Edeard arrived at a squat archway in one corner, and automatically ducked his head as he went inside. There was a lot of hostility and bad temper radiating out from the gloomy interior. As he crossed the threshold, he was instantly aware of a strong farsight examining him. His inquisitor was somewhere over in Zelda, and withdrew their farsight as Edeard attempted to backtrack them.
He paused, pursing his lips with interest. That hadn’t happened for quite a few years, either. Whoever had taken such an interest in him before the Skylords returned had been ignoring him ever since. He didn’t think their re-emergence today was a coincidence.
Marcol was waiting for him in the herbalist emporium, a room on the second floor, reached by a spiralling tube and several interconnected cell-rooms. Its walls were completely covered in rugs woven with intricate geometric designs. Lanterns hung on long brass chains, burning Jamolar oil to cast a thick yellow light. There were other scents in the air, a melange of spice and alcohol so potent that Edeard half expected to see it as a vapour. The cell-room was fitted out with row upon row of small shelves, lined with kestric pipes of various sizes and lengths. Several were lying broken on the floor. Hundreds of the narcotic plant’s long tapering leaves hung from racks, drying in the hot air. There were bundles of other stems, seed pods, and leaves which Edeard didn’t recognize. Again, many of them had been torn down and trampled underfoot.
As soon as he’d pushed aside the bead curtains he knew who the protagonists were, two men on opposite sides of the room, still glaring at each other, minds reeking of animosity. One was old and quite large, dressed in an expensive matching jacket and trousers, colourfully embroidered with small birds in the same style as the hanging rugs. Edeard immediately tagged him as the herbal emporium’s owner – which might be prejudice, but with his long grey beard and straggly hair he just came across as the right type.
The other man was considerably younger, under thirty; and Edeard knew his type only too well. Yet another Grand Family son a long way down the entitlement list. As arrogant as he was handsome, and living well beyond his allowance thanks to extended merchant’s credit – straight away Edeard suspected the owner was one such creditor. The two constables under Marcol’s charge had got cuffs on him, rumpling up the sleeves of his dark-red velvet jacket. Looking round, Edeard didn’t quite know why he was here. Then he studied the younger man’s face closely, taking in the high cheeks, the dark floppy hair, the unbreakable defiance in those light brown eyes.
I’ve seen him before. But where? He was younger. Honious damn my memory.
‘What’s the problem?’ he asked lightly.
‘Colfal called us,’ Marcol said, indicating the owner. ‘Alleging psychic assault. When we turned up, Tathal resisted arrest.’ He thumb-jerked towards the youthful aristocrat, who responded with a dismissive smile. ‘He’s a difficult one.’
‘I did no such thing,’ Tathal said. It was a polite tone, and the accent wasn’t immediately indicative of Makkathran’s finest. Edeard thought he might be from the southern provinces.
Holding up a finger to Tathal for silence, Edeard turned to Colfal. ‘Why did Tathal assault you?’
Colfal’s anger finally faded away, replaced by a surly glower. He took a deep breath. ‘I apologize your time has been wasted, Waterwalker. This has been a misunderstanding.’
‘Huh?’ Marcol’s jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘But you called us.’
Edeard’s gaze lingered on the damaged merchandise scattered over the floor; while his farsight was studying the few of Marcol’s thoughts revealed through his shield. ‘Uh huh.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And you, Tathal? What have you to say?’
‘Also, my profound apologies. As your constables will testify, I have a strong third hand. In the heat of the moment my restraint isn’t all it should be.’
‘You don’t wish to press charges?’ Edeard asked Colfal.
‘No.’ The old herbalist shook his head, unable to meet Edeard’s stare.
‘Very well.’ Edeard told the constables to uncuff Tathal. ‘And you, learn to restrain your strength.’
‘Of course, Waterwalker.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Abad, Waterwalker, I have residence on Boldar Avenue.’
‘Really? Anywhere near Apricot Cottage?’
Tathal grinned eagerly, and inclined his head. ‘Indeed, I am privileged to be a fellow.’
Which would explain the stylish clothes along with a provincial accent; but Edeard still couldn’t place the face. ‘All right, you’re free to go. Consider this your only warning, stay out of trouble from now on.’
‘Yes, Waterwalker.’
Edeard was sure that compliance was loaded with mockery, but there was no hint of anything from beneath Tathal’s mental shield. In fact Edeard had never encountered such a perfectly protected mind before, which given he was in Makkathran was quite an achievement.
‘Wasting a constable’s time is also an offence,’ he told Colfal after Tathal had gone through the swirling bead curtain. ‘Especially mine.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ a flushed Colfal muttered sheepishly.
‘What in Honious was that?’ Edeard asked Marcol when they were back out in Five Fountain Plaza.
‘I’m really sorry, Edeard. It all got out of hand so quickly. And, Lady, he was so strong. I couldn’t handle him by myself. Even with my squadmates pitching in it was touch and go. I just sort of instinctively called you.’
‘Humm . . .’ Edeard gave the warren-like terrace a suspicious look. ‘He really was that strong?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was the dispute about? If Tathal is an Apricot Cottage fellow, it could hardly be over payment.’
‘I’m not sure. Colfal was making all sorts of allegations when we arrived. Extortion. Financial abuse. Physical threats. Psychic assault. You name it, he was shouting about it.’
‘Interesting.’ Edeard sent his perception into the walls of the herbal emporium, seeking to extract the city’s memory of the confrontation. But of course, the walls were covered in rugs, the substance of the city could neither see nor hear what went on inside.
‘I can’t believe Colfal backed down,’ Marcol was saying. ‘He was as furious as a blooded drakken.’
‘Domination,’ Edeard said. ‘I recognized some of the patterns in his thoughts, they’re quite distinct after they’ve been forced to change.’ He stopped. Now he remembered Tathal. ‘Oh Lady, I might have guessed.’
*
The Chief Constable of Makkathran had a grand office at the back of the Orchard Palace. A circular room with a high conical ceiling that twisted upwards as if it had been melted into shape. The floor was a polished ochre with dark red lines tracing out a pentagon. Walls were a lighter brown, but still glossy. Edeard didn’t go for much furniture, it was a place of work after all. He had his muroak desk, a gift from Kanseen the day after this election, and a long table for meetings with various captains and lawyers.
By the time he got back there after dealing with Tathal and Colfal, Felax had summoned Golbon, and Jaralee, the last two remaining active members of the Grand Council committee on organized crime. Even now, after so long, Edeard hadn’t quite managed to wind it up.
‘New case,’ he announced as he strode over to his desk. Golbon and Jaralee exchanged a surprised look. For the last seven years all they’d been doing was quietly closing case files and assigning them to the archives.
Edeard sat at his desk. Behind him a neat row of tall slit windows looked out across Rah’s Garden and the Centre Circle canal. He always positioned himself so he faced away from the view. ‘The Apricot Cottage Fellowship.’
Golbon groaned. ‘Not that again. We looked into them a few years back. They’re just a bunch of young merchants looking to make their own association and build up some political clout. They use a few strong-arm tactics occasionally, but no more than established businesses. There’s no criminal activity.’
‘Good, then this will be a quick ass
ignment for you,’ Edeard countered. ‘I want the names of the Fellowship, and yes that includes my son-in-law. Get a rundown of their business affiliations. What they own; properties, land, ships, and so on. I also want a complete financial rundown on a herbalist called Colfal. See if you can find any ties to Fellowship members.’
‘Why the sudden interest?’ Jaralee asked.
‘I think I perceived one of them called Tathal use domination on someone he was doing business with. Colfal, as it happens.’
‘Ah, the impossible court case,’ Jaralee said. Her first apprenticeship had been with the Guild of Lawyers, before she transferred to the clerks. That made her invaluable for Edeard’s investigations; her ability to piece together solid evidence from scraps of information in diverse files was legend, and her legal background enabled her to see what charges could legitimately be applied.
‘There have been cases where domination has been proved,’ Golbon said.
‘Grand Family members testifying against ordinary citizens,’ Jaralee countered. ‘It’s basically hearsay. The court chose to recognize it those few times because of the people involved. Legally, though, there is no acknowledged proof of tampering with another’s thoughts.’
‘I know there’s no legal basis,’ Edeard said. ‘But if it did happen with Colfal then it’s part of a greater criminal act. If we can establish that, we can go after the other facts they’ll have left behind.’
‘Okay,’ Jaralee said. ‘As long as you understand no court will convict on that allegation alone.’
‘Understood,’ Edeard said, trying not to think of Salrana. ‘There’s something else you should know. Tathal has a very strong psychic ability. Apparently even Marcol had difficulty countering him. Presumably this helps his dominance ability.’
‘Lady,’ Golbon muttered. ‘Do you think he’ll come after us?’
‘I doubt it,’ Edeard said. ‘But just be careful. Tathal isn’t the only strong rogue psychic in the city.’ He told them about the occasional sweeps of farsight that had dogged him over the years. Even though he trusted them implicitly, he didn’t mention the tunnels. The only way those youngsters could have got down there was with the compliance of Makkathran itself. He didn’t know if it simply responded to any strong psychic, or if it actively chose to help some and not others. Somehow he doubted the latter. It had only ever consciously communicated to him once, the day he’d learned of the Void’s true ability.
‘Are they linked?’ Jaralee asked.
‘I don’t know, but I also want you to see if there’s any financial connection between Ranalee and the Apricot Cottage Fellowship.’
‘I see,’ she said, with a neutral tone.
Edeard did his best not to smile. Over the years the Grand Council committee on organized crime had expended a great deal of time and effort investigating Ranalee, all to no avail. Jaralee and the others had come to recognize the owner of the House of Blue Petals as Edeard’s personal obsession; he often suspected their diligence was less than it should have been because of that. ‘I know there was a, uh, physical connection between Ranalee and Tathal a few years ago. She was probably the one who taught him how to use dominance effectively.’
Again, Jaralee and Golbon shared a knowing look.
‘We’ll look into it,’ Jaralee assured him.
Edeard and Kristabel took a family gondola from the Culverit mansion down to Mid Pool. It was late afternoon, with the falling sun polishing streaks of cirro-stratus cloud to a tender gold. Warm air hung heavy over the city, redolent with scent of the sea.
They weren’t the only ones enjoying the last of the balmy day: hundreds of gondolas were moving up and down Great Major Canal. Progress was slow. Edeard thought every gondola in Makkathran must be out on the water – he’d never seen so many of the sleek black craft together before. The streets and avenues along both sides of the water were also crammed with people.
As he watched them he noticed how many were elderly, being helped along by their families. Most of them were heading towards Eyrie.
Kristabel caught his gaze. ‘How long?’
‘They’ll be here in nine days.’
‘Five Skylords,’ she said, awed by the notion. ‘I wonder if that many ever came in Rah’s time?’
‘The Lady never gave numbers.’ Edeard saw an old woman with an uncanny resemblance to Mistress Florrel being helped along by three younger woman; she could barely walk, her joints were so arthritic. Her mind leaked little spikes of pain, along with a mild bewilderment. He suspected she wasn’t entirely aware of what was going on. On the water below her, gondolas carried her contemporaries towards the crooked towers of Eyrie. The difference was money. They had enough coinage to make that last stretch of the journey in comfort.
‘How did they cope back then?’ Kristabel wondered.
‘The population wasn’t as large as it is today. Fewer people lived in the city, so there’d be rooms they could all use without any of the trouble we’re having.’ The influx of elderly travellers waiting for the arrival of a Skylord was reaching disturbing proportions. It had risen steadily in the years since Finitan’s guidance and word of the Skylords’ return spread out across the provinces. Now, thousands flocked to Makkathran every month, all of them aided by family, swelling the numbers to a level where the city could barely cope. Once again, the constables were fully deployed on the streets quashing a hundred outbreaks of minor crime each day, from disputes over rooms to wrangles about the price of food charged to visitors. The constables also had to ensure free movement along those streets, which, given that a lot of the elderly had difficulty walking, was becoming quite taxing. The charity and goodwill of the permanent residents that had blossomed after the first couple of visits by Skylords was all but gone now.
The gondola arrived in Mid Pool, and headed up Trade Route Canal. They had to wait several minutes before the mooring platform at the end of Jodsell Street had a free berth. From there it was only a short walk along the street to the District Master’s mansion at the centre of Sampalok.
Edeard always felt slightly bashful whenever he entered the big square at the heart of Sampalok. This was the place everyone associated with the day of banishment, the turning point in Makkathran’s life, and that of Querencia itself. It wasn’t, of course. The true change had started in a secret vault under the Spiral Tower of the Weapons Guild – and nobody would ever know.
The mansion of the Sampalok district Master and Mistress stood in the middle of the vast square; a six-sided giant of a building, each face a different pastel colour, each with its own high archway into the surrounding court. None of their gates were closed; unlike their predecessor the new district Master and Mistress didn’t turn away the people they were supposed to serve.
In years past the square was well travelled, with a few vendors setting up stalls to sell fruit and drinks. Kids ran about, dodging the fountains. But mainly it was open space. Not so any longer. Hundreds of modest bamboo-framed tents had been pitched outside the mansion’s walls. Even as he walked to the main gate, Edeard could see more being assembled, with lively ge-chimps scampering over the frame, binding the canes together. Families stood by with bundles of belongings they’d carried from their hometowns.
Kristabel sniffed the air suspiciously. ‘I thought Kanseen had arranged sanitation wagons for the district.’
Edeard shrugged, and they passed into the mansion’s court, with its white statues and neat bushes growing out of long troughs. The main doors were open, leading to a hall whose ceiling shone with a perfect white light. Broad wing stairs curved up to the first-floor gallery. They were easy to walk up, just as Edeard always intended. He’d never really known what layout to adopt inside the mansion. It was the outside he was so sure of. When the moment came, he’d sketched out an internal design similar to the one that he’d disposed of, except now the lights were white, the baths were a sensible size, the beds a decent height, and so on down a long list of architectural discomforts which Makkathran citize
ns had worked around for two millennia.
Macsen and Kanseen were waiting in the small first-floor reception hall. They showed Kristabel and Edeard out on to the secluded balcony where wine was waiting. As were Dinlay and Gealee. For his fourth wife Dinlay had fallen for a strapping redhead. Gealee was only twenty-eight years old and an easy three inches taller than her husband of two months. Seeing them standing together beside the balustrade with the setting sun behind them, Edeard had to concentrate really hard on maintaining his mental shield and not letting a single emotion seep out. But all Dinlay’s wives could so easily have been sisters. He knows it never works so why does he always go for the same type?
‘Optimism,’ Kristabel murmured.
Edeard turned bright red. ‘Oh Lady, did I . . . ?’
‘No. I just know you.’ Kristabel smiled brightly and embraced Dinlay. ‘Welcome back.’ She kissed Gealee. ‘How was the honeymoon?’
‘Oh, it was just fabulous, thank you so much. The yacht you loaned us took us to so many of these fabulous little harbours. Every town along the coast is so different. And the Oantrana islands, they’re lovely, so unspoilt. I had no idea they were like that. I could live on any one of them.’
Dinlay’s arm went round his new bride. ‘We can retire there,’ he chided.
She kissed him.
Edeard gulped down some wine.
Macsen’s arm went round his shoulder. ‘So what did you think of our guests?’ he asked, gesturing at the big open square beyond the mansion walls.
‘There’s a lot of them,’ Edeard said, glad of the diversion. Even though the visitors were enduring less than favourable accommodation, the city still boasted an atmosphere of optimism and relief. The mental aspect drifting along every street and canal was of anticipation. It was like the night before a carnival.