The Temporal Void

  ‘Oh, great Ozzie,’ she murmured in astonished delight. She was halfway up a steep valley wall. The grassy mountainside beneath her feet swept down towards a broad meandering river. On the other side, maybe twenty or thirty miles away, the opposite side of the valley climbed upwards, its summits coated in thick fields of snow. Above that . . . Araminta shielded her eyes from the orange sun peeping over the jagged peaks. A quartet of tiny moons was racing across the sky, twisting round each other as they went. She was sure one of them must have been made from blue crystal, glints of sunlight flashed off its facets as it spun round and round.

  Viotia didn’t have moons like that. In fact she’d never heard of anywhere that did.

  Somewhere beyond the river, lurking among the spinneys and tracts of woodland, Araminta could sense the beginnings of another path. She set off down the mountain, laughing joyfully at her liberation.

  Inigo’s Twelfth Dream

  The summer sun rose through a clear sky to illuminate one very excited city. It was election day in Makkathran. At last – after all the turmoil, the Sampalok riots and the banishment, followed by a fortnight of increasingly bitter campaigning by both mayoral candidates, and equally lively mud-slinging by the district Representatives – this was it. The day everyone got to make their opinion known on events and promises.

  Edeard jogged over the Brotherhood Canal bridge and into Jeavons as the dawntime’s dew began to evaporate off the grass. It produced a wonderfully fresh scent in the air, triggering a completely unjustified sense of optimism as he reached the streets of Jeavons. Unjustified because the city’s mood was impossible to determine. So much had happened. So much to take in. So many rumours and whispers from the candidates and their allies to believe or ignore. Nobody knew what the result was going to be.

  One thing was for certain, a lot of people were going to vote. As he ran down Golfice Street, Edeard could sense whole families rising early for breakfast. Election day was always a holiday. Businesses that were normally preparing to open as he ran past were shut for the day, market squares were devoid of stalls.

  A holiday, then, but not a carnival. There was too much tension for that. Not helped by the fifty banished who’d made camp in the trees beyond North Gate and refused to budge. Relatives and friends and the politically motivated kept taking food out to them and making public collections. Keeping the cause alive and visible.

  Edeard arrived back at the tenement and hurried up the stairs to his maisonette. Dinlay was waiting on the walkway outside. They grinned at each other and went in. Breakfasts together had become something of a ritual since the day in Sampalok.

  ‘Moment of truth then,’ Dinlay said as Edeard stripped off and scurried into the shower.

  ‘Yes,’ Edeard called out above the spray of water.

  ‘I’ve never known so many people say they’re coming out to vote. I suppose that’s a victory in its own way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Dinlay had sat himself at the small table where one of the ge-chimps was serving him with fruit and cereal. The second genistar was tending the kettle on the iron stove. ‘You’ve finally got people stirred up about the city’s leadership. Before, it never really made any difference which candidate you voted for. Nothing was different afterwards.’

  Edeard stepped out and started rubbing himself dry with a towel. ‘That’s down to Finitan rather than me.’

  Dinlay laughed. ‘I’m not sure I believe the false modesty routine any more.’

  ‘Okay, if I’m that confident about myself, how come I’m not standing?’

  ‘Not the right time,’ Dinlay said shrewdly. ‘For all you achieved, you’re still too young. Even Captain is pushing it.’

  ‘Ha!’ Edeard grunted. Walsfol hadn’t objected to Ronark’s astute manoeuvring; indeed he’d been keen to accept the old captain in his own office at the Courts of Justice. Crucially, Owain had mounted no challenge to Edeard’s promotion as he took charge of the Jeavons constable station. Coming into direct conflict with the Waterwalker while the city’s mood was unknown was not something the wily Mayor would allow to happen. They’d maintained a scrupulously courteous attitude to each other ever since the Sampalok riots. Sometimes it was all Edeard could do not to snigger at how polite they were whenever they met. There were strong elements of farce to the encounters.

  Edeard flicked his friend’s epaulettes playfully. ‘Thank you, Corporal.’

  ‘That’s different,’ Dinlay said, straightening the epaulettes. ‘These were well deserved and sorely earned.’

  The ge-chimp brought two large cups of tea over to the table. Edeard picked his up, and gave Dinlay a mildly concerned look. ‘Er . . . you didn’t want to be Master of Sampalok, did you?’

  ‘By the Lady!’ Dinlay was genuinely shocked. ‘No, Edeard. I’m a constable. And that means so much more today, all thanks to you. I’m going to be Chief Constable to your Mayor.’

  ‘Okay. I was sort of improvising back there.’

  ‘I know. But it was a clever choice. He already knows far more about Grand Family politics than I ever will.’

  ‘The Grand Council needs to worry about her, not him,’ Edeard said.

  ‘And that’s a fact.’

  They grinned again, then finished their light meal in companionable silence. The ge-chimps cleared the table, then started picking up Edeard’s discarded jogging clothes, putting them in the laundry basket. Dinlay paused as he was pulling on his jacket, noticing something odd. His third hand swiped one of Edeard’s odd running shoes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before. Did they have them in your village?’

  ‘No,’ Edeard said as he buttoned up his own jacket. ‘Something I dreamt up. They’re very comfortable to run in.’

  Dinlay shrugged and gave the shoe back to the ge-chimp.

  They walked out of the tenement together and headed for the district’s public hall. Edeard’s farsight swept through the scene ahead. The hall stood by itself in the middle of a square, a strange onion-shaped building standing on twenty fat pillars. Big folding wooden doors had been fixed between them, sealing off the large central auditorium from the elements. The curving internal wall that overlooked the chamber was ribbed by eight narrow galleries that provided access to the hundreds of small unlit cubicles wrapped around the whole structure like a honeycomb. For once, the galleries didn’t have Makkathran’s bad stairs between them, instead the hall boasted steep ramps. Nobody ever really used the galleries or their cubicles.

  On the floor of the auditorium long tables had been set up, along with voting booths. Constables from Jeavons station worked alongside a team from the Guild of Clerks preparing the hall ready for the election. The clerks had their big ledgers of official registry ready, along with sealed boxes of ballot papers.

  People were already arriving outside, well ahead of the official starting time. They were all watching the end of Forpal Avenue when Edeard and Dinlay emerged. Farsight had forewarned everyone the Waterwalker was on his way. Edeard smiled pleasantly as he moved through them, making sure his mind was well shielded, not allowing anybody to see how nervous he was becoming. He’d never seen an election before. Back in Ashwell the vote for the Mayor was limited to village elders.

  Felax opened the door to let them inside the auditorium, saluting as they went past. Edeard saluted back; it was good to see constables actually out of the station again on active duties. The team he’d built up to help him fight the gangs had spent far too long cooped up in the small hall working diligently through paperwork like apprentice clerks. Now they were out on patrol again, visible and helpful to citizens as they should be.

  The clerks inside the public hall were completing their preparations. As soon as Edeard arrived Urarl beckoned him over to the first table.

  ‘Boxes are ready for inspection sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Edeard said. He looked to the Master of Clerks standing beside Urarl, who nodded. Edeard used his farsight to examine the wax seal on each box to chec
k if it had been tampered with. He couldn’t sense any flaws.

  ‘They are undisturbed,’ he announced.

  ‘I concur,’ the Master of Clerks agreed. He proffered a clipboard to Edeard, who had to sign the docket for each box in triplicate. The Master added his signature.

  Under Urarl’s instruction, Marcol and two other probationary constables opened the boxes and started distributing ballot papers along the tables. Edeard did his best not to smile at Marcol’s diligence. The boy was trying desperately hard, and slowly succeeding in throwing off his Sampalok upbringing to shape up as a decent constable.

  ‘Almost time,’ the Master of Clerks said.

  Edeard used his farsight to perceive the Orchard Palace. The Grand Master of the Guild of Clerks was standing on the balcony that faced Golden Park. He was waiting stoically, a big brass pocket-watch in his hand. Everyone in the hall finished what they were doing and waited. It was a scene that was repeated in every single district across Makkathran.

  ‘I declare the voting open,’ the Grand Master longtalked.

  Dinlay gave Felax the okay, and the auditorium doors were opened. First in were the accredited observers from both mayoral candidates, who presented their papers to the Master of Clerks and Edeard. Balogg, the current Jeavons District Representative, was the first voter, as tradition dictated. He was followed in by his two rivals. All of them were allied to Finitan, claiming to support the banishment.

  Edeard watched with quiet interest as the voting began. People came in and went over to the clerks, who confirmed their residency in the ledger. After that they were issued with their two ballot papers, one for the Mayor’s office, and one for the District Representative. They went into the little booth to mark the paper, most casting a seclusion haze for privacy, though some proudly and openly put crosses down for their candidate. Finally, the ballots were posted through a slot in the lid of a metal box that was already locked and sealed. The keys were kept by the Grand Master of the Clerks Guild. Edeard couldn’t see any way to cheat the system, provided everything was conducted in the open and monitored by honest dependable officials. Which, he acknowledged sadly, was the weak point.

  Dinlay had taken great delight in telling him of hidden ballot boxes stuffed with voting slips by a single candidate that ‘appeared’ along with the real ones in the Malfit Hall where the count would be made. Of the ‘ghosts’ on the registry. Of bribes. Of people claiming to be someone else.

  ‘If voting never makes a difference,’ Edeard asked, ‘why go to so much trouble?’

  ‘To make sure it doesn’t make a difference,’ Dinlay explained. ‘And don’t forget, a Representative is paid to perform their Council duties, as well as living in a grand old official City residence along with a dozen other perks. That alone is quite an incentive to get yourself re-elected.’

  Forty minutes after the doors opened there was a lull in voting as the eager early birds finished up. Edeard went over to the clerks and collected his own ballot papers.

  ‘Remember who supported you,’ Balogg said in a loud jovial voice as Edeard went into the privacy booth.

  ‘And I’m pledged to continue to support you no matter what,’ one of his rivals cried out.

  Edeard grinned at them as he went in. It was good humoured. But still there was an undercurrent of tension. He spread the small squares of paper out on the little shelf, and picked up the pencil before casting a seclusion haze. On the Mayor’s ballot he automatically put a cross by Finitan’s name. He hesitated on the Representative; Balogg had been supportive, and he’d had the courage to sign the Exclusion warrants with Vologral. The others were vocal in their approval of banishment, but unproven. Balogg deserves my thanks for what he’s done, Edeard decided, and put his cross by the Representative’s name. So nothing has changed.

  Democracy was a strange thing, he thought as he came out and posted his ballots into the metal box. A couple of sullen youths were collecting their ballots from the clerks; they didn’t meet his eye as they went to the booths. And the two of them can outvote me, he realized in dismay. Then he was ashamed for being so prejudiced. That’s what democracy is: holding the strong accountable, making sure they don’t become too strong. Rah was right to give us this system.

  There was another surge of voters a little later as people finished their breakfasts. Then a lull. Then mid morning saw the queues lengthening again. Edeard sent his farsight into neighbouring Silvarum, then Drupe. The voting was the same there, light but constant. No sign of trouble. He searched round the other districts. It was all pretty much the same. Except Sampalok. There, long queues snaked away from the district hall. Several squads of constables kept everyone in line, more than at any other district. Edeard observed several disputes with the clerks over residency. The official candidate observers were making heated interjections.

  Sampalok was the one place he could not go today – not even if a small war broke out over voting rights. The local constables would have to handle it, with reinforcements from Bellis and Myco if necessary. Walsfol had several contingency plans worked out in case.

  I have to trust other people to do their jobs. That’s democracy, too.

  There were seven candidates standing to be Sampalok’s Representative. Three pro-Waterwalker, four pro-Bise. He didn’t like the ratio, but again that wasn’t down to him. He was simply glad that anyone in that district supported him. Though Macsen and Kanseen seemed to have been accepted. Or at least, they hadn’t been forced out yet. Today’s result would be a powerful indicator whether their appointment was going to be permanent or not. Nobody was arguing with the City’s right to proclaim District Masters: it was too novel, too far outside the ordinary. But if Bise’s old guard gained ground, the whispering campaign would start in earnest.

  Edeard couldn’t believe anyone would vote for Owain after the debacle with the militia. But you never knew. Democracy! Is this why the cityborn are so proficient at shielding their feelings? To keep politicians on their toes.

  Beyond Sampalok, his farsight lingered briefly on the recently refurbished (again) House of Blue Petals. Feeling mildly guilty, he observed the pro-Owain party it was throwing for its clientele. It wasn’t strictly against election rules, which forbade monetary encouragement to vote for a candidate, but sailed close to the limit. He shook his head in disapproval, but then such petty defiance was typical of Ranalee. She’d finally emerged from behind all the obstructive paperwork with a legitimate claim on the ownership of the bordello. And that’s all it was now, a lewd business which filed correct tax forms with the Guild of Clerks. Edeard had left it and her alone. Ranalee had clearly found her place in life, and in the meantime there were bridges to rebuild, and the Waterwalker couldn’t afford to appear vindictive in any way. He and Finitan had agreed a line must be drawn under the day of banishment if the city was to move forward.

  After a few hours hanging round the hall doing exactly nothing, Edeard left Dinlay in charge and headed in to Haxpen.

  Finitan’s farsight found him as he crossed Flight Canal. ‘So have you voted yet, young Edeard?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Did I get your approval?’

  ‘Voting is private, sir.’

  Finitan’s humour carried through his longtalk. ‘It certainly is. Unfortunately.’

  ‘Any idea how it’s going, sir?’

  ‘Indications are good so far. Those who speak to the observers are effusive. According to the percentage we calculated an hour ago, I’m in the lead.’

  ‘But that is good news.’

  ‘Remember when you walked into Sampalok to arrest Buate? Everything seemed to be going smoothly, then Owain damn near walked away with the day. Never underestimate him.’

  ‘I’ll remember, sir.’

  ‘Ah . . . I’m sorry, Edeard. I haven’t slept in days. I’m worried. What if I lose? I’ve gambled everything on this election.’

  ‘Sir, I remember what you told me at our first meeting. You said that even those in high office
would never be able to change anything. Well, I believe you’re about to prove yourself wrong.’

  ‘Thank you, Edeard. At least you and I know we gave this our best endeavour. That is what we will be judged on.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  When he arrived at the Culverit mansion there wasn’t much activity inside. In fact it was almost deserted apart from the guards who greeted him warmly enough.

  Kristabel was waiting in one of the lounges on the top floor, sitting at a wide leather-topped desk with folders stacked up on either side of her. Her hair had been plaited into a tight tail, which hung loosely down her back. Her dress was a pale lemon, which she’d accompanied by a thick gold necklace made with figure-of-eight links. It suited her perfectly.

  She was writing when he came in, the tip of her long onyx fountain pen quivering furiously. There was a wonderfully intense frown on her face. Edeard wished he could capture the image forever.

  ‘You look like you’re signing a death warrant,’ he said.

  She gave him a disapproving look. ‘I am.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You see all this?’ Her hand waved expansively at the paperwork. ‘This is my family, which is going to be your family as soon as we get married.’

  ‘Er, right.’

  ‘Daddy has decided that you and I will have the entire tenth floor for ourselves, which is very sweet of him. But, that also means he and Mirnatha will live on the ninth floor below us, along with aunt Rishia and cousin Gorral, in addition to Uncle Lorin and his wife and children and the first three grandchildren. Uncle Lorin really isn’t happy about that. He and Daddy had a stinking row about it last night. Daddy just says he knew it was inevitable and he should accept it. Uncle Lorin has accused him of abdicating to you. But Daddy’s still Master so down to the ninth he goes, which means a lot of people there get displaced down another floor.’

  ‘Oh Lady, I know your uncle doesn’t like me . . .’

  ‘Ha! Honious take him. That’s not the real problem. It’s the families on the third floor that I’ve got to deal with.’