‘I didn’t know that,’ said Edeard.
‘What, with all your psychic superpowers?’ Macsen asked.
Edeard showed him the hand gesture Obron always used to employ, only to find it summoned up a mournful nostalgia that unexpectedly made his eyes water. Obron, he would be twenty-three now . . .
‘You’re going to have to think about this, Edeard,’ Kanseen said. ‘Seriously, they’re all going to watch what you do with the promotion. It’s an opportunity to put together a team of your own constables, people you know you can rely on.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Edeard didn’t really want to think of all the responsibility which came with his new position. Unfortunately, his problem was that he couldn’t stop worrying about what he should do next. Gangs and constables would both want to see what he was capable of: whether he was just some strong lad from the countryside happy with the attention of all the city girls, or someone who would stand up for the law and make a difference. The Orchard Palace probably want to know as well.
‘I suppose I’ll have to keep you lot,’ he said with a grand show of reluctance.
It was Boyd’s turn for the hand gesture.
‘Even Dinlay?’ Macsen said in such a soft voice only Edeard heard him.
‘Yes,’ Edeard said with a tiny directed longtalk. ‘Even Dinlay.’
Macsen scowled into his beer glass.
‘And what are you going to do with this team of yours?’ Kanseen asked earnestly. ‘It’s only fifteen people, after all.’
‘Two months ago it was just the five of us,’ Edeard said calmly. ‘We can shape ourselves into something useful, I’m sure. That’s if Ronark will allow us. There are procedures, after all.’
‘Not to start with,’ Boyd said, uncharacteristically serious. ‘You’ve got some momentum behind you, Waterwalker, and a great deal of goodwill. This is your chance to make something of it.’
‘Dear Lady, give him a beer and listen to the politician sprout forth,’ Edeard groaned.
‘I know Makkathran,’ Boyd insisted. ‘There’s a chance here for you.’ He put his arms around Kanseen and Macsen. ‘And we three native guides are going to make sure you don’t blow that chance.’
‘You three,’ Edeard rolled his eyes. ‘Great. How can we fail?’
‘We stick together,’ Macsen said. ‘Always have, always will, no matter what.’
‘No matter what!’ They all drank to that.
Boyd pushed his empty glass across the table. ‘And with your new corporal’s pay, I believe you can afford the next round.’
‘Sorry,’ Edeard said, standing up and buttoning his tunic. ‘I have an appointment at the Alrado theatre, and it’s a long walk to the Zelda district.’
‘An appointment?’ Macsen inquired keenly.
‘Someone from the Guild of Clerks, they’re helping me with taxes.’
He left to the sounds of their derisive laughter. Just as he started down the awkward curving stairs he heard Kanseen exclaim: ‘No! I bought the last round.’
It was cold on the streets outside Olovan’s Eagle. Frost was clinging to the city’s pavements, and there were flakes of snow drifting down past the bright orange lights shining out of the buildings. People wrapped in thick coats wove past Edeard as he made his way along Albie Lane towards Flight Canal. He’d thrown out a seclusion haze to ward off curious farsight, as did all Makkathran’s citizens going about business they regarded as private. The effect was like a mild version of concealment.
Edeard was approaching the iron bridge over to the Haxpen district when his farsight swept over a figure for the third time. They’d been trailing him for some time, ignoring his obvious wish to be left alone. He focused on them to find it was: ‘Salrana,’ he exclaimed.
She scurried forwards, thoughts radiant with impish delight. Almost as tall as him now, he acknowledged. Her full length dark-grey poncho coat flapped as she moved, a big hood pulled well forward. ‘You’re so slow,’ she admonished, giggling. ‘I’ve been following you ever since you left the tavern. If I was an assassin, you’d be dead by now.’ She pushed her hood back, allowing her auburn hair to flow free, and kissed him breathlessly. ‘You know, I hardly recognized you with your hair so long. The city fashion suits you.’
Edeard grinned back, very aware that she was still pressed up against him. He studied her face with its sharp cheeks and lovely dark brown eyes that were wide and teasing. She was gorgeous now, and because of that he kept trying to avoid her. They still longtalked every day, but he kept using the trial as an excuse for not actually meeting up. Just being with her on a cold gloomy street made him embarrassed about all the girls he’d tumbled these last few weeks, so spending a pleasant afternoon together with her would be torture.
Why? he asked himself. She’s beautiful, and she wants me, and I’d adore having her in my bed and my life. We really would be the perfect couple. The only other who even comes close is Kanseen.
His hesitation was born out of some stupid notion of duty. At least that was always the excuse he gave himself. He really did feel protective towards her – and that was hardly necessary any more. It wasn’t as if they were alone against the world these days. Maybe he was just afraid to change the way things were; there had been so many upheavals, she was his constant in a very unsteady life. And how she’d hate being told that. She was young and vivacious, and wanted some fun. She deserved happiness. And they would be happy together . . .
‘Gosh, seeing me really does cheer you up, doesn’t it?’ she mocked.
‘Sorry,’ he smiled, pushing his emotions down below any possible farsight perception. ‘It’s fantastic to see you, but that just reminds me what I’ve got to do tonight.’
‘Really?’ she asked brightly. Her arm tucked through his, and they started to walk over the iron bridge. ‘You poor thing. It must be truly terrible having to entertain Kristiana and Ranalee in your bed.’
Edeard stopped in shock. ‘How on Querencia did you know that?’
She giggled again, delighted to have flustered him. ‘Oh, Edeard, the whole city knows who’s snagged the Waterwalker tonight. Kristiana has been bragging in half the saloons in town today. And you know what this city is for gossip.’
‘Yes,’ he said brokenly. Then, because he couldn’t help it, he asked, ‘Are people really talking about my love life?’
‘Talking. Singing. Writing books on it. I think they’re planning a play for the ox-roast on Golden Park this New Year.’
‘Shut up.’
She pressed him against the railing and kissed him again. Her skin was warm, soft and silky. Her scent strong. ‘Will the second act be us? And the third and the fourth?’
Edeard almost pushed her away. Instead, with a massive effort of will he smiled back ruefully, and turned round to lean on the rail. Then he put his arm round her. Her mind’s flash of delighted surprise at the gesture was intoxicating. ‘Have I been really stupid?’ he asked.
‘Only rejecting me. The rest of it, you’re just like any Grand Family son on his fifteenth birthday. You’ve got the run of the city, Edeard. The difference between you and them is that you earned it. People are fascinated to learn what’s going to happen next; if Arminel was just a fluke, or if you’re truly going to be the Waterwalker.’
He sighed. ‘I hate that name.’
‘I hope . . . Edeard, I hope you live up to it. Did you know church attendance has gone up since Birmingham Pool? You displayed duty and honour that day, as well as courage. They’re traits so sorely lacking in this city. It showed people what was absent from their own lives. It was a wonderful thing, Edeard.’
He stared down into the dark water with its surface crust of slush. There were ripples near the far bank where fil-rats were nesting. A couple of gondolas were edging their way towards them along from High Pool on the Grand Major Canal, their lamps glinting on their prows, their gondoliers harmonizing a gentle melody. ‘I don’t know what to do next,’ he confessed. ‘Actually, that’s not true. I know what I
should do. But if I go there, if I use my talent to take on the gangs, then there’ll be no turning back. Right now I can do nothing, and all the fuss will die down. But . . .’
She hugged him back. It was a gesture more intimate than any of her flirting had ever kindled. ‘You can’t do that,’ she whispered. ‘You know you can’t.’
‘Yeah. I know that. Thank you.’
‘I’m just passing on the Lady’s teachings, Edeard. That’s what I’ve given my life to.’
‘You’re such a good person, Salrana,’
She leaned in playfully. ‘I don’t want to be. Not with you. And those family girls, they say you’re a good lover.’
Edeard shivered with mortification. All Makkathran is discussing that? Yet, at the same time . . . ‘You don’t want to believe everything you hear.’
‘Don’t I?’ she said archly.
‘Well, okay, I admit that bit’s true.’
‘Oh, listen to you!’ She thumped him on the shoulder, then immediately pulled him in closer and kissed him again.
It was like that time back in the bottom of the well. He knew he shouldn’t. But, actually, there wasn’t any real reason why not. For once let the heart rule, not the mind.
A couple walked past them, farsight gently examining the young couple embracing with growing ardour. Heads turned.
‘It is him,’ the woman whispered. ‘The Waterwalker.’
‘And that’s a Lady’s Novice!’
A longtalk voice was directed at a number of acquaintances: ‘You’ll never guess—’
Edeard and Salrana broke apart smirking like scolded apprentices. They straightened their clothes and moved down the slope of the bridge to the Haxpen side.
‘I’m going to get a reputation worse than Dybal,’ Edeard decided.
‘Good camouflage. The gangs will underestimate you if they think you’re just a wicked womanizer.’
‘Yeah,’ he laughed. ‘Tis a terrible price. Come on, I’ll walk you back to Millical House. It’s sort of on my route.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Actually, it is. I am going to try and achieve something. You and the Lady are right, it would be wrong not to try.’
‘And that’s tonight?’
‘Yes. It’s perfect. Nobody will expect me to do any kind of constable work tonight.’
‘I certainly didn’t.’
‘I know. We really need to talk.’
‘We’ve talked for three years, Edeard!’
‘Yeah.’ And he was hugely tempted. As always. Perhaps dealing with Ivarl could wait one day.
‘Actually, I’m not being fair,’ Salrana said.
‘Oh?’
‘My House Mother told me yesterday. I’m being assigned to the Lady’s hospital in Ufford for the winter.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Capital town of Tralsher province, that’s south of the Iguru.’
‘What? No!’
‘Yeah. Nursing is all part of our training.’
‘But there are hospitals in Makkathran.’
‘The Church doesn’t work that way. It wants us to learn of life outside the crystal wall.’
‘You know more of life outside than any city Mother does, or ever will,’ he said with petulance.
‘And telling them that would not be helpful.’
‘I could ask Master Finitan if he could speak to your Mother.’
Salrana chuckled softly. ‘Really? That ought to do it. A friend of his wants a Novice as a mistress, so could you please change her traditional training schedule to make that possible?’
‘Ah. No, put like that, I suppose not.’
‘You suppose right.’
‘But you wouldn’t be my mistress.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’
‘No,’ he shook his head firmly. ‘No. Never. We would be equals. True lovers.’
‘Oh, Edeard.’ A tear emerged from her eye as she looked up at him. ‘Say that again. Promise me! Promise we’ll be lovers when I get back.’
Edeard took both her hands in his own. ‘As the Lady is my witness, I promise.’
Edeard took the tall bridge beside High Pool, the one with the crystal apex. On this night the transparency made no difference, it looked like he was walking on some glossy black substance smeared by slush. It brought him out into the empty streets of Eyrie, which he hurried through on his way to the Zelda district. He hadn’t planned on coming this far, but if everyone knew he was meeting the girls there, he should at least appear to be on his way in case he was being observed. Part of him was still aghast that the city knew about his love life, though he accepted he really only had himself to blame. It was strange that none of his friends had mentioned it. Did they assume he knew? That was the problem with not growing up in the city, everyone took it for granted he was familiar with the culture.
Once he was over Grove Canal the buildings changed to a warren of modest houses and shops and craft halls. The walls closed in as he deliberately chose a route that took him down the narrowest streets. In Polteral Alley he was completely alone. It was a tiny passageway between the backs of buildings, a zigzag that was barely one person wide. Indeed, there were alcoves in the walls to allow people to pass – given their slightly strange inward bulge a couple of feet above the ground he could only speculate what the city’s original inhabitants had looked like. At night nobody used it, the thick walls prevented anyone from using farsight along its length, and it effectively blocked longtalk. If you were mugged in here, no one would know until morning. Edeard sent his farsight out ahead of him, checking the alcoves were all empty. When he was halfway along, he stopped under an overhanging section of wall and wove a concealment around himself. Once he was sure no one was following him, he asked Makkathran’s somnolent mind to allow him passage once more. It was easier for him now; after that first time behind the shops in Sonral Street, he’d taken to practising in secluded spots like this one. There were many in the city.
The pavement under his feet changed, producing a subliminal swirl of coloured symbols. Edeard’s feet sank through it as if it had no more substance than fog. Some force lowered him gently into the drain fissure running beneath the buildings. As always he felt as if he was plummeting from a great height.
Edeard walked for several minutes until the drain opened out halfway up the curving wall of the big tunnel which ran directly underneath the Grand Major Canal. He placed his feet tentatively on the little steps he’d asked the city to create down the wall. Even so, with the water gurgling over his boots, it was a treacherous descent. His previous explorations had revealed that Makkathran’s entire canal network was duplicated down here in the city’s hidden underworld, not that he’d ever walked their length. The crest of the main tunnel glowed with a faint tangerine light, showing him the stream which ran along the bottom. It was higher than usual tonight, indicating how much water was dripping out of the pavement slush and into the drains. A ledge allowed him to walk beside it, though he had to splash across the broad circular pools of the junctions. Water poured in over the tops of his boots. It was freezing. Not for the first time, he wondered if he could somehow bring a little boat down here. In the end he settled for using his third hand to hold the water back from his shins. He’d found that doing the whole Waterwalker trick and stabilizing the surface was too exhausting to maintain for any length of time.
Eventually, he turned off down the tunnel below the Upper Tail Canal. After a few hundred yards he scrambled his way up into another drain. He wasn’t terribly familiar with the Myco district, but his farsight could easily penetrate the city’s substance now. To his mind, it was as if the structure around him was built from nothing more than cloudy glass. He stopped below a secluded corner of a little square, and the city lifted him up, elevating him out into the thickening snowfall. By the time he emerged he’d cloaked himself in a concealment again.
A couple of sailors in their traditional magenta-coloured half-cloaks walked through the square, oblivious to h
im. He grinned at their backs, and set off in the opposite direction.
The House of Blue Petals fronted the Upper Tail Canal, looking directly across the warehouse domes of the port. A four-storey establishment with a vermiculated facade, the oval windows surrounded by onyx-like anthemion friezes. Protruding from the upper slope of its mansard roof were several hemispherical windows, as if it had grown giant eyes to peer up at the nebulas of Querencia’s skies. Edeard frowned up at them, puzzled by the faint violet glow that emanated from within. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything other than Makkathran’s ubiquitous orange glow at night.
The three tall doorways of the ground floor were all open. The sound of piano music was spilling out into the street, accompanied by laughter and loud voices. Doormen in black jackets similar to constable tunics stood on either side of each heavy wooden door. Edeard held his breath and slipped past them, watching anxiously to see if they could sense him. One of them frowned, looking round at some phantom disturbance, but didn’t raise any challenge.
Half of the ground floor was a bar, with the piano in the middle hammering out a jolly tune. Smartly dressed stewards mixed cocktails behind a long polished counter, which groomed ge-monkeys delivered. Polished tables were accompanied by high-backed leather armchairs where the customers relaxed with a drink as they waited for the madam to come round. Two big black iron stoves on opposite sides threw out a comforting heat as coal blazed away behind their grilles. The room was a high one, taking up two floors, with a wooden gallery running round it. Girls with strangely stiff curly hair leaned over the railing, wearing low-cut, brightly coloured dresses; grinning at the men below as they made eye contact and blew kisses and made saucy longtalk calls.
Edeard watched the wide wooden stairs which had been fixed to the wall, seeing who was coming up and down. It wasn’t just sailors who visited Ivarl’s establishment; judging by the clothes a large proportion were men from the Guilds and families. He even saw a couple of militia officers in their sharp blue and scarlet uniforms. No constables, though. Probably can’t afford it.