The Evolutionary Void v-3

by Peter Hamilton

  “Nobody is ignoring it,” Edeard said. “I’ve been to three meetings with the Mayor on this subject alone.”

  “And what was his amazing conclusion?” Dinlay asked.

  Edeard shot him a surprised look; his friend was normally more diplomatic. Maybe Gealee was different, after all. “He believes it will settle down after some time. We’re still experiencing an abnormally large surge of people seeking guidance. It’s inevitable at the start. The numbers will decline and level off.”

  “When?”

  Edeard shrugged. “It’s not the people actually seeking guidance that are the problem; it’s all the family members who come with them. They’re the ones creating the accommodation problems.”

  “That’s it? That’s the Mayor’s answer? Wait a few years and the problem will go away?”

  “Not quite. There are a lot of stopover inns opening around Makkathran. Most of the coastal villages within a day’s sail have at least one. More are opening each month. They will help.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Gealee said. “My brother’s children are in their twenties, and they can’t find anywhere in the city to live. Keral has traveled inland to see what kind of life he could have beyond the Iguru.”

  “Good for him,” Edeard said. “Too many of our children rely on the city.”

  “But we’ve lived here for two thousand years,” Gealee complained. “Why should we leave?”

  “Things are different now,” Macsen said. “The provinces aren’t the hardship they once were. There’s more than agriculture in the towns. Some of the guild halls out there rival those in Makkathran for size and ability.”

  “Then why don’t the Skylords visit those towns? Why is it always Makkathran?”

  Edeard wanted to answer. Kanseen and Dinlay were both looking at him as though they expected a reasonable explanation. He didn’t have one.

  “Only Makkathran has the towers of Eyrie,” Macsen said.

  That can’t be right, Edeard thought. Makkathran isn’t ours; it was never built for humans. “I’ll ask,” he blurted.

  Everyone stared at him.

  “Really,” he said. “When the Skylords come, I’ll ask them what they need to collect our souls. If the only place they’ll visit is Makkathran’s towers.”

  Gealee leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you, Waterwalker.”

  He grinned back at her, making sure he didn’t look at Kristabel. “My pleasure.”

  “This discomfort might help us,” Dinlay said.

  “Discomfort?” Edeard asked.

  “In Makkathran, with the stopover visitors,” Macsen explained, his face open and seemingly innocent.

  “How so?”

  “Discomfort breeds dissatisfaction. Everyone is going to take it out on the Mayor at the next election.”

  Edeard groaned, knowing what was coming.

  “The timing is good,” Kristabel said, suddenly keen. “If you’re right about the stopover inns, then the problem will be reduced considerably as your term starts.”

  “My term?” Edeard wanted to tell her to stop taking Macsen’s side; this felt too much like he was being ganged up on. “I’d have to get elected first.”

  “You’re the Waterwalker,” Kanseen said merrily. “Everyone will vote for you. Even the youngsters, now you’ve brought the Skylords back. Isn’t that right, Gealee?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said earnestly.

  Edeard added Kanseen to the list of people he couldn’t look at right now, though he wasn’t sure if the barb was intended for Gealee or Dinlay. Probably Dinlay.

  “Everyone knows it’s just a matter of time,” Dinlay said.

  “Do they?” He couldn’t quite maintain the disinterested attitude. Mayor? Finally. His mind wondered back to that spring day back in Ashwell, when his ge-cats had been such a success at the new well. Mayor and Pythia, he and Salrana had promised each other. We were children. That’s all. Children laughing glibly at a childish dream. But the idea that he could be Mayor still sent a thrill through him.

  “Come on,” Macsen implored. “This is the time, and you know it. Just say the word.”

  He glanced at Kristabel, who gave him a swift nod.

  “All right, then,” he said, and even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he could never hold in that smile of relief and anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

  The others whooped and applauded, giving him hugs.

  “Where in Honious do we start?” he asked. It was almost a protest.

  “You leave that to me,” Dinlay said. “I’ve been putting together a team for a while.”

  Edeard shrugged and shook his head. It was almost as if he had no say in the matter.

  Felax was standing in front of the thick wooden door into the Chief Constable’s office. He was agitated, which was most unusual for him. “I’m sorry,” he said as Edeard approached. “I didn’t really know how to stop her.”

  Edeard gave the door a quizzical look as his farsight swept into his office. She was perched on one of the straight-backed chairs in front of his big desk. “Oh, Lady,” he muttered as dismay warred with curiosity. “Okay,” he told Felax. “I’ll deal with this.”

  Salrana turned slightly as he entered the office. Her hair was a lot shorter these days and colored a sandy blond. She was wearing a dark shawl over her sea-green dress, something a woman fifty years older might have on. Her big eyes regarded him with a kind of forlorn interest. After all, they hadn’t been in each other’s presence for over a decade-no small achievement, given the number of parties both attended. If he’d thought that she might finally be relenting, that Ranalee’s malign influence was waning, he was put right by the briefest flash of emotions flickering through her shield. Like him, she still couldn’t disguise her mind as well as a cityborn. So there were the embers of distaste and resentment burning alongside a brighter defiance. For once, though, there was uncertainty amid all that rancor.

  “This is unexpected,” he said as he walked past her. He didn’t pause or attempt to shake hands or even contemplate a platonic kiss.

  Her gaze followed him as he sat down. “Nothing’s changed,” she began.

  “Something must have, to bring you here.”

  “Call it desperation if you like. And I know you.”

  Edeard really was puzzled now. All the attempts he’d made to make some kind of peace between them had always come to nothing, and there had been a great many over the decades. Even then he’d still carried on helping where he could, especially with her no-good offspring. She must have known that. “What do you want?”

  “I won’t owe you anything. I won’t change, I won’t show gratitude.”

  “I’m not asking you to. What is it you want, Salrana?”

  She finally looked away, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “My husband, Garnfal, he’s going to accept the guidance of the Skylords. He’s not been well for over a year now.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with genuine sympathy. “I didn’t know.”

  “He … he took good care of me, you know. He wasn’t like some of the others.”

  The ones Ranalee gave you to, he thought coldly.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “he’s been making provisions for me. His house in Horrod Lane goes to his eldest son, Timath, of course. I wouldn’t want it otherwise. But there are goods which are quite valuable, goods he bought with money he earned himself. Garnfal has left me these in his will.”

  “The family doesn’t want you to have them?”

  “Some of it they don’t mind. But there is some land in Ivecove; that’s a fishing village four miles north of the city. A cottage in a large patch of ground. Garnfal enjoyed the gardens; he said you could never have a proper garden in the city. We stayed there every summer. Then last autumn, a merchant approached him, offering to buy the land so he could build an inn there instead. He said it was to accommodate all the people coming to accept the guidance of the Skylords. Until now, Garnfal has refused.”r />
  “And this is what Timath objects to?”

  “Yes. Garnfal has given me his blessing to sell the cottage once he is dead, which will bring in an exceptional price. Timath has already engaged a lawyer to contest the will. He claims that the true price of the cottage is not reflected in Garnfal’s accounts, that I am defrauding the family. He calls himself and his siblings Garnfal’s true family.”

  “I see.” Both your problem and Timath’s view of this. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I hoped you might talk to Timath, make him see that I am not some fastfox bitch who has bewitched his father, that I love Garnfal.”

  Edeard puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled a long breath. “Salrana …”

  “I’m not! Edeard, whatever you think of me, you must know that in this I have free will. I chose Garnfal for myself, by myself. Please, you must believe me. To be stripped of what is rightfully mine by a jealous, work-shy son cannot be the justice you seek for everyone.”

  “Honious,” he said weakly. “You should have been a lawyer.”

  “Timath has engaged Master Cherix.” She shrugged and gave him a timid smile. “If that makes any difference.”

  Edeard let out a groan of defeat and tipped his head back to gaze at the high curving ceiling. “I will speak to the Grand Master of the Lawyers Guild, ask him if he can arbitrate a settlement between you and Timath.”

  “Thank you, Waterwalker.”

  “I think to you I am still Edeard.”

  Salrana rose to her feet, giving him a sad look. “No, you are the Waterwalker. Edeard of Ashwell died on the day of Bise’s banishment.”

  At midday Edeard took a gondola from the Orchard Palace to the Abad district. As the gondola slid along the Great Major Canal, he could see the crowds clustering around the base of Eyrie’s towers. Nobody was going up yet; that wasn’t allowed until the night before. Constables were assisting Mothers in keeping people away from the long winding stairs at the center of each tower. No arrests had been made yet, though Edeard was getting daily reports of incidents involving frustrated relatives. In truth, the ascent to the top of the towers had to be carefully managed. The platforms thrusting up into Querencia’s skies had a finite area, and there were no rails around the sides. Everyone who went up was elderly and infirm; they had to be cared for even in their last hours. The Mothers were now quite experienced in overseeing the whole event, a fact that went unappreciated among those who had traveled so far, with their hope building along every aching mile.

  So far this week, Edeard knew, there had been fifteen deaths among those waiting in Eyrie. Their families had to be treated with a great deal of tact and understanding. Even so, tempers had flared and violence had swiftly followed. To have come so far and not achieve guidance was unbearable. Understandably so. With another seven days to go, there would be more deaths, each one more excruciating to the survivors than the last.

  The gondola pulled up at a platform in the middle of Abad. Edeard climbed up the steps to Mayno Street and set off into the district. Boldar Avenue was a fifteen-minute walk from the canal, a zigzag pavement serving narrow four-and five-story cottages. Most of the lower floors had wide doorways and were used as shops or crafthouses. He saw several that were packed full of stopover travelers.

  At the far end of the street one of the largest cottages had a pair of tall apricot trees growing outside the front door, their fruit starting to swell amid the fluttering leaves. Edeard was immediately aware of the strange thoughts emanating from inside. There were over a dozen people in various rooms that his farsight could sense, yet all of them seemed to be similar somehow. All had the same emotional state. Even the rhythm of their thoughts was in harmony. The oddity was enough to make him hesitate as he faced the scarlet-painted door. Deep windows were set in the curving wall on either side, their dark curtains drawn, revealing nothing. Then he knocked.

  A young woman opened it for him. She was wearing a simple black dress trimmed in white lace, with long auburn hair wound in elaborate curls before flowing halfway down her back. Her smile was generous and genuine enough.

  “Waterwalker, please come in. My name is Hala. I wondered when you’d visit.”

  “Why is that?” he asked as he walked in. The hall was long with an arched ceiling, splitting several times, like a smaller version of the tunnels beneath the city. He hadn’t realized the cottage was so large; it had to be connected with several others along the street. He eyed the continuous strip of light along the apex of the hall. It glowed a perfect white, and he’d never asked the city to alter it.

  “I admire the path you’ve followed,” Hala said. “Given how alone you were, it’s admirable.”

  “Uh huh,” Edeard said. He wondered if she was the one whose farsight had been following him over the years.

  The ground floor of the cottage was divided into several large rooms, saloons typical of any private members’ club in Makkathran. It appeared deserted apart from a few ge-chimps cleaning up.

  “We’re upstairs,” Hala said, and led him down the hall to a spiral stair. The steps had been adjusted for human legs.

  Edeard’s curiosity grew. Someone obviously had a rapport with the city similar to his own.

  There were children on the second floor. It was similar to a family floor in the ziggurat, with living rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and bedrooms all jumbled together. The children laughed and peeked out at him from doorways before shrieking and running away when he pointed at them. He counted nearly thirty.

  “Are any of them yours?” he asked.

  Hala smiled proudly. “Three so far.”

  The lounge on the third floor was a large one, probably the width of the entire cottage. Its curving rear wall was made up of broad archways filled with glass doors that opened onto a balcony looking out over Roseway Canal a couple of streets away, with Nighthouse rising up beyond the water. The walls were embellished with a tight curvilinear pattern of claret and gold, not that much of it was visible behind long hangings of black lace; it was as if a giant spider had bound the lounge in an ebony web. For such a large room there wasn’t much furniture: some muroak dressers along the walls, a couple of long tables. Rugs with a fluffy amethyst weave covered the floor. Fat chairs were scattered around, looking like clusters of cushions rather than Querencia’s usual straight-backed style. The Apricot Cottage Fellowship was sitting in them, watching Edeard with interest. Fifteen of them, six women and nine men, all young; not one was over thirty. And all of them sharing the same confidence Tathal had worn so snugly at their last meeting. He could feel the strength in their minds, barely restrained. Each of them was a powerful psychic, probably equal to himself.

  He looked around until he found Tathal and smiled wryly. Then he saw a couple of youngsters standing beside a door to the balcony, and his smile broadened with comprehension. They were the two he’d caught a glimpse of in the tunnel. “Ah,” he said. “The nest, I presume.”

  – -

  Jaralee had told him of the name when she and Golbon presented their report. They’d arrived in his office soon after Salrana had departed, radiating a giddy mixture of alarm and excitement that he found slightly unnerving. His investigators were normally unflappable.

  “You were right,” Golbon said. “The fellowship has business interests everywhere. So many, I’m going to need a month just to compile them all.”

  “How is that relevant?” Edeard asked. “They have a lot of members now.” Including Natran, he thought miserably.

  “Ah,” Jaralee said with a superior smile. “To anyone on the outside it resembles a standard commercial association. But when I looked at it closely, there is a core that has joint ownership and part ownership of over a hundred ventures and businesses. The other members are just a seclusion haze of legitimacy wrapped around them.”

  “Not quite,” Golbon interjected. “The core members have commercial ties to a lot of other members’ interests.”

  “They’ve created a very complicated finan
cial web,” Jaralee said. “And from what I’ve seen, it extends a long way beyond the city. I’ve lodged inquiries with registry clerks in Iguru townships and provincial capitals. Only a few have answered so far, but the nest’s dealings certainly stretch to ventures outside Makkathran. Collectively, I’d say they’re a match for a Grand Family estate, certainly in financial size. Could be larger if they have an equal illegitimate side. I don’t really know.”

  “Nest?” Edeard inquired.

  “That’s what the fellowship’s founders are known as. They’re a tight-knit group. People who know them try to avoid saying anything about them. In fact, it’s quite spooky how they’ll try and slide off the subject. I have virtually nothing on any of them apart from hearsay.”

  “So what’s the hearsay?”

  “They really do act like brothers and sisters; they’re that close.”

  “Are you sure they’re not?”

  “As sure as I can be. The majority seem to have come from the provinces; three or four are cityborn. They started to band together seven or eight years ago. That’s when they registered a residency claim on Apricot Cottage. The fellowship itself began a year later.”

  “Was Tathal one of the originals?” Edeard asked. The convoluted finances the nest had surrounded itself with sounded like something Bise would concoct. And he was sure Ranalee made an excellent tutor.

  “Yes, his name’s on the residency application for the cottage.”

  “All right, so what about Colfal?”

  Jaralee smiled happily again. “His herbalist shop is on the way down. It’s getting so bad, he hasn’t even filed his tax statement this year, which is a big risk. The inspector is getting ready for compulsory submission proceedings. I checked around his usual suppliers. He’s made some bad decisions lately. Income is drying up. The finance houses are asking for payment.”

  “So Colfal is in desperate need of a new partner, especially one who has a lot of cash,” Edeard observed.