The Evolutionary Void

Inigo’s Twenty-ninth Dream

“LAND AHOY,” came the cry from the lookout.

Edeard craned his neck back to see the crewman perched atop the main mast of Lady’s Light. It was Manel, grinning wildly as he waved down at everyone on the deck. The young man’s mind was unshielded as he gifted everyone his sight, which right now was looking down on their upturned faces.

“Manel!” came a collective sigh.

His amusement poured across the ship, and he shifted his balance on the precarious platform to hold the telescope up again. Despite regular cleaning, the lenses in the brass tube were scuffed and grubby after four years of daily use at sea, but the image was clear enough. A dark speck spiked up out of the blue-on-blue horizon.

Edeard started clapping at the sight of it, his good cheer swelling out to join the collective thoughts of those on the other four ships that made up the explorer flotilla. Everyone was delighted. The distant pinnacle of land could only be one of the eastern isles, which meant Makkathran was no more than a month’s sailing away.

“How about that,” Jiska exclaimed. “He did get it right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Edeard agreed, too happy to care about the needling. Natran, who captained the Lady’s Light, had been promising sight of the eastern isles for five weeks now. People were getting anxious about his navigational skills, though the captains of the other ships concurred with him. Jiska had spent that time supporting her husband’s ability. After a four-year voyage, people were starting to get understandably fretful.

Kristabel came up beside Edeard, her contentment merging with his. He smiled back at her as they linked arms, and together they made their way up to the prow. It was getting quite cluttered on the middeck now, which Natran was generally unhappy over. As well as the coils of rope and ship’s lockers, a number of wicker cages were lashed to the decking, each containing some new animal they’d discovered on their various landings. Not all had survived the long voyage home. Taralee’s cabin was full of large glass jars where their bodies were preserved in foul-smelling fluid. She and the other doctors and botanists had probably gained the most from their expedition, cataloging hundreds of new species and plants.

But no new people, Edeard thought.

“What’s the matter?” Kristabel asked.

A few of the crew glanced over in his direction, catching his sadness. He gave them all an apologetic shrug.

“We really are alone on this world,” he explained to Kristabel. “Now that we’re coming home, we know that for certain.”

“Never certainty,” she said, smiling as she pushed some of her thick hair from her eyes. It was getting long again. They’d been eight days out from Makkathran when Kristabel simply sat down in the main cabin and got one of the other women to cut her already short hair right back, leaving just a few curly inches.

“It’s practical,” she’d explained calmly to an aghast Edeard. “You can’t seriously expect me to fight off my hair on top of everything else storms will throw at us, now, can you? It’s been bad enough for a week in this mild weather.”

But you managed with a plait, he managed to avoid saying out loud. Kristabel without her long hair was … just plain wrong somehow.

Edeard could laugh at that now-besides, she was still rather cute with short hair, and elegant with it. It was the least of the changes and accommodations that they’d collectively made. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen a woman in a skirt aside from the formal dinner parties held every month without fail. With the exception of the flotilla’s Mother, who’d maintained her traditional decorum at all times, they wore trousers, shorts in the summer. The small revolution meant they were able to help with the rigging and a dozen other shipboard tasks that were usually the exclusive province of sailors. Indeed, there had been a lot of grumbling from the Mariners Guild at the very thought of women going on such a voyage, whereas the general Makkathran population had been mildly incredulous-the male population in any case. Edeard had received a huge amount of support from the city’s womenfolk.

Skepticism about taking women, shaken heads over the prospect of repeating Captain Allard’s grand failure, more consternation from Kristabel’s endless flock of relatives concerning the cost of five such vast vessels. At times it had seemed like the only ones in favor were the Guild of Shipwrights and a horde of merchants eager to supply the flotilla. Such a dour atmosphere had lurked across Makkathran’s streets and canals from the time he announced his intention until that day three years later when the ships had been completed. Then, with the five vessels anchored outside the city, attitudes finally began to mellow into admiration and excitement. There wasn’t a quay large enough or a Port district channel deep enough to handle the Lady’s Light and her sister ships, adding to their allure. Trips around the anchored flotilla in small sailing boats were a huge and profitable venture for the city’s mariners. To lay down the keels, Edeard had even gone to the same narrow cove half a mile south of the city that Allard had used a thousand years ago to build the Majestic Marie. It all fostered a great deal of interest and civic pride. This time the circumnavigation will be a success, people believed. This is our time, our ships, our talent, and we have the Waterwalker. It probably helped that Edeard announced his intention the week after the first Skylord arrived to guide Finitan’s soul to the Heart.

Edeard prided himself that he’d held out that long. He never wanted to go back so far into his own past again. Querencia might have been saved from the nest, but the personal consequences had been too great. It had been a terrible burden to live through every day again, watching the same mistakes and failings and wasteful accidents and petty arguments and wretched politics play out once more when he already knew the solution to everything from his previous trip through the same years. Time and again he was tempted to intervene, to make things easier for everyone. But if he began, he knew there was no limit to what he could and should do once that moral constraint was broken. There would be no end to intervention; constant assistance would become meddling in the eyes of those he sought to help.

Besides, those repeated events he endured weren’t so bad for everyone else, especially since the nest hadn’t arisen this time around. People had to learn things for themselves to give them the confidence to live a better life in their own fashion. And ultimately … where would he draw the line? Stop a child from falling over and breaking an arm wouldn’t teach the child to be more careful next time, and that was a lesson that needed to be learned. Without caution, what stupidity would they do the next day?

So with the exception of preventing several murders he recalled, he restrained himself admirably. That was why he was so desperate to build the ships and sail away on a voyage that would last for years. As well as satisfying his curiosity about the unknown continents and islands of Querencia, he would be doing something different, something new and fresh.

And it had worked; the last four years had been the happiest time he’d known since he’d come back to eliminate Tathal. Kristabel had gladly responded to that, even relishing being free of the Upper Council and its endless bickering politics. They were as close now as they had been on their wedding day.

Back on the middeck Natran was the center of an excited crowd, receiving their congratulations and thanks with good-humored restraint. His little son, Kiranan, was sitting happily on his shoulders. Born on board three years ago, the lad was naturally curious about living in the big city the way Edeard and Kristabel described it to him. In total twelve children had been born on the Lady’s Light during the epic voyage, with another thirty on the other four ships. That was where things had finally, wonderfully, begun to change. Rolar and Wenalee had stayed behind to manage the Culverit estate and take Kristabel’s seat on the Upper Council; Marakas and Dylorn had also chosen to remain in Makkathran. His other children had all joined the flotilla. Jiska and Natran were married, which they hadn’t been this year before. Taralee had formed a close attachment to Colyn, a journeyman from the horticultural association who might well qualify for guild status after this voyage. But it was Marilee and Analee who had surprised and delighted him the most. He’d simply assumed the twins would stay behind and carry on partying. Instead, they’d insisted on coming. Of course, they just carried on in their own way through shipboard life, almost oblivious to the routines and conventions around them. Not long out of port, they’d claimed Marvane as their lover, a delighted, infatuated, dazed junior lieutenant, and enticed him down to their cabin each night. (Not that they needed to try very hard; his envious friends amid the flotilla swiftly named him Luckiest Man on Querencia.) It was a relationship that lasted a lot longer than their usual, for he was actually a decent, worthy man.

Little Kiranan stretched his arms out toward his grandma and squealed delightedly as Edeard’s third hand plucked him from his father’s shoulders and delivered him to Kristabel’s embrace.

“I wonder if it’s changed,” Kristabel murmured as she made a fuss over the boy.

Kiranan pointed at the horizon. “Island,” he announced. “Big home.” His mind shone with wonder and expectation.

“It’s close, poppet,” Kristabel promised.

“It won’t change,” Edeard declared solemnly. “That’s the thing with Makkathran; it’s timeless.”

Kristabel flashed him a knowing smile. “It’s changed since you arrived,” she said smartly. “Ladies in shorts, indeed.”

He smiled, glancing down. She was wearing a white cotton shirt with blue canvas shorts, her legs lean and tanned from years of exposure to the sun. “There are worse revolutions.”

“Daddy,” Marilee called as she made her way along the deck.

“We’ll be back in time,” Analee said, accompanying her sister, the two of them linking arms instinctively against the swell. Lady’s Light was making a fair speed in the warm southwesterly wind.

“Not that we don’t trust Taralee.”

“Or the ship’s surgery.”

“But it will be a comfort to be back in the mansion with all of the Doctors Guild on call.”

“Just in case.”

They grinned at him. Both of them were six months pregnant and gloriously happy despite the constant morning sickness they both suffered from. And on board that was a very public morning sickness; nobody was completely shielded from the twins’ nausea, which had brought about a lot of sympathetic barfing among the exposed crew.

“That’ll be a close call,” he said, trying to be realistic. Not that the twins had ever paid much attention to that. “Even with good winds it’ll take a month from here.”

“Oh, Daddy,”

“That’s so mean.”

“We want to have landborn children.”

“Really?” he asked. “What does Marvane want? He’s a sailor, after all.”

Marilee and Analee pulled a face at each other.

“He’s a father now.”

“And our husband.”

“Yeees,” Edeard said. Natran had married the three of them a year and a half ago. A beautiful tropical beach setting, everyone barefoot while the bright sun shone down and wavelets lapped on the white sands, the twins ecstatic as they were betrothed to their handsome fiance. Querencia had no actual law against marrying more than one person at a time, though it certainly wasn’t endorsed in any of the Lady’s scriptures, so it had to be the senior captain rather than the flotilla’s Mother who conducted the ceremony. With Marvane’s title now irrefutable, the elated trio spent their honeymoon in a small shack the carpenters had built for them above the shore while the expedition took an uncommonly long time to catalog the flora and fauna of the island.

“So he’s going to settle with us,” Marilee announced as if it should have been obvious.

“In some little part of the Culverit estate on the Iguru.”

“Where we can raise babies and crops together.”

“Because this voyage is a lifetime’s worth of sailing.”

“For anyone.”

“And Taralee has found us some fabulous new plants to cultivate.”

“Which people are going to love.”

“And make us a fortune.”

Edeard couldn’t bring himself to say anything, though he could sense Kristabel becoming tense with all the twins’ daydream talk. But then, why shouldn’t it come true? Stranger things have happened, and as daydreams go it’s sweet. Besides, that’s what we’re all ultimately aiming for, isn’t it? An easier, gentler life. He was saved from any comment when he sensed Natran’s longtalk to the helmsman, ordering a small change of course. “Why?” he inquired idly.

“We need to identify the island,” Natran replied. “There are eight on the edge of the eastern archipelago. Once I’ve got an accurate fix, navigating home will be easy.”

“Of course.”

“Are you ready for home?” Kristabel asked quietly.

“I think so,” he said, though he knew it to be true. It’s all new from now on. Living in Makkathran again would be easy. Anticipation stirred a joy in him that had been missing for so long. He guessed she knew that, judging by the contentment glowing within her own thoughts.

“We could always go the other way around the world,” she teased. “There’s both poles to explore.”

Edeard laughed. “Let’s leave that to the grandchildren, shall we? You and I have enough to do taking up our roles again. And I think I might just consider running for Mayor at the next elections.”

The look she gave him was as if she’d never seen him before. “You never stop, do you?”

“Wonder who I learned that from, mistress?”

She grinned and cuddled Kiranan tight as the boy strained to see the city he knew was out there somewhere. “And you,” she told the boy. “You’re going to meet all your cousins.”

“Yay-oh,” Kiranan cooed.

“Who probably make up half the city’s population by now,” Edeard muttered. The rate at which Rolar and Wenalee produced offspring was prodigious, and he knew from the last time around that Marakas and Heliana were keen to get started.

“Daddy!” the twins chorused in disapproval.

“I wonder if Dylorn will be wed,” Kristabel said softly; there was a brief pang of regret-swiftly banished-at being parted from her children for so long.

“Without us there?” Analee sounded shocked.

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“You two did,” Edeard pointed out.

“That’s different.”

“We had you there.”

“Which makes it proper.”

Edeard sighed and grinned at the horizon. “Not long now. And Lady, we’re going to have the reunion party of all time.”

Makkathran appeared over the horizon just before noon on the thirty-eighth day after Manel had sighted the first eastern isle. The crew of the Lady’s Light knew it was near. Cargo ships had been a regular sighting for days, and early that morning they’d passed the outbound fishing fleet from Portheves, a village not ten miles from the city itself. Once they’d recovered from their shock, the fishermen had stood and cheered as the giant boats of the flotilla slid past.

By midmorning, they had a loose escort of a dozen traders heading toward the coastline. Good-hearted, curious longshouts from their new companions were thrown their way as they plowed through the crisp blue water. Then Makkathran emerged, its sturdy towers the first aspect to rise up over the horizon, their sharp pinnacles piercing the cloudless azure sky. A fervent rush of farsight swept out from the city to wash across the flotilla, accompanied by astonishment and a burst of exultant welcomes. Everyone was up on deck to see the city they’d left behind just over four years ago. Edeard thought the ships would just fly onward through the water even without any wind, so strong was the compulsion to make it home now. They must have been quite a sight to those in the city. Each magnificent ship had set out with three full sets of snow-white sails; now the Lady’s Light was rigged with a grubby patchwork of canvas stitched together from whatever sails remained after years of sun bleaching, storms, and frozen winters in which ice crystals hung heavy from every seam and rope. Both the Lady’s Star and the Lady’s Guidance had broad repairs of a softer tropical wood on their waterline where the coral of the Auguste Sea had breached them despite the crew’s best telekinetic efforts to snap the vicious submerged spines. Several ships had new masts to replace ones that were snapped off in various gales.

But we made it despite everything this world threw at us. Edeard grinned at Makkathran as the wondrously familiar outline of his home grew clearer. You can see that, you can see our triumph in the patches and the damage and the cargo of knowledge we’ve returned with. We’ve opened up the whole world for everyone.

Slowly, though, his grin began to fade as he took notice of the thoughts swirling among the vast districts. The city’s mental timbre had changed. For a while he was puzzled by the flashes of anger shivering beneath the surface clamor of excitement at the flotilla’s return. Then he gradually became aware of the minds grouped together outside the north gate, thousands of them. Among those bright knots of rage and resentment he could find no hint of excitement or jubilation at the flotilla’s arrival. They were completely at odds with the rest of the city.

“Uh oh,” he mumbled under his breath. His farsight reached out to see what in Honious was going on. The first thing he sensed was the militia, deployed around the gate and in long dugout formations along the road through the greensward into the encircling forest. By tradition, that area outside the city was always kept empty and uninhabited. Not anymore. Dozens of huge camps had sprung up on the meadowland, and from what he could determine, a lot of the ancient trees had been felled, presumably as fuel for the campfires.

“What is it?” Kristabel asked as he struggled to shield the dismay growing in his own mind.

“Some kind of siege, but that’s not quite it.” He grudgingly gifted her his farsight.

“Oh, Lady,” she grumbled. “Where did they come from?”

He shrugged, trying to find some kind of clue. But such a feat was beyond farsight, especially at such a distance. “We’ll find out soon enough. And then everyone will expect the Waterwalker to put it right.” He couldn’t help how martyred he sounded, not to mention self-pitying.

“Edeard.” She gently rubbed the top of his back between his shoulder blades. “Why do you always punish yourself like this?”

“Because I’m the one who always has to sort everything out. Oh, Ladycrapit, it just never stops. Every time I think I’ve got it right, someone comes along with a fresh way to foul things up.”

“Darling Edeard, you’re really far too hard on yourself.”

“No, I’m not,” he said bitterly. “It’s my responsibility. I’m responsible for this whole world. Me. No one else.”

“Don’t be silly, Edeard.” Kristabel’s voice and mind hardened. “Now, please don’t do this whole intolerable burden thing again; I had enough of it before. What’s important now is to get the twins ashore; they need to get to the mansion to give birth, poor things. Concentrate on that if you have to have something to moan about.”

“Intolerable burden thing?” he asked quietly; he could barely believe what she’d just said.

“Yes,” Kristabel said firmly, giving him an uncompromising look. “The Lady knows how impossible you’d become before we built the flotilla. That’s the main reason I agreed the estate would pay for it all. And this voyage worked, Edeard. For the Lady’s sake, you were back to normal. You were you again. Now this. We haven’t even got ashore yet, and already you’re moaning that everything’s going against you.”

Ladydamnit, you have no fucking idea! He glared at her furiously and stomped off down the deck.

“Daddy?” Jiska asked with a worried frown.

But he was in no mood to talk, not even to her.

Thousands were lining the quays and wharfs as the flotilla’s longboats made it through the great waterside opening in the city walls into the Port district. There were fifteen boats in the first batch, all of them rowed by a regulation team of ge-chimps sculpted with broad shoulders and muscular arms, so the oars fairly whizzed through the water. Edeard was on the second boat; Kristabel and Taralee had taken the twins and Marvane ahead on the first. Edeard had a fast directed longtalk to an elated Rolar, making sure a couple of family gondolas were waiting in the port to take them straight back to the ziggurat. The twins were in a great deal of discomfort, in Edeard’s belief a condition partly owing to their fixation on giving birth on land. Taralee had privately confirmed they weren’t due for another couple of days yet, though they were complaining as if their labor had begun already.

He kept company with Jiska and Natran and Manel and a half dozen officers and their wives and children; it was a merry group, all of whom were waving frantically at the cheering crowds. Except him; he simply couldn’t summon the enthusiasm and sat at the back of the longboat in a private sulk.

“By the Lady, we’d given up on you at least a couple of years back,” Macsen’s directed longtalk declared. “Did you walk around the world instead? It’s taken you forever.”

Finally, Edeard consented to a grin. There was his friend standing at the head of the very hastily assembled official welcoming committee of Grand Councillors, district representatives, officials, and family. A huge group of them squashed onto Wharf One, anxious that no one should move about too much lest those on the front rank topple into the sea. They’d dressed in their most colorful and expensive robes, though the strong sea breeze blew their hair and hems about in an undignified manor. Macsen and Dinlay were at the forefront, of course, waving wildly. Dinlay had one arm around a tall, powerfully built girl. Edeard didn’t care that he didn’t know her. It wasn’t Gealee, which was all that truly mattered. His gaze switched to Macsen, who was by himself. The master of Sampalok had put on a disturbing amount of weight over the intervening years.

However, standing beside Macsen was Doblek, master of Drupe. It was he who wore the Mayor’s robes.

That’s different, Edeard mused. Before, it was Trahaval who was Mayor at this time. He tried to convince himself that was a good thing even though he remembered Doblek as a mildly inadequate district master who admired the old traditions. Not a reformer, by any means.

The longboat reached Wharf One. Once the dock handlers had secured them, Edeard made his way up the wooden steps to mounting roars of approval from the waiting crowds. It was an invigorating sound, sending the timid seabirds wheeling still higher above the Port district. Just like the banishment, but without the violence and turmoil.

Not too grudgingly, Edeard raised an appreciative hand and grinned back at everyone on the docks who was producing such an effusive greeting.

“Waterwalker!” Mayor Doblek opened both arms wide and stepped forward to embrace Edeard. “This is a joyful day. Welcome, yes, welcome back. Did you really voyage around the whole world?”

The city quieted slightly, hanging on to the Mayor’s gifting, awaiting the answer.

“We did,” Edeard announced solemnly, but he couldn’t help the smile widening his lips.

The cheering began again.

Edeard disengaged himself from the Mayor’s clutches, turning slightly. “Mayor, I think you know my senior captain, Natran. And my daughter Jiska.”

“Of course.” The Mayor moved along the line of arrivals, delighted with more official duty, keeping himself firmly at the forefront of public attention.

“It’s crazy good, Granpa,” little Kiranan said, clinging to Edeard’s leg while his parents were swamped by the Mayor.

“What is?” Edeard asked.

“The city. Is this everyone in the whole world?”

Edeard hadn’t thought of that. Kiranan had never known anyone other than the crews in the flotilla; now he was confronted by the city’s jubilant population. Small wonder he was more subdued than usual. “Not even close,” Edeard assured the boy. He pushed his farsight out to the smaller wharf on the other side of the port entrance, where Kristabel and the twins were transferring to the family gondolas. Rolar was embracing his mother, and a host of grandchildren were jumping about excitedly, threatening to capsize the glossy black boat. Burlal wasn’t among them. Edeard was nonplussed by that. Instead of his young grandson, a little girl was cavorting around Rolar and Wenalee, maybe five months younger than the boy he was expecting to see. It wasn’t something he’d considered, that with this world diverging from what had gone before, his own grandchildren might be different. He knew now he should have been prepared for it. For a start, he’d been blessed with Kiranan, as well as the twins’ pregnancy, neither of which events had gone before. But he’d really loved little Burlal; the boy was such a gem. He gave the girl sharp scrutiny, which she responded to with a start; then she looked back at him across the water before burying herself in Wenalee’s skirts.

“So who’s this, then?” Dinlay asked.

Edeard’s smile returned in a weaker form. No Burlal? Edeard was still thinking. Lady, but he didn’t deserve oblivion like Tathal. That’s not right, not right at all. “This is my new grandson, Kiranan,” he managed to say levelly as he ruffled the lad’s hair.

“Granpa!” The boy twisted away. “You’re Dinlay. You were shot once. Granpa has told me all about you.”

“Has he, now? Well, you come and see me one day, and I’ll tell you about him. Everything he thinks you shouldn’t know.”

“Really? Promise?” The boy looked up admiringly at his new friend.

“Promise on the Lady.”

“Welcome home, Edeard,” Macsen said, and took Edeard’s hand warmly.

“So where’s Kanseen?” Edeard asked.

Macsen’s wide smile froze. “We called it a day,” he said with what was an attempt to maintain a jovial attitude. “Best for both of us.”

“No! I’m … sorry to hear that.” Lady, you can’t do this to me. They were still together before.

“She said she’ll see you later.”

“Okay, then.”

“And this is Hilitte,” Dinlay said proudly, ushering the tall girl forward. “We’ve been wed these last seven months.”

This bit was easy. Edeard had done this many many times, every time he had begun again. So yet again and as always he kept a composed face and smiled politely as he held out his hand to the robust girl. “Congratulations.” No disapproval shown, no surprise at her youth (younger than Jiska, easily), no confusion at the somehow familiar features smiling coquettishly back at him.

Macsen moved behind him, his mouth brushing past Edeard’s ear as if by chance. “Nanitte’s daughter,” he whispered.

Edeard coughed, hoping to Honious he was covering his shock.

“Thank you, Waterwalker,” she said in a husky voice-yes, definitely similar to that of her mother. And that coquettish smile deepened, becoming coy, appraising.

Edeard quickly turned back to Macsen. “Lady, it’s good to be back.”

“So you really went the whole way around the world?” Dinlay asked.

“We certainly did. Ah, the stories I have to tell you.”

“And?”

Edeard knew exactly what the question was. “There’s only us. No one else.”

Dinlay’s disappointment was all the more prominent amid the rejoicing inflaming the city. “Ah, well,” he sighed.

“What’s going on outside the North Gate?” Edeard asked.

“Those bastards-” Macsen began.

“Macsen,” Dinlay said awkwardly. “The Waterwalker hasn’t even seen his family yet after four years. We’ve held the peace for this long; we can wait a day more. Edeard, it’s nothing to worry about. We have the situation under control.”

Macsen gave a reluctant nod. “Of course. I’m sorry, old friend. This is wrong of me. There’s so much I want to hear about.”

“And by the Lady, you shall,” Edeard promised.

It was several days before Edeard found the time to meet privately with his old friends. The first two days were spent happily enough greeting his family and getting to know the latest additions; then, for one day, he was banished to a lounge on the ninth floor of the ziggurat with the other senior males of the family, to feel worthless and faintly guilty while Taralee, two midwifes, several Novices, Kristabel, and even Marvane helped the twins give birth. For once they didn’t synchronize perfectly; Marilee gave birth to her two daughters a good five hours before Analee produced a son and a daughter. After that, of course, was the formal Culverit tradition of the arrival breakfast, where an overwhelmed Marvane sat in a daze receiving congratulations from his new family.

Lunchtime on the fourth day after the flotilla arrived back saw Edeard take a gondola down to Sampalok. He walked along Mislore Avenue to the square at the center of the district. Every building he passed was occupied. No matter how small or awkward, every cluster of rooms had someone living there: bachelor, bachelorette, couple, small young family, stubborn old widower or widow. There was nothing left for any newcomer.

At the end of the avenue the six-sided mansion was a welcome sight. He always felt a mild satisfaction every time he saw it, something he’d created, something oddly reassuring.

This time, the square around it had none of the makeshift camps of stopover visitors awaiting guidance. It was back to a pre-Skylord normality, with Sampalok residents strolling around the fountains while kids played football and hoop chase in the sunshine. Stalls on either side of Burfol Street were doing a good trade in sugared fruits and cool drinks.

People smiled graciously at the Waterwalker in his customary black cloak. Once there was a time when he would have welcomed such a greeting from the citizens of Sampalok; now he found it hard to return those smiles. But I’m being unfair. It’s not just this district that’s to blame.

He went into the mansion via the archway on the lavender-shaded wall and hurried up the stairs to the fifth floor, where Macsen had his private study. It was a simple room opening onto a balcony. Today the tall windows were shut. The desk was covered in leather folders, often with the ribbons untied to let the papers spill out; the tables were also piled high, as were various shelves and cabinets. Some of the chairs were also pedestals for the chaotic paperwork. It used to be an immaculately tidy room, Edeard reflected. As if reading his thoughts directly, Macsen gave a conciliatory grin as he got to his feet. “Before you ask: Yes, it has only got like this since she left.”

Edeard eyed the food (or wine) stains down Macsen’s shirt but said nothing. Some of the chairs already filled with paperwork had cloaks and robes draped over them. “Something that big will take a while to adjust to,” he said diplomatically.

“Have you seen her?”

“No. Not yet. Kristabel visited her last night.”

Macsen shook his head and sank back into the chair behind the desk. “She doesn’t even live in Sampalok anymore.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Oh, Lady, no. She said I was losing my focus or drive or something; the usual rubbish women spout. You know what they’re like. Nothing I did was ever right.”

“Yeah, I know what they’re like.”

“What? Even Kristabel?” Macsen seemed pathetically eager for confirmation, to know he wasn’t alone in his suffering.

“Especially Kristabel,” Edeard assured him, wishing he was being completely dishonest. But … Lady, she’s changed since we got back. And it’s all supposedly my fault.

Macsen picked up a crystal decanter and poured out some of the double-blended spirits the Rassien estate was famous for. He squinted at the golden brown liquid as it swirled around the tumbler, then swallowed it in one go. The decanter was held out to Edeard.

“No thanks.”

“You pity me, don’t you?” Macsen burped loudly.

Oh, Great Lady, I don’t need this. Not on top of everything else. “I don’t pity you. I’d like the old you back, but I’m prepared to wait.”

“Oh, Edeard, how I wish we’d gone with you. None of this would’ve happened. No Our City movement, no Doblek winning the election, none of the squalid blockade camps.”

“I heard they call themselves Our City; Rolar told me. Of course, I sensed the camps and the militia as soon as we reached port.”

“The militia has to be there to keep the peace. I even voted in favor of Doblek’s proposal to deploy them, may the Lady forgive me. There was no choice, Edeard. We were facing citywide riots, possibly a massacre worse than anything Buate ever planned. Ilongo had endured two days of anarchy after Our City prevented the stopovers from using any of the free housing. What else could we do?”

“You did the right thing,” Edeard assured him. “You acted to save lives. That’s what we always did; that’s what we’ll always do.”

“What’s happening to the world, Edeard? Didn’t we do enough, saving it from Bise and Owain and the bandits? I tell you, in the Lady’s name the Skylords will stop coming if we don’t mend our ways, Edeard. I know it.” He reached for the decanter again, only to find Edeard’s third hand clamped firmly around it.

“Dinlay will be here soon,” Edeard said. “We’ll talk about the blockade and Our City then.” His farsight already had identified Dinlay walking across the square outside the mansion. “So tell me, do you both still attend the Upper Council?”

Macsen shook his head, on the verge of tears. “Jamico has been going on my behalf this past half year. I couldn’t face it anymore after the vote for the regiment. He’s a good man, and I’m proud to be his father. He’ll do better than I ever did.” His hand swept around in an expansive gesture. “I try and keep up with the petitions, Edeard, really I do, but people expect so much. I am not Rah, but they don’t understand that. They whisper I’m turning my back on them as Bise did. Can you imagine that? To be accused in such a fashion? There’s nothing I can do to stop the insidious, malicious, vicious whispers. It’s Bise’s old people behind it, you know. I’m sure of it.”

Edeard wanted to use his third hand to haul Dinlay through the air to the study’s balcony. Anything to break up this bitter tirade of self-loathing. “Dinlay’s almost here. Speaking of whom …”

“Ha!” Macsen managed half a smile as he shook his head. “You saw her. Exactly the same as all the others. Edeard, I swear on the Lady that somewhere out in the provinces there’s a secret guild that just keeps using the same mold to produce them. How else does he find so many of them?”

Edeard smiled. “A Dinlay-wife-sculpting guild. I like it. But Nanitte’s daughter …?”

“Aye! Ladydamn. I knew it the minute I saw her; she didn’t even have to tell me who she was. It triggered all those memories, the ones I’d tried so hard to forget. Then she claimed she and her mother quarreled incessantly and she couldn’t stand living at home anymore, so she spent the last four years on the road before she came here. Viewing the world, she claims. You know, I was one of the first people she came to. She said her mother had given her the names of people in the city who would help her if she ever got here. Not much of a quarrel, then, eh? I bet the bitch sent her here to ruin us all.”

“Knowing Nanitte, more than likely.” Edeard checked again. Dinlay was through the archway in the dappled gray wall, asking a servant where the master of Sampalok was. “Where did Nanitte make her home eventually?”

“She worked her witch magic on some poor rich bastard in Obershire, apparently. He married her a month after she arrived, and they live in a fine house on a big farming estate.”

“Good for her,” Edeard muttered.

Macsen snorted in contempt.

“But don’t you see?” Edeard responded. “She’s changed. She’s become a part of our society. It’s an acknowledgment we are the right way forward for us all. A timely reminder we mustn’t falter, if you ask me.”

“Whatever,” Macsen said wearily. “Anyway, it took Dinlay all of half a minute to fall head over heels for the daughter. As usual.”

“Well, maybe this time he’ll get it right. He’s certainly had enough practice.”

“Not a Ladydamned chance.”

Edeard remembered the flirtatious smile Hilitte had bestowed on him as they met. Macsen’s right; the omens aren’t good.

Dinlay opened the door, giving Macsen a cautious look.

“Good to see you,” Edeard said, and gave his friend a warm hug.

Dinlay returned the embrace, contentment and relief apparent in his mind. “We really were starting to get worried, you know.”

“I know, and I thank you for that concern. But it’s a big world out there, and we know so little of it. Honestly, the sights I have seen …”

“Really? Tell us!”

“There were huge rock creatures in the southern seas like coral islands that float. I even stood on one. And trees! Lady, the trees on Parath-a whole continent on the other side of Querencia-I swear they were the same height as the tallest tower in Eyrie. And the animals we found. Have you seen the ones we brought back? They were just the small ones. There was something on Maraca, the continent beyond Parath, that was the size of a house. It had blue skin and skulked about in swamps. The jungles, too! Around the equator on Maraca they make Charyau’s temperature look like a mild winter; they’re like steam baths.”

“You’ve never been to Charyau,” Macsen accused.

“But Natran has,” Edeard countered. “And he gifted me the memories.”

“Lady, I wish I’d come with you,” a wistful Dinlay declared.

“I’ve already said that,” Macsen grumbled. “See what happens when you leave us in charge?”

“We’re hardly to blame,” Dinlay said hotly.

Edeard and Dinlay exchanged a private look. “All right,” Edeard sighed. “Tell me what’s been happening in my city.”

The Our City movement had begun soon after the flotilla departed, Dinlay explained. Some argument in Tosella had sparked it off, apparently. A newlywed couple had found themselves a cluster of empty rooms in a big mansion between the Blue Tower and Hidden Canal. The rooms were up in the eaves and had odd split-level floors with a rolling step, which was why they’d never been claimed. However, there was a good-size room at one end where the man could set up his jewelry workshop. But they didn’t register their residency until after the wedding, as was traditional in Makkathran. That was when the trouble started. They came back from their honeymoon and found that a stopover family had moved in.

“Temporary,” Macsen grunted. “That’s all. Two brothers had brought their mother from Fandine province to Makkathran for a Skylord’s guidance. She was arthritic and was succumbing to the onset of dementia. They just missed one Skylord by a week, and there were no approaching Skylords sighted by the Astronomy Guild, so it was probably going to be several months until the next one arrived. In the meantime, the brothers couldn’t afford to rent a tavern room for that long or take one in the new inns out in the villages. The empty rooms were a logical solution.”

“The newlyweds told them to get out,” Dinlay said. “At which point one of the sons went and registered their residency claim with the Board of Occupancy at the Courts of Justice. As they’d lived in the rooms for the required two days and two nights, they were entitled.”

“Oh, Lady,” Edeard moaned. He knew how this tale was going to unfold. There had always been resentment at the number of stopover visitors. He and Mayor Trahaval had talked about the problem before he’d confronted the nest. There hadn’t been an immediate solution, though the inns being built in the coastal towns and out on the Iguru had seemed like a solution that ultimately would solve everything. It was only by the grace of the Lady that there hadn’t been an “incident” like this one back then.

“The jeweler and his new bride both had large families, and they were well connected,” Dinlay continued. “Worse, no other empty cluster of rooms would do-for the newlyweds or the stopover brothers. It had to be this one. So the couple made their stand: Makkathran buildings for Makkathran citizens. It was a popular cause. The stopover brothers and their mother were forcefully evicted. By the time the constables arrived, they were already out on the street and in need of hospital treatment from a beating. The newlyweds were installed along with their furniture, and a huge crowd of their relatives blocked the entrance to the mansion. Not that they really needed to; the constables who arrived on the scene weren’t entirely unsympathetic. All they did was cart off the brothers and their mother.

“That might have been the end of it. But legally the rooms were registered to the brothers. So the newlyweds brought in legal help to revoke the residency and make it their own.”

Edeard closed his eyes in anguish. “Please! Lady, no, not him.”

“Oh, yes,” Macsen said with vicious delight. “Master Cherix took the case.”

Because the couple, legally, were unequivocally in the wrong and everyone knew it, all Cherix could do in court was fight a holding action. A registration of occupancy could be overturned only by an order of the Grand Council. In order to get that, the legal case had to become a political campaign. The Our City movement was born four weeks before the elections. Mayor Trahaval was strictly in favor of existing law and order, as espoused by the Waterwalker, as he was fond of repeating at every speech. Doblek, up until then a simple formality opposition candidate, chose to support Our City. He won a landslide majority, as did a host of Our City representatives.

The Our City movement was something its members took very seriously. By the end of the first week every single vacant space in every building in Makkathran was occupied and registered by one of their own. And the visitors arriving with their dying relatives had nowhere to stay; like the brothers before them, most couldn’t afford the inns for what might be months. It all came to a head in Ilongo a week after Doblek was sworn in at the Orchard Palace. Some newly arrived visitors, outraged at being told they couldn’t stay in the city where their dearly beloved were due to be guided from, tried to squat in some of Ilongo’s central mansions. There were riots that the constables alone couldn’t quell, not that they tried particularly hard. That was when Doblek acted with impressive resolution, ordering the militia in to stamp down hard on the disturbance.

From that day on, anyone who came to Makkathran to be guided by a Skylord and couldn’t afford a tavern room was prevented from passing through the city gates until a day before the great event, when the Lady’s Mothers organized their passage up the towers. Even then, relatives who’d been camping outside were discouraged from accompanying them to Eyrie.

“Doblek really thought he was emulating you on the day of banishment,” Macsen said. “Throwing them all out and forbidding them to come back was what you did to Bise and the rest. And enough stupid people think the same; they applaud how tough he was.”

“I’m surprised he had the courage to suggest such a thing,” Edeard said. “That’s not the Doblek I remember.”

“Power changes people,” Dinlay said simply, giving Macsen a sharp look. “And necessity. What else could he do?”

Edeard realized this was an old argument between his friends.

“I could accept that if he’d made any attempt to alter things since then,” Macsen said. “But he hasn’t. He doesn’t know what to do, and more people are arriving each day. Did you know we’ve only just started getting our first visitors from the most distant provinces? And I include Rulan in that.”

“Cheap,” Dinlay muttered.

“Not really. The volume of people coming here is still rising. Doblek has done nothing to address that. Nothing! He had to deploy another militia troop to safeguard the route into Makkathran. The people he’d forced outside were starting to waylay merchant carts and caravans. So now we have a permanent presence of militia extending well out into the Iguru, and the stopover camps are hacking down the forests outside for fuel. You know those trees were planted by Rah and the Lady themselves.”

“The area circling Makkathran was designated a forest zone by Rah,” Dinlay said wearily. “He didn’t go around planting seeds himself; that’s One City propaganda.”

“Whatever,” Macsen said. “The problem is Doblek’s actions, or rather lack of them. What does he think is going to happen, that it’ll all sort itself out? And Edeard, we’ve heard rumors that the Fandine militia is on the march through Plax.”

Edeard gave Macsen a puzzled look. “Why?”

“Because we’ve used our militia against their citizens. They’re claiming the right of protection.”

“Oh, Great Lady!”

“It’s the distance,” Dinlay said. “That’s our trouble. Rumor grows with each mile. A report of what was a grazed arm and a bloody nose in Makkathran has become some kind of mass murder of innocents by the time it reaches Fandine.”

“So is it true about the Fandine militia, then?”

“General Larose sent fast scouts out last week. We’ll know soon enough.”

“Militias fighting on the Iguru,” Edeard muttered in disbelief. The loss of life during the last campaign against the bandits had appalled him. He’d thought such horror had ended then. It certainly couldn’t be allowed to happen again; he had never forgotten the carnage Owain had unleashed. “I must speak with Doblek.”

“To what end?” Macsen asked. “You think he’ll back down and order the militia back inside the gate?”

“He was elected courtesy of Our City,” Dinlay said. “He’ll never go against the cause that put him in the Orchard Palace.”

Edeard briefly thought about using domination. He’d learned enough of that technique from Tathal and the nest in those last few seconds to change anyone’s mind for them. But the Mayor was only one man; it would only solve the immediate problem-that was if there even was a Fandine militia marching on the city with revenge in mind. It was the whole situation that had to be calmed-a situation the Skylords had created. And how’s that for irony?

He recalled the meeting he’d had with Macsen and Kanseen just after Dinlay had returned from his honeymoon with Gealee. At that point Mayor Trahaval had come nowhere close to finding a solution to the massive influx of people awaiting guidance. Edeard had told the others he’d try to find out why the Skylords would accept people only from Eyrie’s towers. But there’d never been time to ask them before his final confrontation with the nest, and this time around he’d never bothered. Such things had been abandoned in favor of the voyage.

If I can get the Skylords to visit other towns on Querencia, then this will all just go away. In the meantime he had to do something about the stopover refugees outside North Gate. All that animosity on both sides is going to corrode the fulfillment which the Skylords judge us by.

“All right,” Edeard said. “Just how intractable is Our City?”

“It’s a one-cause movement, which means they simply can’t be moderate,” Dinlay said. “There will never be any kind of compromise with them, so if you’re going to take them on, it will have to be a direct election and you change the law after you’re Mayor.”

“Sounds drastic.” Edeard sucked in his cheeks. “I’d better go take a look for myself, then.”

– -

Our City had, appropriately enough, set up its headquarters in Ilongo. Dinlay had told Edeard with grudging admiration how their political ability had grown since their hurried formation. Eight of the current district representatives had stood on the Our City ticket, forming a powerful bloc in the Council. But their greatest influence over the lives of citizens came directly from the residency issue. If you were a Makkathran native searching for somewhere new to live, you had to ask Our City for its cooperation. Now that their members had legal occupancy of every previously vacant room and dwelling, they were the ones who had to relinquish their claim before someone else could move in. Only when they’d confirmed you were a genuine born-in-the-city applicant would one of their members vacate the place you wanted. In effect, Our City now controlled who lived where. And as with all political parties, they traded advantage and made deals with rivals and other groups in the Council and down on the streets and canals, insinuating themselves deeper and deeper into the city’s political structure.

Edeard walked into the Ilongo district from a gondola platform on North Curve Canal. The narrow streets in the center were a notorious maze: Most of the district was composed of boxy buildings with walls at quite sharp angles, creating alleys of narrow tunnels with only a slim line of sky visible along the apex. Streets opened into unexpected squares that were like wells of light amid the overhanging walls; fountains bubbled away cheerfully as if to celebrate the sudden glare of the sun.

It was the first Makkathran district he’d ever walked through, he remembered, he and Salrana gazing in delight at the weird buildings and more than a little nervous at the sheer number of people walking through the narrow streets and passageways. They’d pressed together for comfort and maybe just to enjoy each other, believing strongly in the future they’d have together.

He jammed his teeth together, hating the memory, hating that despite everything he could do, so much had gone wrong. That young happy Salrana was lost now, gone beyond his ability to recover. As was dear little Burlal. Unless of course I go back far enough and repeat the Weapons Guild atrocity deep below Spiral Tower. Even then, it would save only Salrana. Burlal would never be born into the world that would emerge from that.

It’s no good, I can only ever save one, even if I could bring myself to confront a living Owain again. I can only ever go forward.

Unless, he acknowledged darkly, he lived both lives. Went back and saved Salrana from Ranalee and herself and lived that life until it was time for Salrana to be guided to Odin’s Sea. Then, at the very last moment, instead of accepting guidance for himself, dive back to the time when Burlal was alive and somehow defeat Tathal another way.

Useless, he acknowledged in anguish. There is no way to defeat Tathal other than the way it’s already been done. I spent years trying. Burlal is truly beyond my reach now. My poor gorgeous grandchild.

And worse, attempting such a rescue would banish Kiranan into nothingness, along with the twins’ new babes. Unless I live this life first, then-Oh, sweet Lady, why did you ever curse me with this gift!

He came out into Rainbow Square, named after the seven walls, each with its furlike growth of moss. The actual surface was porous, weeping a steady trickle of moisture, like a sponge being squeezed. Vivid emerald moss thrived in such an ambience, its perpetually damp fronds tipped by tiny droplets that glistened brightly under the sunlight boring down the center of the square, creating a prismatic haze.

Unlike the rest of Ilongo’s crowded streets, this was empty. The Waterwalker’s black cloak stirred in agitation as he waited in front of the tallest building. Its wall leaned back away from him; in the middle was an arching double door of some ancient black wood. A smaller inset door opened.

The leadership of Our City emerged slowly. They were nervous about the Waterwalker, some of them old enough to remember the city’s power he had wielded on the great day of banishment. One of them no doubt full of poison about the Waterwalker’s malice and iniquity.

“Oh, Ladycrapit.” Edeard groaned softly at the sight of the man who was first out of the door. Dinlay had never warned him.

Vintico gave the Waterwalker a defiant stare. He was a lanky man with his mother’s eyes. Edeard might have guessed that Salrana would somehow get herself ensnared in this debacle.

There were about twenty people crowding into Rainbow Square behind Vintico, all of them staring directly at him, curious and nervous but determined, too, resolute that their advantage and position would not be taken from them by the Waterwalker, the epitome of “old” Makkathran.

Edeard addressed them all, remaining calm and quiet, demonstrating how reasonable he was. “This has to stop,” he said. “People are suffering outside the city wall. That cannot be right.”

“No, indeed, it isn’t right,” Vintico said, with murmurs of approval goading him on. “Why should good Makkathran families who followed Rah himself out of the chaos be denied a place to live? We have rights, too. When do we ever hear of those being spoken by you and your cronies on the Council, eh?”

“The Lady herself has brought us to this time when the citizens of this world are fulfilled. They must be guided to the Heart by the Skylords. This is not in dispute.”

“We don’t dispute it,” Vintico said. “We simply ask to be allowed to reach our fulfillment. How can that happen when our families are wandering the cold streets without a roof over their heads? Do you think that enriches them, eh, Waterwalker? Does that make them fulfilled?”

Edeard nodded in understanding even as he was reminded of something Finitan had said to him once in an unguarded moment: “Most people who have failed miserably in life itself have one last resort left available to them. They become politicians.” Now Edeard began to appreciate what he’d meant. “I understand your frustration,” he said. “But resolving such a massive problem to everyone’s satisfaction will take time. Something like communal way stations has to be built.”

“Then build them,” Vintico said. “Leave us to get on with our lives.”

“It would all go a lot easier if you could help overcome the short-term problems. Come, we know this is going to be a difficult time. I will speak with the next Skylord who comes to Querencia and ask if they can guide souls from other places, not just the towers of Eyrie. I will also lobby the Mayor for a large building enterprise outside the city. Together we can overcome this.”

“Then join us,” Vintico said. “We would be happy to accept you. And you would be showing your approval of us.”

“You’re too insular,” Edeard told him. “I can see that. Everything Our City embraces is a rejection of others. You must look outward, be welcoming. Closing yourself off like this, pushing the problem onto others, achieves nothing but antagonism and conflict. What kind of world will that build?”

Vintico grinned maliciously, a bad humor that rippled through the clique in the square. “You mean we must become like you? Join you? Acknowledge your way as the right way?”

“It’s not like that, not about ‘ways.’ True life is the understanding and support of other people, of selflessness, of charity, of kindness.”

“Of being abused and exploited, you mean,” Vintico replied. “That’s what’s happened to Makkathran. We were being overrun by these parasites; they threw our hospitality and welcome back in our faces. Well, no more! We will not give up our claim on our city; our birthright is absolute. And soon everyone will join us in our goal.” His voice and longtalk rose, summoning up support from his audience, who shouted agreement.

Edeard stared at the man’s stubborn expression, examining the minds glimmering angrily across the square around him, discovering the strength of resolution behind the words. Vintico meant everything he said. There would be no persuading them, no deal to broker, no halfway accommodation. Even for a novice politician, that was odd. He gave Vintico a shrewd examination, wondering just how he’d come by so much confidence. “Why would everyone join Our City?”

There was the smallest flash of triumph shimmering through Vintico’s mental shield. “You’ll see. Even you will have to help defend our rights.”

“Oh, Lady,” Edeard murmured barely audibly as he realized what Vintico had to mean. “The Fandine militia is coming, isn’t it?”

Vintico sneered. “Not just them. The Colshire regiment is marching against us, as is the Bural. Three provinces seek to attack Makkathran. You will have to decide which side you’re on, Waterwalker. Ours or theirs, which is it to be?”

A grimace of pain crossed Edeard’s face. Those closest to him took a nervous half step backward as a terrible anger rose through his mind, spitting out flares of misery and depression that made flesh judder and tenacity waver in even the most stalwart in the square.

“In the Lady’s name, what do you want from me?” Edeard yelled furiously. They were backing off fast now. “Every time, every Honious-fucking time I do whatever I can to make things right, this is what happens. Every time, something or someone comes out of the darkness to screw things up.”

Vintico’s mouth twitched uncertainly. “Waterwalker, we simply wish that our own children have the chance to-”

“Shut! UP!” Edeard bellowed. “I have lost my grandchild to bring you this world today. My beautiful lovely little boy who brought no misery and suffering. Unlike you and your wretched kind who generate nothing else. I unmade him to give you a chance. And now I must do it again, because clearly I’m not allowed to go off voyaging around the world. Because when I do, you appear and ruin what peace and hope there is. The militias can’t be stopped now that they’re on the march, just as you oh so cleverly intended. They have to be stopped before they leave, have to be stopped from leaving; in fact, they must never have a reason for leaving. And the only way to do that is prevent your Lady-damned Our City from being formed. Do you understand what that means, you piece of shit? They have been born but two days! Why should I unmake them for you? Eh? Answer me that? Why should I just not exterminate every one of you here and now? That would have the same result. They’ll never be born again, for sure as a genistar shits in the forest, that voyage won’t happen next time around because I can’t leave Makkathran before the stopover problem is solved. So they’ll never meet Marvane, and he’ll never be crowned Luckiest Man. Will he?”

Vintico took a defiant step forward even though he didn’t understand what was being said to him. “You can never exterminate all of us. Together we are strong.” To prove it, the minds of those in the square began to combine their telekinesis, strengthening a broad shield to ward off whatever terror the Waterwalker would unleash.

“Yeah,” Edeard barked. “Don’t I fucking know it.” With a final snarl of anguish he reached back for a memory-

– to land on the ground at the foot of the Eyrie tower. The crowd exclaimed in admiration; several people applauded. More cheered at the resurgence of the Waterwalker.

He stared around in a daze. It was as if the sights and sensations of the city were muted somehow, as if this time lacked the solidity of true life. I don’t take part in life anymore. I just respond to the old events as I believe I ought. What kind of existence is this?

Kristabel scowled at the flamboyant display of his ability.

“Daddy,” Marilee scolded.

“That was so bad.”

“Teach us how to do that.”

He gave the twins a weary look. They had never looked happier than holding their babes barely a day ago in his own personal time. Now that is never to happen, not even if I engineer a meeting with Marvane for them. “The Skylord comes,” he told them dully, hoping that would be enough to silence them for a while. It always had before.

Out across the Lyot Sea the massive shimmering bulk of the Skylord had risen above the horizon. Far above, on the tower platform, Finitan’s astonishment at the arrival was echoed by the whole city. Awe turned to trepidation as the size of the Skylord became apparent to everyone.

So no voyage, he mused as the great creature flew effortlessly above the choppy sea. And Kristabel said I had become almost intolerable at this point. So now, instead of alleviating that with the voyage, I must do something about the mass of stopover visitors. Lady, please understand, I cannot take much more sacrifice in my life. Truly, I cannot.