“I apologize, Dear Mother.”
“Think nothing of it. You’ve come a long way to get here, and you still have a long way to travel.”
“I do?”
But the Pythia had turned to face Finitan. “What a fascinating young friend you have, Grand Master.”
“I’m pleased you think so, Pythia.”
“So young, yet so strong.”
The way she said it sent a shudder of felonious delight down Edeard’s spine. He didn’t dare glance in her direction; instead he fixed his gaze on the Mayor, who was frowning.
“Do you foresee great things for him?” Finitan asked jovially.
The Pythia turned to stare directly at Edeard, an act he couldn’t ignore, not in a group like this, not without appearing extraordinarily rude. He tried to return the look, but found it incredibly difficult.
“Your potential is very strong,” she said. There was an almost teasing quality to her voice. “Do you follow the Lady’s teachings, Constable Edeard?”
“I try my best, Dear Mother.”
“I’m sure you do. May She bless your endeavours in your new duties.”
Edeard almost didn’t hear her. A movement behind Finitan had caught his eye. In horror, he watched Mistress Florell heading towards them, all black chiffon and wide veils hanging from a tall hat. His dismay must have leaked out. As one, Finitan, the Mayor, and the Pythia turned to acknowledge the approaching grande dame.
“Aunt!” the Mayor exclaimed happily. “How lovely of you to come.”
“He’s the one,” Mistress Florell declared in her scratchy voice. “The young hooligan who nearly knocked me to the ground.”
“Now Aunt.”
“Take his epaulettes away,” she snapped imperiously. “He’s not fit to serve this city. Time was we used to have men of good character in the constables, the sons of noblemen.”
The Mayor gave Edeard a half-apologetic look. “What happened, Constable?”
“I was pursuing some thieves, sir. Mistress Florell came out of a building. I went round…”
“Ha! Tried to run over me, more like.”
“Come come, Aunt. The lad was obviously just doing his job a conscientious chap like this is just what we need. Suppose the thieves had snatched your bag, wouldn’t you want him to give chase?”
“Nobody would steal my bag,” she snapped.
“I am sorry for any distress,” Edeard said desperately. The horrible old woman just wouldn’t listen.
The Mayor shuffled round to stand between Mistress Florell and Edeard, flicking his fingers in a go away motion. Edeard did a kind of half bow and backed away fast, accompanied by Salrana and Finitan.
“Aunt, you know it’s bad for you to dwell on such trivia. Now some of these Mindalla estate fortified wines are really quite lovely, you must try—” There was a note of tired desperation in the Mayor’s voice.
Finitan smiled broadly as they hurried off. “Thank you, Edeard: these reception parties are normally quite tedious.”
“Er… Yes, sir.”
“Oh come now, this is your graduation day. Don’t let that daft old bat spoil it for you. She’s embarrassingly well connected, as would you be if you clung to life for so long. Wouldn’t surprise me if she did drink the blood of virgins after all. Your pardon, Novice.”
“I’ve heard of Mistress Florell, sir,” Salrana said.
“Everyone in the city has,” Finitan said. “That’s why she thinks she’s so important, instead of just old and obnoxious.” He put his hand on Edeard’s shoulder. “And I say that as her great-great-nephew, myself. Twice removed, thankfully.”
“Thank you, sir,” Edeard said.
“Now off you go and enjoy yourselves. And, Edeard, when the time comes for you to apply for promotion to officer rank, come and see me again. I’ll be happy to sign the letter.”
“Sir?” Edeard asked incredulously.
“You heard. Now be off with the pair of you. It’s a bold bad city out there. Have fun!”
Edeard didn’t need telling again. He and Salrana made for the Hall’s big archway which led out to the antechambers.
“Hey Edeard,” Macsen called, hurrying to intercept. “Where are you off to?”
“Just out,” Edeard said. He didn’t even want to glance over his shoulder in case Mistress Florell was looking his way.
Macsen reached them, and skidded to a halt. “Mother and Dybal are taking me to the Rakas restaurant to celebrate. It’s an open invitation to my squadmates as well.” Macsen stopped, and smiled at Salrana. “Novice, I had no idea Edeard kept such pleasant company.” He gave Edeard an expectant look, ever the injured party.
“This is Novice Salrana, from my home village,” Edeard said sulkily.
“That is one village I am definitely going to have to visit.” Macsen bowed deeply.
“Why is that, Constable?” she asked.
“To see if all the girls there are as beautiful as yourself.”
She laughed. Edeard groaned, glaring in warning at Macsen.
“The invitation to Rakas is of course extended to the friends of my squadmates, Novice.”
“The friends accept with thanks,” she said primly. “But only if you stop calling me Novice.”
“It will be my delight, Salrana. And I will also beg you tell of Edeard’s early life. It would seem he’s been keeping secrets from us. Those who entrust our lives to him, no less.”
“Shocking,” she agreed. “I will entertain such a request if correctly made.”
“Salrana!” a horrified Edeard exclaimed.
“Excellent,” Macsen said. “I’ll arrange another gondola for our party. Now Edeard, where is Kanseen?”
Edeard glowered at his so-called friend.
“Edeard?” Salrana prompted with a jab to his ribs.
“Over there.” Edeard said it without having to concentrate; through his farsight he was automatically aware of all his squadmates—a trait Chae was always trying to emphasize. He pointed to where Kanseen was chatting to a heavily pregnant woman and a man in a smart tunic with the crest of the Shipwright’s Guild. “Her sister came to the ceremony. They’re catching up.”
“No sign of her mother, then, poor thing,” Macsen said sadly. “Ah well, I’ll go and ask her.”
“Boyd’s family are all here,” Edeard said.
“And we’ll yet sink under the weight of Dinlay’s relatives,” Macsen concluded. “So it’s just us precious few left. See you at the Outer Circle Canal mooring in ten minutes.”
“What did you say that for?” Edeard asked as Macsen walked over to Kanseen.
Salrana cocked her head to one side and gave him a very haughty look. “It was a gesture of honest friendship. Why should I not accept?”
“He was flirting with you.”
She grinned. “Wasn’t he just.”
“You’re a Novice!”
“We are not professional virgins, Edeard. I seem to remember us kissing. And more, wasn’t there a discussion about my age and when you would be ready to bed me?”
Edeard turned bright red. His farsight tried to sense sparks of interest in those standing closest—either they could shield too well, or they hadn’t overheard. One thing was sure, she wouldn’t back down. She never has. Her voice would only grow louder if he persisted. “I don’t wish to recall that day too closely if you don’t mind. However, if I’ve offended you I apologize. I still think of you as my charge, especially after all we have been through. Which is why I overreacted with Macsen. Truly, Salrana, he’s had more girls than I have socks.”
Her smile was forgiving. “I’ve seen your wardrobe. You only have two pairs of socks.”
“I do not!”
“And they have holes in them. So you just concentrate on worrying about yourself, Edeard. I know and understand all about Macsen and boys like him. That’s why he’s perfectly harmless.”
“He’s perfectly charming.”
“It’s not a crime, you know. Perhaps if you s
howed a little more charm, then you could boast more conquests.”
“Charm, eh?” He bent his arm, and extended it towards her. “May I escort you to the mooring, Novice Salrana.”
“Why thank you, Constable Edeard. You may indeed.” She linked her arm through his, and allowed him to lead her out of the Hall.
***
The Rakas restaurant was in the Abad district; which meant a gondola ride down the Great Major Canal. It was the first time Edeard had ever been in one of the elegant black boats. He didn’t have the coinage to travel in them ordinarily. Money clearly wasn’t an issue with Dybal.
The errant musician was everything Edeard had expected. Wild black hair reaching halfway down his back, barely contained by red leather bands which gave it a peculiar ropy appearance. A long face with weather-beaten creases and sunken cheeks above a narrow jaw; but with brown-gold eyes that always seemed to be seeing the funny side of life as they peeped over narrow blue-lens glasses. His whole mental aura was agreeable, akin to that of a carefree adolescent rather than a man well over a hundred. Just being able to say hello and shake hands was enough to banish Edeard’s lingering dismay over Mistress Florell. As their little group assembled at the moorings, Dybal made them all feel welcome, even though they’d never met him before. He instinctively knew the right note to take with each of them.
“Come on then,” he said loudly once they were all present, and led them down the steps. His clothes were large, even though he was improbably slender for his age. Edeard imagined they needed to be that big to contain his ebullience, he certainly achieved the whole larger than life image effortlessly enough. Strident voice, big arm gestures, fur-lined velvet jacket, paisley-pattern shirt and leather trousers, their colours mimicking those of the Musician’s Guild—or, more likely, a deliberate mockery of them. Edeard was only slightly disappointed the musician wasn’t carrying his guitar; he wanted to hear the songs of rebellion which stoked up Makkathran’s youth.
Dybal took the first gondola along with Macsen, and Bijulee, Macsen’s mother. Edeard watched him talk to the gondolier, holding the man’s hand between his own two palms, squeezing intently. Both men laughed, the kind of low merriment which usually came from a dirty joke. Dybal took his seat beside Bijulee, while the still-smiling gondola pushed off.
“That is Macsen’s mother?” Kanseen asked as they settled on the middle bench in their own gondola.
“Yeah,” Edeard said. And to think, a few minutes earlier he’d believed the Pythia was an attractive older woman. “Macsen introduced me just before you arrived.” Which had gone a long way to making his world a better place.
“Can’t be,” Kanseen declared as their gondola slipped out onto the Great Major Canal. “That would mean she had him when she was what… ten? She looks like she’s my age, for the Lady’s sake.”
Edeard sat back on the bench, smiling. He was so content he came this close to putting his arm round Salrana, who was sitting next to him. “Do I hear the little voice of envy, there, Constable?”
“You hear the little voice of disbelief,” Kanseen muttered.
“Perhaps it’s his sister, and I misheard.”
“How does she keep her skin so fresh? It’s got to be some ointment only available to the rich.”
“Maybe she imports it direct from Nikran.”
Kanseen pulled a face.
“You two,” Salrana laughed. “You’re like an old married couple.”
Edeard and Kanseen carefully avoided each other’s gaze. The gondola had already reached Birmingham Pool, the big junction at the top of the Grand Central Canal. From Edeard’s position, the entire circle of water seemed to be full of gondolas, dodging round each other as they slipped in and out of the various canals emptying into the Pool. He did his best not to flinch. None of the gondoliers were slowing down, they just seemed to instinctively know where to go. Craft slipped past them, close enough to touch if he’d been brave enough to stretch out an arm. Then they arrived at the head of the Grand Central Canal, and their gondolier gave a hard push on his punt.
The first thing Edeard looked at was the mooring on his right where the thieves had escaped. He caught Kanseen looking at it too. She gave a tiny shrug. Then he forgot all about it, and really enjoyed the view. At the top end of the city, along the Silvarum, Haxpen and Padua districts, the canal was lined with some of the grandest buildings in Makkathran; palaces up to ten storeys high, with huge windows, façades a swirl of colour in weird patterns. Turrets, belvederes, and spires produced a serrated skyline. Ge-eagles bigger than any Edeard had ever sculpted flew in lazy circles around the pinnacles, keeping watch on the approaches to each magnificent family seat. Kanseen pointed out some of them: the palace that was home to the Mayor’s family, the ziggurat where Rah and the Lady were supposed to have lived—now home to the Culverit family who claimed direct lineage. She whispered about one red-tinged façade where Macsen’s father had lived. When Edeard glanced at the gondola in front, both Macsen and Bijulee were looking in the opposite direction.
All of the stately buildings had low water-level archways leading into the warren of cellars underneath, guarded by thick iron gates which the families maintained in excellent order. The walls of the Purdard family palace were at an angle, actually overhanging the water. When Edeard looked up, he saw a glassed-in mirador running the length of the upper storey, with several youngsters standing watching the gondolas. A fabulously rich trading family, Kanseen said, with a fleet of thirty ships.
They passed through the High Pool, which provided a junction with Flight Canal and Market Canal. There was a bridge on either side of the pool; the first one was the city’s own, a simple high white arch to which carpenters attached a broad rail along both sides. Famously, the apex was a ten yard stretch of crystal, providing a view directly past any pedestrian’s shoes down on to the water and gondolas thirty yards below. Not everyone could walk across it, the sight was too much for some; as many as one in twenty, the Doctor’s Guild claimed. At Chae’s insistence, Edeard and the rest of the squad had used it several times on patrol. Edeard had to gird himself to walk those few invisible yards; the vertigo wasn’t strong enough to stop him though it was unpleasant. All of the squad had forced themselves across it—surprisingly, Dinlay had been the least affected. The bridge on the other side of High Pool was constructed out of iron and wood, a bulky creaking thing in comparison to its cousin, yet with far more traffic. Past the Pool, the towers of Eyrie stabbed up into the clean azure sky as if ready to impale any passing Skylord. Fiacre district’s cliff-like frontage swarmed with vine plants, with long strands of flowers bubbling out of the emerald and russet leaves. Only the windows remained clear of foliage, producing deep-set black holes in the lush living carpet.
The gondolas pulled up at a mooring just beyond Forest Pool, and everyone climbed out. Dybal paid the gondoliers, and they all set off to the round tower which housed the Rakas restaurant on its third floor. Hansalt, the owner and chief chef, had reserved Dybal a table beside a long window overlooking one of the district’s colourful plazas.
“An auspicious day for us,” Dybal announced as a waitress brought over a tray of chilled white wine. “First, a toast to your squad, Macsen. May you rid the city of crime.”
They drank to that. Edeard gave the glass a suspicious glance, he’d never seen wine with bubbles in it before, but when he sipped the taste was surprisingly light and fruity. He rather liked it.
“Secondly,” Dybal said. “To Edeard, for being appointed squad leader.”
Edeard blushed.
“Speech!” Macsen demanded.
“Not a chance,” Edeard grunted.
They laughed and drank to that.
“Thirdly,” his voice softened and he looked down at Bijulee, “I am very proud to announce that my beloved has agreed to marry me.”
The cheer that went up made all the other customers look over at them. Everyone saw it was Dybal, and smiled knowingly. Macsen was hugging his mother. Edeard
and Salrana were astonished, but clinked glasses anyway and downed some more of the bubbling wine. Another two chilled bottles arrived and were quickly poured out.
Afterwards, Edeard always thought back to that meal as the first time he’d been truly happy since Ashwell. The food was like nothing he’d ever eaten before. It arrived on big white plates arranged with such artistry he almost didn’t want to eat it, but when he did tuck in the combination of tastes were marvellous. And Dybal had gossip on the city’s elite that was downright scandalous. That all started because of Salrana, who was answering Macsen’s question about what Novices did all day long.
“I mean no disrespect to the Lady,” he said. “But surely it must be boring just reading Her scriptures and singing in Her church.”
“Hey,” Dybal objected. “Less mockery about singing if you don’t mind.”
“I’ve been assigned to Millical House,” Salrana said. “I love looking after the children. They’re so sweet.”
“What’s Millical House?” Edeard asked. “A school?”
“You don’t know?” Bijulee asked. She was uncertain if Edeard was having a joke.
“I told you, Mother,” Macsen said. “He really is from a village on the edge of the wilds.”
“Millical is an orphanage,” Salrana said solemnly. “I cannot understand why any mother would give up her baby, especially the ones as gorgeous as we get in the nursery. But they do. So the Lady takes care of them. It’s a fantastic place, Edeard, they children lack for nothing. Makkathran really cares.”
Dybal gave a certain cough. “Actually, that’s a rather exceptional orphanage.”
“What do you mean?” Salrana asked.
“You sure you want to hear this?”
Salrana twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, giving Dybal a level gaze. “We do take in anyone.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But it helps that you’re in the Lillylight district. Consider who your neighbours are. You see, Edeard, Millical House is where the noble families deliver those little unwanted embarrassments which happen when the younger sons are out enjoying themselves with the lower order girls at the more disreputable entertainment theatres that grace our fine city.”