The Evolutionary Void v-3

by Peter Hamilton

  “What’s going on outside the North Gate?” Edeard asked.

  “Those bastards-” Macsen began.

  “Macsen,” Dinlay said awkwardly. “The Waterwalker hasn’t even seen his family yet after four years. We’ve held the peace for this long; we can wait a day more. Edeard, it’s nothing to worry about. We have the situation under control.”

  Macsen gave a reluctant nod. “Of course. I’m sorry, old friend. This is wrong of me. There’s so much I want to hear about.”

  “And by the Lady, you shall,” Edeard promised.

  It was several days before Edeard found the time to meet privately with his old friends. The first two days were spent happily enough greeting his family and getting to know the latest additions; then, for one day, he was banished to a lounge on the ninth floor of the ziggurat with the other senior males of the family, to feel worthless and faintly guilty while Taralee, two midwifes, several Novices, Kristabel, and even Marvane helped the twins give birth. For once they didn’t synchronize perfectly; Marilee gave birth to her two daughters a good five hours before Analee produced a son and a daughter. After that, of course, was the formal Culverit tradition of the arrival breakfast, where an overwhelmed Marvane sat in a daze receiving congratulations from his new family.

  Lunchtime on the fourth day after the flotilla arrived back saw Edeard take a gondola down to Sampalok. He walked along Mislore Avenue to the square at the center of the district. Every building he passed was occupied. No matter how small or awkward, every cluster of rooms had someone living there: bachelor, bachelorette, couple, small young family, stubborn old widower or widow. There was nothing left for any newcomer.

  At the end of the avenue the six-sided mansion was a welcome sight. He always felt a mild satisfaction every time he saw it, something he’d created, something oddly reassuring.

  This time, the square around it had none of the makeshift camps of stopover visitors awaiting guidance. It was back to a pre-Skylord normality, with Sampalok residents strolling around the fountains while kids played football and hoop chase in the sunshine. Stalls on either side of Burfol Street were doing a good trade in sugared fruits and cool drinks.

  People smiled graciously at the Waterwalker in his customary black cloak. Once there was a time when he would have welcomed such a greeting from the citizens of Sampalok; now he found it hard to return those smiles. But I’m being unfair. It’s not just this district that’s to blame.

  He went into the mansion via the archway on the lavender-shaded wall and hurried up the stairs to the fifth floor, where Macsen had his private study. It was a simple room opening onto a balcony. Today the tall windows were shut. The desk was covered in leather folders, often with the ribbons untied to let the papers spill out; the tables were also piled high, as were various shelves and cabinets. Some of the chairs were also pedestals for the chaotic paperwork. It used to be an immaculately tidy room, Edeard reflected. As if reading his thoughts directly, Macsen gave a conciliatory grin as he got to his feet. “Before you ask: Yes, it has only got like this since she left.”

  Edeard eyed the food (or wine) stains down Macsen’s shirt but said nothing. Some of the chairs already filled with paperwork had cloaks and robes draped over them. “Something that big will take a while to adjust to,” he said diplomatically.

  “Have you seen her?”

  “No. Not yet. Kristabel visited her last night.”

  Macsen shook his head and sank back into the chair behind the desk. “She doesn’t even live in Sampalok anymore.”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “Oh, Lady, no. She said I was losing my focus or drive or something; the usual rubbish women spout. You know what they’re like. Nothing I did was ever right.”

  “Yeah, I know what they’re like.”

  “What? Even Kristabel?” Macsen seemed pathetically eager for confirmation, to know he wasn’t alone in his suffering.

  “Especially Kristabel,” Edeard assured him, wishing he was being completely dishonest. But … Lady, she’s changed since we got back. And it’s all supposedly my fault.

  Macsen picked up a crystal decanter and poured out some of the double-blended spirits the Rassien estate was famous for. He squinted at the golden brown liquid as it swirled around the tumbler, then swallowed it in one go. The decanter was held out to Edeard.

  “No thanks.”

  “You pity me, don’t you?” Macsen burped loudly.

  Oh, Great Lady, I don’t need this. Not on top of everything else. “I don’t pity you. I’d like the old you back, but I’m prepared to wait.”

  “Oh, Edeard, how I wish we’d gone with you. None of this would’ve happened. No Our City movement, no Doblek winning the election, none of the squalid blockade camps.”

  “I heard they call themselves Our City; Rolar told me. Of course, I sensed the camps and the militia as soon as we reached port.”

  “The militia has to be there to keep the peace. I even voted in favor of Doblek’s proposal to deploy them, may the Lady forgive me. There was no choice, Edeard. We were facing citywide riots, possibly a massacre worse than anything Buate ever planned. Ilongo had endured two days of anarchy after Our City prevented the stopovers from using any of the free housing. What else could we do?”

  “You did the right thing,” Edeard assured him. “You acted to save lives. That’s what we always did; that’s what we’ll always do.”

  “What’s happening to the world, Edeard? Didn’t we do enough, saving it from Bise and Owain and the bandits? I tell you, in the Lady’s name the Skylords will stop coming if we don’t mend our ways, Edeard. I know it.” He reached for the decanter again, only to find Edeard’s third hand clamped firmly around it.

  “Dinlay will be here soon,” Edeard said. “We’ll talk about the blockade and Our City then.” His farsight already had identified Dinlay walking across the square outside the mansion. “So tell me, do you both still attend the Upper Council?”

  Macsen shook his head, on the verge of tears. “Jamico has been going on my behalf this past half year. I couldn’t face it anymore after the vote for the regiment. He’s a good man, and I’m proud to be his father. He’ll do better than I ever did.” His hand swept around in an expansive gesture. “I try and keep up with the petitions, Edeard, really I do, but people expect so much. I am not Rah, but they don’t understand that. They whisper I’m turning my back on them as Bise did. Can you imagine that? To be accused in such a fashion? There’s nothing I can do to stop the insidious, malicious, vicious whispers. It’s Bise’s old people behind it, you know. I’m sure of it.”

  Edeard wanted to use his third hand to haul Dinlay through the air to the study’s balcony. Anything to break up this bitter tirade of self-loathing. “Dinlay’s almost here. Speaking of whom …”

  “Ha!” Macsen managed half a smile as he shook his head. “You saw her. Exactly the same as all the others. Edeard, I swear on the Lady that somewhere out in the provinces there’s a secret guild that just keeps using the same mold to produce them. How else does he find so many of them?”

  Edeard smiled. “A Dinlay-wife-sculpting guild. I like it. But Nanitte’s daughter …?”

  “Aye! Ladydamn. I knew it the minute I saw her; she didn’t even have to tell me who she was. It triggered all those memories, the ones I’d tried so hard to forget. Then she claimed she and her mother quarreled incessantly and she couldn’t stand living at home anymore, so she spent the last four years on the road before she came here. Viewing the world, she claims. You know, I was one of the first people she came to. She said her mother had given her the names of people in the city who would help her if she ever got here. Not much of a quarrel, then, eh? I bet the bitch sent her here to ruin us all.”

  “Knowing Nanitte, more than likely.” Edeard checked again. Dinlay was through the archway in the dappled gray wall, asking a servant where the master of Sampalok was. “Where did Nanitte make her home eventually?”

  “She worked her
witch magic on some poor rich bastard in Obershire, apparently. He married her a month after she arrived, and they live in a fine house on a big farming estate.”

  “Good for her,” Edeard muttered.

  Macsen snorted in contempt.

  “But don’t you see?” Edeard responded. “She’s changed. She’s become a part of our society. It’s an acknowledgment we are the right way forward for us all. A timely reminder we mustn’t falter, if you ask me.”

  “Whatever,” Macsen said wearily. “Anyway, it took Dinlay all of half a minute to fall head over heels for the daughter. As usual.”

  “Well, maybe this time he’ll get it right. He’s certainly had enough practice.”

  “Not a Ladydamned chance.”

  Edeard remembered the flirtatious smile Hilitte had bestowed on him as they met. Macsen’s right; the omens aren’t good.

  Dinlay opened the door, giving Macsen a cautious look.

  “Good to see you,” Edeard said, and gave his friend a warm hug.

  Dinlay returned the embrace, contentment and relief apparent in his mind. “We really were starting to get worried, you know.”

  “I know, and I thank you for that concern. But it’s a big world out there, and we know so little of it. Honestly, the sights I have seen …”

  “Really? Tell us!”

  “There were huge rock creatures in the southern seas like coral islands that float. I even stood on one. And trees! Lady, the trees on Parath-a whole continent on the other side of Querencia-I swear they were the same height as the tallest tower in Eyrie. And the animals we found. Have you seen the ones we brought back? They were just the small ones. There was something on Maraca, the continent beyond Parath, that was the size of a house. It had blue skin and skulked about in swamps. The jungles, too! Around the equator on Maraca they make Charyau’s temperature look like a mild winter; they’re like steam baths.”

  “You’ve never been to Charyau,” Macsen accused.

  “But Natran has,” Edeard countered. “And he gifted me the memories.”

  “Lady, I wish I’d come with you,” a wistful Dinlay declared.

  “I’ve already said that,” Macsen grumbled. “See what happens when you leave us in charge?”

  “We’re hardly to blame,” Dinlay said hotly.

  Edeard and Dinlay exchanged a private look. “All right,” Edeard sighed. “Tell me what’s been happening in my city.”

  The Our City movement had begun soon after the flotilla departed, Dinlay explained. Some argument in Tosella had sparked it off, apparently. A newlywed couple had found themselves a cluster of empty rooms in a big mansion between the Blue Tower and Hidden Canal. The rooms were up in the eaves and had odd split-level floors with a rolling step, which was why they’d never been claimed. However, there was a good-size room at one end where the man could set up his jewelry workshop. But they didn’t register their residency until after the wedding, as was traditional in Makkathran. That was when the trouble started. They came back from their honeymoon and found that a stopover family had moved in.

  “Temporary,” Macsen grunted. “That’s all. Two brothers had brought their mother from Fandine province to Makkathran for a Skylord’s guidance. She was arthritic and was succumbing to the onset of dementia. They just missed one Skylord by a week, and there were no approaching Skylords sighted by the Astronomy Guild, so it was probably going to be several months until the next one arrived. In the meantime, the brothers couldn’t afford to rent a tavern room for that long or take one in the new inns out in the villages. The empty rooms were a logical solution.”

  “The newlyweds told them to get out,” Dinlay said. “At which point one of the sons went and registered their residency claim with the Board of Occupancy at the Courts of Justice. As they’d lived in the rooms for the required two days and two nights, they were entitled.”

  “Oh, Lady,” Edeard moaned. He knew how this tale was going to unfold. There had always been resentment at the number of stopover visitors. He and Mayor Trahaval had talked about the problem before he’d confronted the nest. There hadn’t been an immediate solution, though the inns being built in the coastal towns and out on the Iguru had seemed like a solution that ultimately would solve everything. It was only by the grace of the Lady that there hadn’t been an “incident” like this one back then.

  “The jeweler and his new bride both had large families, and they were well connected,” Dinlay continued. “Worse, no other empty cluster of rooms would do-for the newlyweds or the stopover brothers. It had to be this one. So the couple made their stand: Makkathran buildings for Makkathran citizens. It was a popular cause. The stopover brothers and their mother were forcefully evicted. By the time the constables arrived, they were already out on the street and in need of hospital treatment from a beating. The newlyweds were installed along with their furniture, and a huge crowd of their relatives blocked the entrance to the mansion. Not that they really needed to; the constables who arrived on the scene weren’t entirely unsympathetic. All they did was cart off the brothers and their mother.

  “That might have been the end of it. But legally the rooms were registered to the brothers. So the newlyweds brought in legal help to revoke the residency and make it their own.”

  Edeard closed his eyes in anguish. “Please! Lady, no, not him.”

  “Oh, yes,” Macsen said with vicious delight. “Master Cherix took the case.”

  Because the couple, legally, were unequivocally in the wrong and everyone knew it, all Cherix could do in court was fight a holding action. A registration of occupancy could be overturned only by an order of the Grand Council. In order to get that, the legal case had to become a political campaign. The Our City movement was born four weeks before the elections. Mayor Trahaval was strictly in favor of existing law and order, as espoused by the Waterwalker, as he was fond of repeating at every speech. Doblek, up until then a simple formality opposition candidate, chose to support Our City. He won a landslide majority, as did a host of Our City representatives.

  The Our City movement was something its members took very seriously. By the end of the first week every single vacant space in every building in Makkathran was occupied and registered by one of their own. And the visitors arriving with their dying relatives had nowhere to stay; like the brothers before them, most couldn’t afford the inns for what might be months. It all came to a head in Ilongo a week after Doblek was sworn in at the Orchard Palace. Some newly arrived visitors, outraged at being told they couldn’t stay in the city where their dearly beloved were due to be guided from, tried to squat in some of Ilongo’s central mansions. There were riots that the constables alone couldn’t quell, not that they tried particularly hard. That was when Doblek acted with impressive resolution, ordering the militia in to stamp down hard on the disturbance.

  From that day on, anyone who came to Makkathran to be guided by a Skylord and couldn’t afford a tavern room was prevented from passing through the city gates until a day before the great event, when the Lady’s Mothers organized their passage up the towers. Even then, relatives who’d been camping outside were discouraged from accompanying them to Eyrie.

  “Doblek really thought he was emulating you on the day of banishment,” Macsen said. “Throwing them all out and forbidding them to come back was what you did to Bise and the rest. And enough stupid people think the same; they applaud how tough he was.”

  “I’m surprised he had the courage to suggest such a thing,” Edeard said. “That’s not the Doblek I remember.”

  “Power changes people,” Dinlay said simply, giving Macsen a sharp look. “And necessity. What else could he do?”

  Edeard realized this was an old argument between his friends.

  “I could accept that if he’d made any attempt to alter things since then,” Macsen said. “But he hasn’t. He doesn’t know what to do, and more people are arriving each day. Did you know we’ve only just started getting our first visitors from the most distant provinces? And I in
clude Rulan in that.”

  “Cheap,” Dinlay muttered.

  “Not really. The volume of people coming here is still rising. Doblek has done nothing to address that. Nothing! He had to deploy another militia troop to safeguard the route into Makkathran. The people he’d forced outside were starting to waylay merchant carts and caravans. So now we have a permanent presence of militia extending well out into the Iguru, and the stopover camps are hacking down the forests outside for fuel. You know those trees were planted by Rah and the Lady themselves.”

  “The area circling Makkathran was designated a forest zone by Rah,” Dinlay said wearily. “He didn’t go around planting seeds himself; that’s One City propaganda.”

  “Whatever,” Macsen said. “The problem is Doblek’s actions, or rather lack of them. What does he think is going to happen, that it’ll all sort itself out? And Edeard, we’ve heard rumors that the Fandine militia is on the march through Plax.”

  Edeard gave Macsen a puzzled look. “Why?”

  “Because we’ve used our militia against their citizens. They’re claiming the right of protection.”

  “Oh, Great Lady!”

  “It’s the distance,” Dinlay said. “That’s our trouble. Rumor grows with each mile. A report of what was a grazed arm and a bloody nose in Makkathran has become some kind of mass murder of innocents by the time it reaches Fandine.”

  “So is it true about the Fandine militia, then?”

  “General Larose sent fast scouts out last week. We’ll know soon enough.”

  “Militias fighting on the Iguru,” Edeard muttered in disbelief. The loss of life during the last campaign against the bandits had appalled him. He’d thought such horror had ended then. It certainly couldn’t be allowed to happen again; he had never forgotten the carnage Owain had unleashed. “I must speak with Doblek.”

  “To what end?” Macsen asked. “You think he’ll back down and order the militia back inside the gate?”

  “He was elected courtesy of Our City,” Dinlay said. “He’ll never go against the cause that put him in the Orchard Palace.”