‘We could go in with concealment,’ Dinlay said. ‘Snatch the closest one on the list and bring him out quickly. That Hundred are the key to this, they’re the ones stirring people up. Take them out one at a time.’
‘You might be right,’ Edeard said. He wasn’t sure. The size and animosity of the response had caught him off guard. But then Sampalok residents always had a chip on their shoulder, it wouldn’t take much to rile them.
He went over to the watcher crew at the end of the concourse next to Trade Route Canal to find out which of the Hundred was nearby. Before he’d even spoken to anyone the sergeant at the middle bridge into High Moat was longtalking that the crowd was rampaging along the streets, breaking into shops and businesses. Looting had begun. Edeard’s farsight flicked over to the area, sensing a deluge of anger and glee. Not a good combination, he thought as his farsight found a ge-eagle overhead. The genistar’s acute sight revealed flames and smoke pouring out of five or six buildings. When it swooped lower he could see dense congregations pressed up against commercial premises. Goods were being hauled out of shattered doors to be passed around the eager crowd. Scores of kids were running away, each clutching at some piece of loot.
The ge-eagle’s thoughts filled with agitation. Something was pulling at it, forcing it down towards the curving, angled rooftops of Sampalok. Its powerful wings flapped madly as its distress mounted.
Edeard found that extremely alarming. Few people had the telekinetic strength to reach all the way up to a ge-eagle, and fewer still had the inclination to attack a defenceless creature.
It was inordinately difficult to farsight telekinesis, but Edeard could just make out the tenuous band of force stretching up from the ground. He focused on the origin, a youth no more than fifteen, standing in Entfall Avenue while the crowd surged around him.
‘Stop that,’ Edeard commanded.
The lad started. His telekinesis abandoned the ge-eagle, and he ran into the nearest building.
The sound of wood splintering reverberated across the Mid Pool concourse. Edeard looked round to see a group of people had battered down the door to a baker’s shop in Mislore Avenue. Cheers rang out as the crowd swarmed in to help themselves to fresh loaves and cakes. Sharp cries from the baker and his family vanished swiftly. Then the grocer’s next door was breached. A clothing shop. A tavern – to the accompaniment of much cheering. An ironmonger’s. Cafe. A cobbler.
‘What do we do, Waterwalker?’ the senior sergeant on the concourse demanded.
Edeard looked at him, not knowing the answer. Then there came the sound of doors being broken on Zulmal Street.
‘Lady!’ He turned to the sergeant. ‘Drive them back, get them out of those premises.’
The sergeant, who was from Vaji station, gave him a dubious stare. ‘Yes, sir.’
A squad of over fifty constables formed up, with Edeard at the head. He led them into Mislore Avenue. As soon as the crowd saw him coming, they turned and ran. A sleet of projectiles hurtled through the air at the advancing constables. Edeard battered all of them away, sending them tumbling to the ground ahead of him. When he looked down the first side alley he could see directly into Zulmal Street; the riot and looting was worse there. Further up Mislore Avenue the crowd was breaking into a fresh set of shops.
‘You did this!’ a woman screamed at him. She’d run out of a splintered doorway, wearing a long yellow dress that was smeared with blood. Her hand clutched at a long knife which she waved extravagantly. ‘You, Waterwalker, you ruined us. Two hundred years my family has lived here, two hundred years our shop has thrived, now we’ve lost everything. Rot in Honious, you bastard.’
Edeard stopped advancing down Mislore Avenue. All he was accomplishing was to push people into areas that were undamaged, providing them with further targets. ‘Lady, help me,’ he muttered.
Three more sergeants reported riots starting. Six sections of Sampalok were in chaos now.
‘Trouble here,’ Dinlay’s longtalk reported. Edeard could tell his friend was trying not to panic.
‘Back to the concourse,’ he told the constables he was leading.
When he got there, he found the rioters in Zulmal Street had been emboldened by his absence. They’d spilled out into the concourse to confront the constables defending the bridge over to Bellis. Behind them, the looting was multiplying. Violence spilled on to the street at the beleaguered business owners did their best to defend their livelihoods. He saw clubs swing brutally. Third hands clashed. Then his worst fear was realized: a pistol shot rang out.
Everyone on the concourse froze, trying to see where the shot had come from. Out of the corner of his eye Edeard saw Kanseen fall. She was on the front rank of the constables (of course); now she crumpled to her knees, hands clutching her chest, breathing with difficulty.
‘Kanseen!’ Macsen bellowed. He shoved his way through the silent constables to reach her side. His arms went round her.
‘All right,’ she gasped. ‘I’m all right. Lady! I’ll never complain about these drosilk waistcoats again.’ She was rubbing her chest where the bullet had struck. Macsen let out a sob of relief, and kissed her.
A furious Edeard strode out into the empty zone between the constables and the rioters. The nearest members of the mob shuffled backwards.
‘Break this up!’ Edeard roared. ‘Go back to your homes. This is over.’
For a moment the silence held. Then someone unseen yelled, ‘Fuck the Waterwalker.’
Two more pistol shots rang out. Edeard was ready for them. The bullets hung in the air a couple of feet in front of him. He was going to make a show of examining them and sneering contemptuously. Slap it into the rioters that he was invincible, that their moment of rebellion was over. But it was a signal for a renewed round of jeering.
‘One of mine fired the shots,’ Argian longtalked directly to Edeard.
Edeard’s gaze flicked up to the roof of the building at the start of Zulmal Street. Argian was there, crouched down amid the profusion of flowering vines. ‘Who? Where?’ Edeard asked.
‘Junlie. He’s already retreating.’
The hail of missiles was starting again.
‘All right,’ Edeard snarled at the rioters. ‘I warned you.’
Those in the front rank faltered, their taunts and abuse fading as they saw his determination.
Edeard’s cloak billowed wide, freeing his arms. He brought them up in a wide curving motion, his eyes closed. Concentrating hard. He’d never really exerted his full telekinetic strength before, not like this. Not aggressively. Behind him, the surface of Mid Pool shivered. Twin plumes of water exploded high into the air. Their crests warped round to streak over the concourse, merging directly above Edeard. The constables underneath the giant airborne streams gasped, crouching down fearfully.
Edeard grinned mercilessly. He flung the water directly at the rioters as a single wavefront. It hit the ground in front of Zulmal Street, throwing up a huge cloud of spume. The main bulk of water surged onwards into the street, knocking everybody off their feet. Third hands formed desperate body shields, warding the thundering foam away from mouths and noses. Edeard kept it coming, standing immobile as the vast torrent churned above him. Captured fil-rats squawked in terror as they were propelled overhead within the unnatural flood. The leading wave rushed fifty yards down the street – seventy – a hundred. Its force and size reduced gradually as smaller streams poured away down the side alleys.
The surface of Mid Pool sank down drastically as Edeard continued to siphon water out. Water along the connecting canals began to dip and race in to fill the depression.
Edeard took a deep calming breath, and slowly lowered his arms. Above him, the final swell of water splattered down into the street.
There was no more rioting. Water churned away down alleys and drains. Edeard looked at the hundreds of soaking bodies left clinging to the buildings and each other, flopping about like beached fish. A multitude of coughing and harsh gasps echoed along the wal
ls of dripping vines. Sunlight shining through the placid stripes of alto-cumulus created a strangely beautiful sheen across the glistening surfaces.
‘I told you,’ Edeard announced impassively. ‘Go home.’
Constables moved down Zulmal Street, helping people to their feet, making sure they were all right. Broken limbs were a common injury. Over two dozen were carried to the concourse where doctors had been summoned. Two arrests were made when they found a couple of the people on Edeard’s Hundred list. Other than that there were no recriminations. The rioters slunk away, shivering in their sodden clothes. Mislore Avenue was equally quiet.
‘What in the Lady’s name is going on?’ Chief Constable Walsfol demanded with a directed longtalk.
Soft and precise though the telepathy was, Edeard could sense the man’s anger and fear. ‘I had to do something, sir. The rioters were destroying the whole street.’
‘You might have calmed your area, but the rest of Sampalok is falling into Ladydamned anarchy.’
‘I know,’ Edeard replied miserably. His farsight could see the mobs rampaging through the streets and alleys across the rest of Sampalok. Smoke was churning into the morning air, muting the bright sunlight across the district. Instead of giving them pause for thought, his actions had actually acted like some kind of spur to the mobs. ‘I’ll go over to Galsard Street next, it’s closest. Then I’ll move on to—’
‘You will do no such thing,’ Walsfol said. ‘We’re worried your actions are just inflaming the whole situation. You stand down, Waterwalker, I want you back in Jeavons by midday. I am ordering all constables to fall back behind the bridges.’
‘But people are being hurt,’ Edeard protested.
‘Perhaps you should have thought about that before you began this action. You assured me that the disturbance would be minimal. I don’t know who it was that forced the gang leaders into Sampalok, but all that’s done is magnified this whole Lady-damned disaster.’
It would have been worse. Every district would be burning like this by now. Probably. Dear Lady, what have I done?
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The Mayor feels more direct action will be required to support the citizens currently under threat.’
‘What sort of action?’
‘We’re not sure. The Upper Council has been in emergency session for the last twenty minutes, nothing has been decided.’
Edeard gazed round the concourse. A wide flow of shallow water was rippling back out of Zulmal Street to gurgle over the rim into Mid Pool. A couple of doctors had responded to the calls of the sergeants, and were moving along the row of injured. Lady’s Novices in their blue and white robes were scurrying round, assisting the doctors and comforting the dazed patients.
A shot rang out. Every constable flinched, automatically looking towards Zulmal Street. Edeard’s farsight was unconsciously aware of his squadmates – just as Chae had taught them so long ago. Boyd’s thoughts vanished from perception.
Somewhere close by, Kanseen screamed.
Edeard’s farsight flashed out to where Boyd had been an instant before; one of the shops along Zulmal Street. A mind in the front room glowed with unrepentant satisfaction. There was a lifeless body in there, but farsight couldn’t help Edeard identify who it was. He could however pick out the kind of kit every constable wore. ‘Lady, no,’ he whispered.
Then he was running across the concourse and into Zulmal Street. It was a baker’s shop, of course. The deluge of water had poured in through the broken door, creating havoc inside. Shelving and counters had flipped over as the powerful current raced through into the rear. It struck the ovens in the kitchens, releasing dangerous clouds of steam as it quenched their fires. One of the heavy cabinets in the front had toppled on to a teenage lad, pinning him to the ground. That was how Boyd found him, whimpering in agony, coughing water, blood seeping into his clothes from where broken hip bones had punctured his skin. A son of the baker or a rioter, Boyd didn’t care. The lad was suffering and needed help. Boyd helped. Using his third hand and a post of wood, he was crouched down beside the cabinet, levering it free.
When Edeard rushed in, Mirayse was still standing over Boyd’s corpse, the pistol in her hand. Her clothes were splattered with blood, as well they might be. She’d put the pistol muzzle an inch from the back of Boyd’s head to shoot. The front of Boyd’s face had blown off, spewing gore across the cabinet and the poor lad underneath it, who was now weeping hysterically.
Mirayse giggled at the constables piling into the shop. ‘I got you,’ she said in a peculiar sing song voice. ‘I got you. You killed my life. We’re equal now.’
Dinlay lunged forward, face contorted in fury, his third hand reaching to heartsqueeze the demented woman. Edeard’s shield protected her.
‘No. She will stand trial.’ His third hand plucked the pistol from her. ‘Take her out,’ he told Urarl. He lifted the cabinet effortlessly from the lad. ‘And get a doctor in here.’
Urarl and two constables took Mirayse out of the shop. As they left, Argian slipped in.
Macsen dropped to his knees next to Boyd’s corpse. He reached out tentatively, as if his friend were merely pretending. Blood mingled with the water soaking into his uniform trousers. Kanseen was gripping a sobbing Dinlay, tears leaking silently from her eyes.
‘Why?’ she whispered.
Argian held up the pistol. ‘This model is the kind we favour. They would know her state of mind. It would be a simple thing to give her this and whisper where one of the Waterwalker’s squad was.’
Macsen turned to snarl at Argian.
‘Wait,’ Edeard said. He found it strange he was so calm. Shock seemed to be slowing his thoughts, taking him a long way away. It was as though the events inside the baker’s shop were taking place on some remote stage.
‘What?’ Macsen moaned. ‘He’s dead!’
Edeard stood perfectly still, reaching out with his farsight. His friends faded away, as did the walls of the bakery. Droplets from the drenched walls and furniture struck the puddled floor, tinkling like bells. Slowing. Greyness eclipsed the world he walked through.
Amidst this sombre silent universe a single figure glimmered. Edeard smiled. ‘You stayed.’
‘I haven’t said goodbye,’ Boyd’s soul told him. ‘I’d like to say goodbye. But it’s difficult, Edeard. They can’t hear me.’
‘Take whatever you need,’ Edeard told him, and held his arms out. The phantom Boyd touched him.
It was as though a spike of ice was being driven through his heart. Edeard’s mouth opened to a shocked O, his own life was flowing out through the contact. The real universe rushed back in to engulf him.
Kanseen gasped as Boyd’s spectral shape materialized above his own corpse. Edeard staggered, forcing himself to draw down a breath. The cold was spreading through him. Numbing.
‘Boyd?’ Dinlay said.
‘My friends,’ Boyd gazed round them magnanimously.
‘Don’t go,’ Kanseen said.
‘I have to. I can hear the nebulas calling. It’s quite beautiful. I only waited for Edeard to notice me.’
‘We need you, too.’
‘Dinlay, tell Saria for me. Be kind, she will need a lot of comfort.’
‘I promise.’
‘Kanseen, Macsen; don’t hide, not like this. Life is too precious for a single moment of happiness to be lost.’
‘I . . .’ Kanseen gave Macsen a forlorn look. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right.’
Boyd regarded Argian. ‘You, the doubter. Have faith in Edeard, he is stronger than all of us. I can see that. I can see the way he affects this universe, it flows to his will.’
Edeard grimaced, his knees sagging. The cold was becoming unbearable.
‘I’m sorry, Edeard,’ Boyd said. ‘I weary you. I am one pattern you cannot sustain.’
‘Pattern?’ Edeard gasped.
‘Why yes. That is what this universe is, a beautiful memory. There are so many patterns folded within its structure, they s
tretch back for ever.’ He let go of Edeard’s hand, and immediately began to diminish. As he did so, he gave a knowing grin. ‘I never realized the city was alive like this, Waterwalker. But you know, don’t you? You can feel its dreams. Get it to help you, today of all days. Stop being so timid. This needs more than water to finish it. Have courage and be bold.’
Edeard couldn’t stop shivering. ‘I will,’ he pledged.
‘You must think I’m so weak to leave,’ Boyd said as his spectre lifted towards the sky, thinning out.
Edeard’s perception followed it. ‘No,’ he said. Then he heard, ‘We have to stay, he is all we have.’
‘What?’ he asked.
The sensation of a smile emerged from Boyd’s essence. ‘I understand.’ And he was gone, ascending to the nebulas.
Kanseen was crying openly as they stepped back out on to Zulmal Street. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blubbed, wiping the back of her hand over here eyes. ‘I’ll be all right.’
‘You do see souls,’ Argian said in astonishment.
‘Yes,’ Edeard said. He was incredibly tired. It would be so easy to sit down and just close his eyes, chasing a moment’s rest. After all, Walsfol had ordered him back to Jeavons. None of this was his problem any more.
Yeah, right.
‘What do you want to do?’ Macsen asked.
Edeard gave him a desperate look. ‘I don’t know.’
‘My people,’ Bise’s longtalk voice called.
As one the squad turned to face the District Master’s mansion at the heart of Sampalok. Bise stood on the roof, dressed in his flowing violet robes, the fur-lined hood thrown over his left shoulder. He held his arms out in benediction to his vast audience. ‘I speak to all of us within Sampalok, those whose families have been here for generations and those newly arrived, seeking safe haven from the Waterwalker’s persecution.’
Edeard immediately bridled.
‘Don’t say anything,’ Kanseen ordered sternly. ‘Arguing in public will make you seem petty.’
‘Do not fight among yourselves,’ Bise said softly. ‘Your enemy is outside, and this conflict only strengthens him. Even now the forces who fear your freedoms are gathering in High Moat. I urge you to stand firm against them. Resist their occupation of your home, the last place in the city where you are independent men as Rah promised. I offer your families sanctuary within the walls of my mansion. Here they will be safe while you fight to establish your liberty against the oppression brought upon all of us by the Waterwalker.