who are named in the exclusion warrants. You will now leave Makkathran and you will not return. Ever.'

  'Not even you can force that upon us,' Bise replied.

  'No,' Edeard agreed equitably. 'I cannot. The city, however, can. And it will begin with the revocation of your mansion.'

  For a long minute Edeard and Bise stared at each other. Nothing seemed to happen. Laughter began among those on the wall's battlements; catcalls and taunts rang out again.

  The giant iron-bound gates in front of Edeard emitted a staggeringly loud crack. People gasped, and leaned over the battlements to see what was happening. The gates appeared to be intact.

  Bise's shielded mind suddenly flared with dismay. The edge of the roof where it curved to blend smoothly into the tower walls was changing. It loosened and fractured, turning to the finest dust which then flowed as a liquid. Rivulets of the stuff dribbled down the wall towards the floor below. The rivulets grew to a deluge, swamping the delicate green and yellow patterns. Bise stared down as the accelerating tide began to rise over his boots.

  'If I were you,' Edeard advised mildly, 'I'd come down while you still have stairs to come down on.'

  The gates sent out another agonized rasping. The sturdy hinge bolts driven over eighteen inches into the substance of the walls were being rejected. The process which always pushed out human fixings over time was speeding up. From inside the mansion a whole series of squeals and brassy groans could be heard as every door was forced out of its frame. Pictures fell off the walls as the hanging spikes popped out. Shelves in the pantries and storerooms crashed to the floor, spilling their contents.

  Bise turned and ran for the stairwell.

  Water drained from the bathing pools on every floor in the mansion. The orange lighting segments dimmed to extinction. Crystal windows popped like soap bubbles. Doors fell, crashing down. Then the solid walls started to crawl as they slowly lost cohesion, transforming into a vertical tide of liquid dust.

  The family Diroal and all their servants rushed for the stairs. Ge-chimps and monkeys and terrestrial cats raced past them, adding to the bedlam in the darkened stairwells. Bise had barely got halfway down to the sixth floor when the roof finally dissolved. Sunlight shone down into the exposed top floor rooms, revealing the carpets and wobbling furniture being slowly engulfed by a cascade of dust. He moaned in terror and ran faster. Under his pounding feet, he could feel the surface of the curving awkward stairs start to become slippery.

  One by one, the three gates in the outside wall slowly warped out of alignment as their fastenings finally came free. They pivoted with an unhurried grace, and toppled down into the square. Nobody was left on the battlements to see their final moment. They were surging down the stairs in a desperate bid to reach the courtyard and safety.

  In total it took over thirty minutes for the entire building to melt away, for it was a gigantic edifice and not even the city could reabsorb its mass any quicker. During that time, the constable teams Edeard asked for arrived in the square and formed a circle five men deep around the vanishing mansion.

  Captain Ronark was among them. He saluted the Waterwalker, as did the sergeants. They listened to his simple orders before organizing their men as he wanted.

  At the end, when the last stubs of the wall washed away, the area where the mansion had stood was reduced to a small lake of dust. It turned solid as rock. Piled up on it was a mound of smashed furniture, and clothes and curtains and carpets and linen, books and bottles of wine, broken crockery, bent cutlery -all the glittery detritus that any incredibly wealthy family would accumulate over two millennia. Ranged around that were the survivors; sullen and resentful, but most of all fearful of the Waterwalker and his power. They glowered as Edeard addressed them, but none dared to interrupt or argue.

  'If you are a Diroal or one of those I named, you will hand over your weapons to the constables,' he told them. 'And you will walk from here to the North Gate. The constables will escort you, and safeguard your passage. You may take with you whatever you can carry, and no more. Everyone else is free to go.'

  Captain Ronark headed the motley procession, square-shouldered and glowing with pride, taking them down Jankal Lane.

  'I'll join you in a moment,' Edeard told him, and walked over the square to Burfol Street. The regiment was still floating gently between the buildings. Several dozen had managed to cling to the vines, where they hung trembling. No matter how hard they clutched the fronds, their stomachs still insisted they were falling. The air was filled with little globules of tacky fluid. Edeard wrinkled his nose as he approached. The smell was truly awful.

  His third hand drew Captain Larose to the front of the falling zone the city had created for him.

  'I don't have orders for you, because I am not the Mayor,' Edeard said as he looked up at the miserable man in his appallingly stained uniform. 'However, I would like to suggest that the regiment help the victims of this day. Do you find that suggestion sensible, Captain?'

  'Yes,' the captain whispered.

  'Thank you. My pardon for any discomfort. Please, all of you, engage your safety catches; nobody wants an accident now.'

  The regiment sank slowly down to the ground.

  Edeard joined the line of constables on escort duty. The ones he fell in with were from Fiacre station; they welcomed him with muted smiles, trying not to appear too triumphal, but their thoughts were so bright it was hard to disguise. His farsight showed him Kristabel arriving in Mid Pool. She was on a family gondola, with Acena, their old doctor. Behind her was a procession of thirty gondolas, each with a couple of doctors, and several novices.

  'The militia will be with you in a while,' Edeard t
old her. 'They'll help you aid the victims. Try and ignore the smell.'

  'I'm not sure I want their help,' she replied tartly.

  'No recriminations, my love. We all have to live together after this.'

  'Yes. Of course.'

  'Can you talk to your father for me? I'd like a ship loaded with food and blankets to sail north this afternoon. It can anchor just offshore and supply the exiles with enough to get them through the next few days. We can't just fling them out with nothing. There are children going with them.'

  'There are times, Edeard, when it's really hard to live up to your standards of decency, but there isn't a day goes by when I don't thank the Lady you have those standards. I'll talk to Daddy right away.'

  As Edeard and the banished made their way across Sampalok, small groups of constables guided other people to join them: the men who had exclusion warrants issued against them. Sometimes their wives and children were with them, sometimes they came alone. As they walked onwards Edeard felt the continued intangible pressure of farsight pressing down on the morose column of unfortunates. He could feel the unconscious question brewing within the city's residents: what next? It was a question he was a little vague on himself.

  'I need some advice, sir,' he said to Finitan.

  'I think all of us are redundant now, aren't we?' the Grand Master replied.

  'That's the thing, I can't be seen as some kind of emperor standing outside the Council. All of us have to work within the framework of the law, otherwise it becomes an irrelevance, and people can't live without the order it brings. That's what today was about, restoring order. We can't lose now. People have died.'

  'I know. Even until the last minute, I thought Owain would pull back. If you are willing to accept the constraints of the law then it should be possible to start afresh. Not that it will be easy. However, once people have time to reflect, and with some encouragement, they should be able to see that you were acting for the best. We just have to have a strategy that can take us up to the election. That is when you and I both will face the ultimate judgement.'

  'I know that. I have some ideas.'

  'Very well, my boy, let's hear them.'

  * * * *

  Kanseen, Dinlay and Macsen were on the Cloud Canal bridge, sitting together on one of its twisty pillars. They'd spread their jackets on the next pillar to dry in the bright sunlight. Kanseen's wet hair clung to her scalp like a bad beret. Her knuckles were grazed and muddy. Dinlay was trying to clean the one intact lens left in his glasses. Not that it mattered much, one eye was so badly swollen he could barely see through it. His lip was split, and still dribbling blood. He'd taken his boots off, so that his left ankle could be bound in a thick bandage. Macsen's nose was broken. Two small wads of tissue were jammed up each nostril, scarlet with blood. His jacket was missing, and his shirt under the drosilk waistcoat was ripped, revealing a lot of scratches and bruises on his arms.

  They didn't get up as Edeard approached, they just sat their watching him in silence. He stopped in front of them. 'Don't tell me,' he said. 'I should see the other fellows.'

  Kanseen sneered. 'If there was anything left of them.'

  'You stood by me,' he told them. 'You believed in me. You took on Eustace's idiots so I could get through.'

  Macsen turned to Dinlay and grinned. 'Eustace's idiots. Good name for that platoon.'

  'We can probably get it made official,' Dinlay conceded. He eased himself off the short pillar, wincing at the movement as he put some weight on his sprained ankle. 'Come here.'

  Edeard embraced him, unbelievably happy that no harm had befallen his surviving friends - well, nothing permanent. Then Kanseen stepped into his outheld arms. Finally Macsen gave him a hug.

  'Ouch!'

  'You all right?' Edeard asked anxiously.

  'He might be a complete tit,' Macsen's index finger probed his nose gingerly. 'But he knows how to fight dirty, I'll give him that.'.

  'So,' Dinlay said. 'We get to stay constables.'

  Edeard gave Macsen and Kanseen a mildly guilty look. 'For the moment, yes. You going to help me with this escort duty?'

  Dinlay gave his bandaged ankle an annoyed look. 'I don't think I can make it all the way to North Gate.'

  'The doctors will be here soon,' Edeard assured him. 'How about you two?'

  'Bloody Honious, it's all go with you, isn't it?'

  * * * *

  The march over High Moat was swift enough. By the time Ronark reached North Gate, Edeard counted nearly eight hundred people in the column. He hated that so many women and children were being taken along, but there was nothing he could do about that, not now. It was always going to be like this.

  The road on both sides of the giant gate was deserted. Edeard and the constables stopped at the crystal wall. Bise, who was at the head of the column, paused at the giant archway through the wall.

  'A ship will anchor in Cauley cove this evening,' Edeard told the ex-District Master. 'It has provisions for you; all of you.'

  Bise glared at him. 'Where are we supposed to go?'

  'There are fresh lands in the provinces. You can begin again if you wish.'

  'I am a District Master,' Bise yelled furiously. Over fifty members of the Diroal family were gathered behind him, all of them wearing clothes appropriate to their status, and completely wrong to be wearing for a march through the countryside. Hems on the fanciful skirts of the older women were already ragged and filthy as they dragged along High Moat's dusty track. The men were carrying their fur-lined robes, and sweating in their gaudy shirts and trousers. Two of the younger wives were carrying crying babes. Not one of them had footwear that would last more than a couple of days on the road.

  Edeard did his best not to feel guilt or sorrow at the misery arrayed in front of him. 'If you had lived up to your responsibilities you still would be,' he said. 'Now leave while I'm still feeling generous.'

  'You won't live past midnight,' Bise spat.

  Edeard smiled without humour. 'I hope you're not relying on Warpal or Motluk to make that a reality.'

  Bise paled. He glanced up at the archway, and marched through with his head held high. His family trudged after him.

  'He'll be in some friend's Iguru pavilion by nightfall,' Captain Ronark declared. 'Dressed in fresh clothes, sipping wine, and plotting revenge while the rest of these unfortunates are shivering on the side of the road.'

  'I know,' Edeard said as those named on the exclusion warrants began to file past, calling names and swearing vengeance. 'The important thing is the banishment itself. Without the most active gang members, we can achieve order in the city. Besides, how long do you think Bise will be welcome in that pavilion? A fortnight? A month? How long would you feed and clothe his whole family? He'll be moved on eventually; further and further away from us.'

  'I hope so.'

  'Thank you for your support, sir,' Edeard said.

  'You would have it a thousand times over, Waterwalker. I've given my life to the constables, and achieved so little. You have restored the city's faith in us, in the law. That means a lot to me, and probably to more people than you realize.'

  'I was hoping you could talk to Walsfol for me.'

  'I will have words. It might be easier than you expect. The Mayor's actions today left a lot of people shocked and disturbed.'

  'I need to remain a constable.'

  'There's a position that I believe would serve very well.'

  'What position?'

  'Captain of Jeavons station.'

  Edeard gave the old man a startled look. 'But sir—'

  'I'm almost at retirement age anyway, and there are posts in the Chief Constable's office where I can sit out my time. Look at me, I'm here watching the worst bastards in the city march into banishment; people I've spent decades trying to stop. It doesn't get better than this. You taking charge of Jeavons is fitting, and it will put you in a good position to achieve Chief Constable in a few years. Walsfol is my age, you know.'

  'That i
s… enormously generous, sir.'

  'It's good politics. And I think you've learned what's most important in this city now.'

  'Yes sir!'

  Eight constables escorted Buate to the North Gate. Edeard gave the man a dismissive glance, and told the constables to let him go.

  'I don't know what you are, Waterwalker,' Buate said, 'but you'll never last.'

  'You're probably right. But while I'm here, you're not. And that gives everyone a chance at a better life.'

  Buate turned away, and walked through the North Gate.

  'Now that's a sight I never thought I'd see,' Kanseen said as Buate gave the grassland outside a disgusted look. He strode away, keeping himself apart from the other exiles tramping along.

  'Worth remembering, though,' Macsen said. 'So what's next, mighty Waterwalker?'

  'Sampalok, and then a wedding,' Edeard told them. 'And if you ever call me that again, you'll find yourself living with Buate in a hut in the furthest province I can find.'

  'Ohooo touchy!'

  'What do you mean a wedding?' Kanseen asked.

  'I need to talk to yo—' Edeard broke off. His arm suddenly shot out, pointing at the last few stragglers in the column going through North Gate. 'Not you!' He beckoned. 'Come here.'

  The teenage lad gave a guilty start, looking round to try and see who the Waterwalker was pointing at.

  'Yes, you,' Edeard said.

  The lad certainly looked like he should be exiled; curly brown hair that hadn't seen soap for weeks, a scratchy beard just starting, bad outbreak of spots on both cheeks. His clothes were clearly tailored for someone else, with a belt holding up trousers whose legs were crudely cut to size - because he wasn't particularly tall for his age. He wore a patched jacket with bulging pockets, filled with food and some small silver items looted from Sampalok shops. His only expression was sullen, and he wouldn't meet anyone's gaze.

  His parents came with him, clinging defensively. Edeard remembered the father, a gang member working rackets out of Abad.

  'What's your name?' Edeard asked.

  'You leave him alone,' the woman cried. 'We're going, what more do you bastards want from us?'