The Evolutionary Void

Inigo’s Twenty-sixth Dream

IN ALL THE YEARS Edeard had lived in Makkathran, he’d never bothered drawing up a proper map of the deep tunnels. He knew there were five large concentric circles forming the main routes, with curving links between them. He also instinctively knew their position in relation to the streets and districts above. Beyond the outermost circle were the longer branches driving out under the Iguru plain apparently at random. One day he would fly along each of those brightly lit white tubes to find exactly where they emerged. One day when he had the time.

For now he was simply glad that the outermost circular tunnel carried him close to Grinal Street in Bellis district, where Marcol was having difficulty subduing an exceptionally strong psychic. Edeard hadn’t used a deep tunnel for months, if not longer; such excursions were becoming a rare event. For several years now he’d had no reason to rush anywhere, especially on constable business. But now, as he hurtled along somewhere deep underneath Lisieux Park, the sheer exhilaration made him curse his middle-aged timidity. His cloak was almost tearing off his shoulders from the ferocity of the wind. He stretched his hands out ahead, as if he were diving. Then he rolled. It was a ridiculously pleasurable sensation, making the blood pump wildly along his veins. He yelled out for the sheer joy of living once more. And rolled again and again. A side tunnel flashed past, then another. He was almost at his destination in Bellis. There was an urge to simply go around again. Marcol and his squad can handle it, surely.

Something was suddenly hurtling around the tunnel’s shallow curve directly ahead. Edeard never bothered using his farsight in the intense white light of the tubes, so he was taken completely by surprise. He just had time to harden his third hand into a bodyshield as they flashed past. Two people clinging together. Teenagers, whooping madly. No clothes on as they coupled furiously in the buffeting wind. There was a quick glance of their startled, ecstatic faces, and then they were gone, their joyful cries lost amid the churning slipstream. Edeard threw his farsight after them, but the tunnel had separated them too quickly; already they were lost around the curve behind him.

His shocked thoughts managed to calm, and he asked the city to take him the other way to chase the intruders and catch up. He slowed as always, skidding to a halt on the tunnel floor. Then the force that carried him reversed, and he began flying back the way he’d just come.

This time he sent his farsight ranging out ahead. Perception through the tunnel walls was difficult, even for him. He could just sense the city a couple of hundred yards above him, but that was mainly due to the layout of the canals impinging on his perception. Actually sensing anything along the tunnel was extremely difficult.

For a moment he thought he’d caught a trace of them a few hundred yards ahead, but then he lost them again. When he reached the spot, it was a side tunnel branch, and he didn’t know which way to go. He skidded and stumbled to a halt in front of the fork, standing on the bright glowing floor, looking first one way and then another, as if hunting a trace. Then he tried delving into the tunnel wall structure for its memory. The city always recalled decades of localized events.

That was the second surprise of the day. There wasn’t one memory of the teenage couple. He could sense the tunnel’s recollection of himself flashing past barely a minute before, but of them there was nothing.

“How in the Lady’s name did they …” His voice echoed off down the tunnel as he frowned at the shining junction. For a moment he thought he might have heard laughter whispering along the main tunnel. But by then he knew he was grasping at phantoms. “Honious!” he grunted, and asked the city to take him back to Bellis.

Grinal Street was a pleasant enough boulevard, winding its way across the south side of the Bellis district from the Emerald Canal to the top of Oak Canal. A mixture of buildings stood along it, from typanum-gabled mansions to bloated hemispheres with narrow arches that made perfect boutiques, leading onto a line of houses with blended triple-cylinder walls whose overhanging roofs made them resemble knobbly stone mushrooms. Sergeant Marcol had been dealing with an incident in Five Fountain Plaza close to Oak Canal. The plaza was enclosed by a terrace with a concave outer wall and an internal honeycomb configuration of small cell-rooms connected via short tubes without any apparent logic to the layout, as if the whole structure had been hollowed out by giant insects long ago. This hivelike topography made it ideal for merchants and traders dealing in small high-value items. Few people lived in it, but many thrived and bustled around inside.

Edeard arrived at a squat archway in one corner and automatically ducked his head as he went inside. There was a lot of hostility and bad temper radiating out from the gloomy interior. As he crossed the threshold, he was instantly aware of a strong farsight examining him. His inquisitor, somewhere over in Zelda, withdrew farsight as Edeard attempted to backtrack it.

He paused, pursing his lips with interest. That hadn’t happened for quite a few years, either. Whoever had taken such an interest in him before the Skylords returned had been ignoring him ever since. He didn’t think their reemergence today was a coincidence.

Marcol was waiting for him in the herbalist emporium, a room on the second floor reached by a spiraling tube and several interconnected cell-rooms. Its walls were completely covered in rugs woven with intricate geometric designs. Lanterns hung on long brass chains, burning jamolar oil to cast a thick yellow light. There were other scents in the air, a melange of spice and alcohol so potent that that Edeard half expected to see it as a vapor. The cell-room was fitted out with row upon row of small shelves lined with kestric pipes of various sizes and lengths. Several were lying broken on the floor. Hundreds of the narcotic plant’s long tapering leaves hung from racks, drying in the hot air. There were bundles of other stems, seed pods, and leaves that Edeard didn’t recognize. Again, many of them had been torn down and trampled underfoot.

As soon as he’d pushed aside the bead curtains, he immediately knew who the protagonists were: two men on opposite sides of the room, still glaring at each other, minds reeking of animosity. One was old and quite large, dressed in an expensive matching jacket and trousers colorfully embroidered with small birds in the same style as the hanging rugs. Edeard immediately tagged him as the herbal emporium’s owner.

The other man was considerably younger, under thirty, and Edeard knew his type only too well. Yet another Grand Family son a long way down the entitlement list, as arrogant as he was handsome and living well beyond his allowance thanks to extended merchants’ credit. Edeard immediately suspected the owner was one such creditor. The two constables under Marcol’s charge had gotten cuffs on him, rumpling up the sleeves of his dark red velvet jacket. Looking around, Edeard didn’t quite know why he was there. Then he studied the younger man’s face closely, taking in the high cheekbones, the dark floppy hair, the unbreakable defiance in those light brown eyes.

I’ve seen him before. But where? He was younger. Honious damn my memory.

“What’s the problem?” he asked lightly.

“Colfal called us,” Marcol said, indicating the owner. “Alleging psychic assault. When we turned up, Tathal resisted arrest.” His thumb jerked toward the youthful aristocrat, who responded with a dismissive smile. “He’s a difficult one.”

“I did no such thing,” Tathal said. It was a polite tone, and the accent wasn’t immediately indicative of Makkathran’s finest. Edeard thought he might be from the southern provinces.

Holding up a finger to Tathal for silence, Edeard turned to Colfal. “Why did Tathal assault you?”

Colfal’s anger finally faded away, replaced by a surly glower. He took a deep breath. “I apologize that your time has been wasted, Waterwalker. This has been a misunderstanding.”

“Huh?” Marcol’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “But you called us.”

Edeard’s gaze lingered on the damaged merchandise scattered over the floor as his farsight was studying the few of Marcol’s thoughts revealed through his shield. “Uh huh.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you, Tathal? What have you to say?”

“Also, my profound apologies. As your constables will testify, I have a strong third hand. In the heat of the moment my restraint isn’t all it should be.”

“You don’t wish to press charges?” Edeard asked Colfal.

“No.” The old herbalist shook his head, unable to meet Edeard’s stare.

“Very well.” Edeard told the constables to uncuff Tathal. “And you, learn to restrain your strength.”

“Of course, Waterwalker.”

“Where do you live?”

“Abad, Waterwalker, I have a residence on Boldar Avenue.”

“Really? Anywhere near Apricot Cottage?”

Tathal grinned eagerly and inclined his head. “Indeed, I am privileged to be a fellow.”

That would explain the stylish clothes along with a provincial accent, but Edeard still couldn’t place the face. “All right, you’re free to go. Consider this your only warning; stay out of trouble from now on.”

“Yes, Waterwalker.”

Edeard was sure that platitude was loaded with mockery, but there was no hint of anything from beneath Tathal’s mental shield. In fact, Edeard had never encountered such a perfectly protected mind before.

“Wasting a constable’s time is also an offense,” he told Colfal after Tathal had gone through the swirling bead curtain. “Especially mine.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” a flushed Colfal muttered.

– -

“What in Honious was that?” Edeard asked Marcol when they were back out in Five Fountain Plaza.

“I’m really sorry, Edeard. It all got out of hand so quickly. And Lady, he was so strong. I couldn’t handle him by myself. Even with my squadmates pitching in, it was touch and go. I just sort of instinctively called you.”

“Hmm.” Edeard gave the warrenlike terrace a suspicious look. “He really was that strong?”

“Yes.”

“What was the dispute about? If Tathal is an Apricot Cottage fellow, it could hardly be over payment.”

“I’m not sure. Colfal was making all sorts of allegations when we arrived. Extortion. Financial abuse. Physical threats. Psychic assault. You name it, he was shouting about it.”

“Interesting.” Edeard sent his perception into the walls of the herbal emporium, seeking to extract the city’s memory of the confrontation. But with the walls covered in rugs, the substance of the city could neither see nor hear what went on inside.

“I can’t believe Colfal backed down,” Marcol was saying. “He was as furious as a blooded drakken.”

“Domination,” Edeard said. “I recognized some of the patterns in his thoughts; they’re quite distinct after they’ve been forced to change-” He stopped. Now he remembered Tathal. “Oh, Lady, I might have guessed.”

The Chief Constable of Makkathran had a grand office at the back of the Orchard Palace, a circular room with a high conical ceiling that twisted upward as if it had been melted into shape. The floor was a polished ocher with dark red lines tracing out a pentagon, the walls a lighter brown but still glossy. Edeard didn’t go for much furniture; it was a place of work, after all. He had his muroak desk, which had been a gift from Kanseen the day after his election, and a long table for meetings with various captains and lawyers.

By the time he got back there after dealing with Tathal and Colfal, Felax had summoned Golbon and Jaralee, the last two remaining active members of the Grand Council committee on organized crime. Even now, after so long, Edeard hadn’t quite managed to wind it up.

“New case,” he announced as he strode over to his desk. Golbon and Jaralee exchanged a surprised look. For the last seven years all they’d been doing was quietly closing case files and assigning them to the archives.

Edeard sat at his desk. Behind him a neat row of tall slit windows looked out across Rah’s Garden and the Center Circle Canal. He always positioned himself so that he faced away from the view. “The Apricot Cottage Fellowship.”

Golbon groaned. “Not that again. We looked into them a few years back. They’re just a bunch of young merchants looking to make their own association and build up some political clout. They use a few strong-arm tactics occasionally, but no more than established businesses. There’s no criminal activity.”

“Good, then this will be a quick assignment for you,” Edeard countered. “I want the names of the fellowship, and yes, that includes my son-in-law. Get a rundown of their business affiliations. What they own: properties, land, ships, and so on. I also want a complete financial rundown on a herbalist called Colfal. See if you can find any ties to fellowship members.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Jaralee asked.

“I think I perceived one of them called Tathal use domination on someone he was doing business with. Colfal, as it happens.”

“Ah, the impossible court case,” Jaralee said. Her first apprenticeship had been with the Guild of Lawyers, before she transferred to the clerks. That made her invaluable for Edeard’s investigations; her ability to piece together solid evidence from scraps of information in diverse files was legend, and her legal background enabled her to see what charges could legitimately be applied.

“There have been cases where domination has been proved,” Golbon said.

“Grand Family members testifying against ordinary citizens,” Jaralee countered. “It’s basically hearsay. The court chose to recognize it those few times because of the people involved. Legally, though, there is no acknowledged proof of tampering with another’s thoughts.”

“I know there’s no legal basis,” Edeard said. “But if it did happen with Colfal, then it’s part of a greater criminal act. If we can establish that, we can go after the other facts they’ll have left behind.”

“Okay,” Jaralee said. “As long as you understand no court will convict on that allegation alone.”

“Understood,” Edeard said, trying not to think of Salrana. “There’s something else you should know. Tathal has a very strong psychic ability. Apparently even Marcol had difficulty countering him. Presumably this helps his dominance ability.”

“Lady,” Golbon muttered. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”

“I doubt it,” Edeard said. “But just be careful. Tathal isn’t the only strong rogue psychic in the city.” He told them about the occasional sweeps of farsight that had dogged him over the years. Even though he trusted them implicitly, he didn’t mention the tunnels. The only way those youngsters could have gotten down there was with the compliance of Makkathran itself. He didn’t know if it simply responded to any strong psychic or if it actively chose to help some and not others. Somehow he doubted the latter; it had only ever consciously communicated to him once, the day he’d learned of the Void’s true ability.

“Are they linked?” Jaralee asked.

“I don’t know, but I also want you to see if there’s any financial connection between Ranalee and the Apricot Cottage fellowship.”

“I see,” she said in a neutral tone.

Edeard did his best not to smile. Over the years the Grand Council committee on organized crime had expended a great deal of time and effort investigating Ranalee, all to no avail. Jaralee and the others had come to recognize the owner of the House of Blue Petals as Edeard’s personal obsession; he often suspected their diligence was less than it should have been because of that. “I know there was a, uh, physical connection between Ranalee and Tathal a few years ago. She was probably the one who taught him how to use dominance effectively.”

Again, Jaralee and Golbon shared a knowing look.

“We’ll look into it,” Jaralee assured him.

Edeard and Kristabel took a family gondola from the Culverit mansion down to Mid Pool. It was late afternoon, with the falling sun polishing streaks of cirrostratus cloud to a tender gold. Warm air hung heavy over the city, redolent with scent of the sea.

They weren’t the only ones enjoying the last of the balmy day; hundreds of gondolas were moving up and down Great Major Canal. Progress was slow. Edeard thought every gondola in Makkathran must be out on the water; he’d never seen so many of the sleek black craft together before. The streets and avenues along both sides of the water also were crammed with people.

As he watched them, he noticed how many were elderly, being helped along by their families. Most of them were heading toward Eyrie.

Kristabel caught his gaze. “How long?”

“They’ll be here in nine days.”

“Five Skylords,” she said, awed by the notion. “I wonder if that many ever came in Rah’s time.”

“The Lady never gave numbers.” Edeard saw an old woman with an uncanny resemblance to Mistress Florrel being helped along by three younger woman; she could barely walk, her joints were so arthritic. Her mind leaked little spikes of pain, along with a mild bewilderment. He suspected she wasn’t entirely aware of what was going on. On the water below her, gondolas carried her contemporaries toward the crooked towers of Eyrie. The difference was money; they had enough coinage to make that last stretch of the journey in comfort.

“How did they cope back then?” Kristabel wondered.

“The population wasn’t as large as it is today. Fewer people lived in the city, so there’d be rooms they could all use without any of the trouble we’re having.” The influx of elderly travelers waiting for the arrival of a Skylord was reaching disturbing proportions. It had risen steadily in the years since Finitan’s guidance and word of the Skylords’ return spread out across the provinces. Now thousands flocked to Makkathran every month, all of them aided by family, swelling the numbers to a level where the city could barely cope. Once again the constables were fully deployed on the streets, quashing a hundred outbreaks of minor crime each day, from disputes over rooms to the inflated price for food charged to visitors. The constables also had to ensure free movement along those streets, which, given that a lot of the elderly had difficulty walking, was becoming quite taxing. The charity and goodwill of the permanent residents that had blossomed after the first couple of visits by Skylords were all but gone now.

The gondola arrived in Mid Pool and headed up Trade Route Canal. They had to wait several minutes before the mooring platform at the end of Jodsell Street had a free berth. From there it was only a short walk along the street to the district master’s mansion at the center of Sampalok.

Edeard always felt slightly bashful whenever he entered the big square at the heart of Sampalok. This was the place everyone associated with the day of banishment: the turning point in Makkathran’s life and that of Querencia itself. It wasn’t, of course: the true change had started in a secret vault under the Spiral Tower of the Weapons Guild, and nobody would ever know.

The mansion of the Sampalok district’s master and mistress stood in the middle of the vast square, a six-sided giant of a building, each face a different pastel color, with its own high archway into the surrounding court. None of them had gates or doors; unlike their predecessors, the new district master and mistress didn’t turn away the people they were supposed to serve.

In years past the square had been well traveled, with a few vendors setting up stalls to sell fruit and drinks. Kids ran about, dodging the fountains. But mainly it was open space. Not so any longer. Hundreds of modest bamboo-framed tents had been pitched outside the mansion’s walls. Even as he walked to the main gate, Edeard could see more being assembled, with lively ge-chimps scampering over the frame, binding the canes together. Families stood by with bundles of belongings they’d carried from their hometowns.

Kristabel sniffed the air suspiciously. “I thought Kanseen had arranged sanitation wagons for the district.”

Edeard shrugged, and they passed into the mansion’s court, with its white statues and neat bushes growing out of long troughs. The main doors were open, leading to a hall whose ceiling shone with a perfect white light. Broad wing stairs curved up to the first-floor gallery. They were easy to walk up, just as Edeard always intended. He’d never really known what layout to adopt inside the mansion; it was the outside he was so sure of. When the moment came, he’d sketched out an internal design similar to the one he’d disposed of, except now the lights were white, the baths were a sensible size, the beds were a decent height, and so on down a long list of architectural discomforts that Makkathran citizens had worked around for two millennia.

Macsen and Kanseen were waiting in the small first-floor reception hall. They showed Kristabel and Edeard out onto the secluded balcony, where wine was waiting, as were Dinlay and Gealee. For his fourth wife Dinlay had fallen for a strapping redhead. Gealee was only twenty-eight years old and an easy three inches taller than her husband of two months. Seeing them standing together beside the balustrade with the setting sun behind them, Edeard had to concentrate really hard on maintaining his mental shield and not letting a single emotion seep out. All of Dinlay’s wives could so easily have been sisters. He knows it never works, so why does he always go for the same type?

“Optimism,” Kristabel murmured.

Edeard turned bright red. “Oh, Lady, did I …?”

“No. I just know you.” Kristabel smiled brightly and embraced Dinlay. “Welcome back.” She kissed Gealee. “How was the honeymoon?”

“Oh, it was just fabulous, thank you so much. The yacht you lent us took us to so many of these fabulous little harbors. Every town along the coast is so different. And the Oantrana Islands, they’re lovely, so unspoiled. I had no idea they were like that. I could live on any one of them.”

Dinlay’s arm went around his new bride. “We can retire there,” he chided.

She kissed him.

Edeard gulped down some wine.

Macsen’s arm went around his shoulder. “So what did you think of our guests?” he asked, gesturing at the big open square beyond the mansion walls.

“There’s a lot of them,” Edeard said, glad of the diversion. Even though the visitors were enduring less than favorable accommodation, the city still boasted an atmosphere of optimism and relief. The mental aspect drifting along every street and canal was of anticipation. It was like the night before a carnival.

“They’ll be gone the day after the Skylords come,” Kanseen said.

“At which point the next wave will start to arrive,” Macsen said. “Edeard, we can’t go on ignoring this. I checked with the Guild of Clerks, and there are no rooms in Makkathran left unregistered. That’s intolerable. Where are our children supposed to live?”

“Nobody is ignoring it,” Edeard said. “I’ve been to three meetings with the Mayor on this subject alone.”

“And what was his amazing conclusion?” Dinlay asked.

Edeard shot him a surprised look; his friend was normally more diplomatic. Maybe Gealee was different, after all. “He believes it will settle down after some time. We’re still experiencing an abnormally large surge of people seeking guidance. It’s inevitable at the start. The numbers will decline and level off.”

“When?”

Edeard shrugged. “It’s not the people actually seeking guidance that are the problem; it’s all the family members who come with them. They’re the ones creating the accommodation problems.”

“That’s it? That’s the Mayor’s answer? Wait a few years and the problem will go away?”

“Not quite. There are a lot of stopover inns opening around Makkathran. Most of the coastal villages within a day’s sail have at least one. More are opening each month. They will help.”

“I hope you’re right,” Gealee said. “My brother’s children are in their twenties, and they can’t find anywhere in the city to live. Keral has traveled inland to see what kind of life he could have beyond the Iguru.”

“Good for him,” Edeard said. “Too many of our children rely on the city.”

“But we’ve lived here for two thousand years,” Gealee complained. “Why should we leave?”

“Things are different now,” Macsen said. “The provinces aren’t the hardship they once were. There’s more than agriculture in the towns. Some of the guild halls out there rival those in Makkathran for size and ability.”

“Then why don’t the Skylords visit those towns? Why is it always Makkathran?”

Edeard wanted to answer. Kanseen and Dinlay were both looking at him as though they expected a reasonable explanation. He didn’t have one.

“Only Makkathran has the towers of Eyrie,” Macsen said.

That can’t be right, Edeard thought. Makkathran isn’t ours; it was never built for humans. “I’ll ask,” he blurted.

Everyone stared at him.

“Really,” he said. “When the Skylords come, I’ll ask them what they need to collect our souls. If the only place they’ll visit is Makkathran’s towers.”

Gealee leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you, Waterwalker.”

He grinned back at her, making sure he didn’t look at Kristabel. “My pleasure.”

“This discomfort might help us,” Dinlay said.

“Discomfort?” Edeard asked.

“In Makkathran, with the stopover visitors,” Macsen explained, his face open and seemingly innocent.

“How so?”

“Discomfort breeds dissatisfaction. Everyone is going to take it out on the Mayor at the next election.”

Edeard groaned, knowing what was coming.

“The timing is good,” Kristabel said, suddenly keen. “If you’re right about the stopover inns, then the problem will be reduced considerably as your term starts.”

“My term?” Edeard wanted to tell her to stop taking Macsen’s side; this felt too much like he was being ganged up on. “I’d have to get elected first.”

“You’re the Waterwalker,” Kanseen said merrily. “Everyone will vote for you. Even the youngsters, now you’ve brought the Skylords back. Isn’t that right, Gealee?”

“Oh, yes,” she said earnestly.

Edeard added Kanseen to the list of people he couldn’t look at right now, though he wasn’t sure if the barb was intended for Gealee or Dinlay. Probably Dinlay.

“Everyone knows it’s just a matter of time,” Dinlay said.

“Do they?” He couldn’t quite maintain the disinterested attitude. Mayor? Finally. His mind wondered back to that spring day back in Ashwell, when his ge-cats had been such a success at the new well. Mayor and Pythia, he and Salrana had promised each other. We were children. That’s all. Children laughing glibly at a childish dream. But the idea that he could be Mayor still sent a thrill through him.

“Come on,” Macsen implored. “This is the time, and you know it. Just say the word.”

He glanced at Kristabel, who gave him a swift nod.

“All right, then,” he said, and even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he could never hold in that smile of relief and anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

The others whooped and applauded, giving him hugs.

“Where in Honious do we start?” he asked. It was almost a protest.

“You leave that to me,” Dinlay said. “I’ve been putting together a team for a while.”

Edeard shrugged and shook his head. It was almost as if he had no say in the matter.

Felax was standing in front of the thick wooden door into the Chief Constable’s office. He was agitated, which was most unusual for him. “I’m sorry,” he said as Edeard approached. “I didn’t really know how to stop her.”

Edeard gave the door a quizzical look as his farsight swept into his office. She was perched on one of the straight-backed chairs in front of his big desk. “Oh, Lady,” he muttered as dismay warred with curiosity. “Okay,” he told Felax. “I’ll deal with this.”

Salrana turned slightly as he entered the office. Her hair was a lot shorter these days and colored a sandy blond. She was wearing a dark shawl over her sea-green dress, something a woman fifty years older might have on. Her big eyes regarded him with a kind of forlorn interest. After all, they hadn’t been in each other’s presence for over a decade-no small achievement, given the number of parties both attended. If he’d thought that she might finally be relenting, that Ranalee’s malign influence was waning, he was put right by the briefest flash of emotions flickering through her shield. Like him, she still couldn’t disguise her mind as well as a cityborn. So there were the embers of distaste and resentment burning alongside a brighter defiance. For once, though, there was uncertainty amid all that rancor.

“This is unexpected,” he said as he walked past her. He didn’t pause or attempt to shake hands or even contemplate a platonic kiss.

Her gaze followed him as he sat down. “Nothing’s changed,” she began.

“Something must have, to bring you here.”

“Call it desperation if you like. And I know you.”

Edeard really was puzzled now. All the attempts he’d made to make some kind of peace between them had always come to nothing, and there had been a great many over the decades. Even then he’d still carried on helping where he could, especially with her no-good offspring. She must have known that. “What do you want?”

“I won’t owe you anything. I won’t change, I won’t show gratitude.”

“I’m not asking you to. What is it you want, Salrana?”

She finally looked away, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “My husband, Garnfal, he’s going to accept the guidance of the Skylords. He’s not been well for over a year now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with genuine sympathy. “I didn’t know.”

“He … he took good care of me, you know. He wasn’t like some of the others.”

The ones Ranalee gave you to, he thought coldly.

“Anyway,” she continued, “he’s been making provisions for me. His house in Horrod Lane goes to his eldest son, Timath, of course. I wouldn’t want it otherwise. But there are goods which are quite valuable, goods he bought with money he earned himself. Garnfal has left me these in his will.”

“The family doesn’t want you to have them?”

“Some of it they don’t mind. But there is some land in Ivecove; that’s a fishing village four miles north of the city. A cottage in a large patch of ground. Garnfal enjoyed the gardens; he said you could never have a proper garden in the city. We stayed there every summer. Then last autumn, a merchant approached him, offering to buy the land so he could build an inn there instead. He said it was to accommodate all the people coming to accept the guidance of the Skylords. Until now, Garnfal has refused.”

“And this is what Timath objects to?”

“Yes. Garnfal has given me his blessing to sell the cottage once he is dead, which will bring in an exceptional price. Timath has already engaged a lawyer to contest the will. He claims that the true price of the cottage is not reflected in Garnfal’s accounts, that I am defrauding the family. He calls himself and his siblings Garnfal’s true family.”

“I see.” Both your problem and Timath’s view of this. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I hoped you might talk to Timath, make him see that I am not some fastfox bitch who has bewitched his father, that I love Garnfal.”

Edeard puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled a long breath. “Salrana …”

“I’m not! Edeard, whatever you think of me, you must know that in this I have free will. I chose Garnfal for myself, by myself. Please, you must believe me. To be stripped of what is rightfully mine by a jealous, work-shy son cannot be the justice you seek for everyone.”

“Honious,” he said weakly. “You should have been a lawyer.”

“Timath has engaged Master Cherix.” She shrugged and gave him a timid smile. “If that makes any difference.”

Edeard let out a groan of defeat and tipped his head back to gaze at the high curving ceiling. “I will speak to the Grand Master of the Lawyers Guild, ask him if he can arbitrate a settlement between you and Timath.”

“Thank you, Waterwalker.”

“I think to you I am still Edeard.”

Salrana rose to her feet, giving him a sad look. “No, you are the Waterwalker. Edeard of Ashwell died on the day of Bise’s banishment.”

At midday Edeard took a gondola from the Orchard Palace to the Abad district. As the gondola slid along the Great Major Canal, he could see the crowds clustering around the base of Eyrie’s towers. Nobody was going up yet; that wasn’t allowed until the night before. Constables were assisting Mothers in keeping people away from the long winding stairs at the center of each tower. No arrests had been made yet, though Edeard was getting daily reports of incidents involving frustrated relatives. In truth, the ascent to the top of the towers had to be carefully managed. The platforms thrusting up into Querencia’s skies had a finite area, and there were no rails around the sides. Everyone who went up was elderly and infirm; they had to be cared for even in their last hours. The Mothers were now quite experienced in overseeing the whole event, a fact that went unappreciated among those who had traveled so far, with their hope building along every aching mile.

So far this week, Edeard knew, there had been fifteen deaths among those waiting in Eyrie. Their families had to be treated with a great deal of tact and understanding. Even so, tempers had flared and violence had swiftly followed. To have come so far and not achieve guidance was unbearable. Understandably so. With another seven days to go, there would be more deaths, each one more excruciating to the survivors than the last.

The gondola pulled up at a platform in the middle of Abad. Edeard climbed up the steps to Mayno Street and set off into the district. Boldar Avenue was a fifteen-minute walk from the canal, a zigzag pavement serving narrow four-and five-story cottages. Most of the lower floors had wide doorways and were used as shops or crafthouses. He saw several that were packed full of stopover travelers.

At the far end of the street one of the largest cottages had a pair of tall apricot trees growing outside the front door, their fruit starting to swell amid the fluttering leaves. Edeard was immediately aware of the strange thoughts emanating from inside. There were over a dozen people in various rooms that his farsight could sense, yet all of them seemed to be similar somehow. All had the same emotional state. Even the rhythm of their thoughts was in harmony. The oddity was enough to make him hesitate as he faced the scarlet-painted door. Deep windows were set in the curving wall on either side, their dark curtains drawn, revealing nothing. Then he knocked.

A young woman opened it for him. She was wearing a simple black dress trimmed in white lace, with long auburn hair wound in elaborate curls before flowing halfway down her back. Her smile was generous and genuine enough.

“Waterwalker, please come in. My name is Hala. I wondered when you’d visit.”

“Why is that?” he asked as he walked in. The hall was long with an arched ceiling, splitting several times, like a smaller version of the tunnels beneath the city. He hadn’t realized the cottage was so large; it had to be connected with several others along the street. He eyed the continuous strip of light along the apex of the hall. It glowed a perfect white, and he’d never asked the city to alter it.

“I admire the path you’ve followed,” Hala said. “Given how alone you were, it’s admirable.”

“Uh huh,” Edeard said. He wondered if she was the one whose farsight had been following him over the years.

The ground floor of the cottage was divided into several large rooms, saloons typical of any private members’ club in Makkathran. It appeared deserted apart from a few ge-chimps cleaning up.

“We’re upstairs,” Hala said, and led him down the hall to a spiral stair. The steps had been adjusted for human legs.

Edeard’s curiosity grew. Someone obviously had a rapport with the city similar to his own.

There were children on the second floor. It was similar to a family floor in the ziggurat, with living rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and bedrooms all jumbled together. The children laughed and peeked out at him from doorways before shrieking and running away when he pointed at them. He counted nearly thirty.

“Are any of them yours?” he asked.

Hala smiled proudly. “Three so far.”

The lounge on the third floor was a large one, probably the width of the entire cottage. Its curving rear wall was made up of broad archways filled with glass doors that opened onto a balcony looking out over Roseway Canal a couple of streets away, with Nighthouse rising up beyond the water. The walls were embellished with a tight curvilinear pattern of claret and gold, not that much of it was visible behind long hangings of black lace; it was as if a giant spider had bound the lounge in an ebony web. For such a large room there wasn’t much furniture: some muroak dressers along the walls, a couple of long tables. Rugs with a fluffy amethyst weave covered the floor. Fat chairs were scattered around, looking like clusters of cushions rather than Querencia’s usual straight-backed style. The Apricot Cottage Fellowship was sitting in them, watching Edeard with interest. Fifteen of them, six women and nine men, all young; not one was over thirty. And all of them sharing the same confidence Tathal had worn so snugly at their last meeting. He could feel the strength in their minds, barely restrained. Each of them was a powerful psychic, probably equal to himself.

He looked around until he found Tathal and smiled wryly. Then he saw a couple of youngsters standing beside a door to the balcony, and his smile broadened with comprehension. They were the two he’d caught a glimpse of in the tunnel. “Ah,” he said. “The nest, I presume.”

– -

Jaralee had told him of the name when she and Golbon presented their report. They’d arrived in his office soon after Salrana had departed, radiating a giddy mixture of alarm and excitement that he found slightly unnerving. His investigators were normally unflappable.

“You were right,” Golbon said. “The fellowship has business interests everywhere. So many, I’m going to need a month just to compile them all.”

“How is that relevant?” Edeard asked. “They have a lot of members now.” Including Natran, he thought miserably.

“Ah,” Jaralee said with a superior smile. “To anyone on the outside it resembles a standard commercial association. But when I looked at it closely, there is a core that has joint ownership and part ownership of over a hundred ventures and businesses. The other members are just a seclusion haze of legitimacy wrapped around them.”

“Not quite,” Golbon interjected. “The core members have commercial ties to a lot of other members’ interests.”

“They’ve created a very complicated financial web,” Jaralee said. “And from what I’ve seen, it extends a long way beyond the city. I’ve lodged inquiries with registry clerks in Iguru townships and provincial capitals. Only a few have answered so far, but the nest’s dealings certainly stretch to ventures outside Makkathran. Collectively, I’d say they’re a match for a Grand Family estate, certainly in financial size. Could be larger if they have an equal illegitimate side. I don’t really know.”

“Nest?” Edeard inquired.

“That’s what the fellowship’s founders are known as. They’re a tight-knit group. People who know them try to avoid saying anything about them. In fact, it’s quite spooky how they’ll try and slide off the subject. I have virtually nothing on any of them apart from hearsay.”

“So what’s the hearsay?”

“They really do act like brothers and sisters; they’re that close.”

“Are you sure they’re not?”

“As sure as I can be. The majority seem to have come from the provinces; three or four are cityborn. They started to band together seven or eight years ago. That’s when they registered a residency claim on Apricot Cottage. The fellowship itself began a year later.”

“Was Tathal one of the originals?” Edeard asked. The convoluted finances the nest had surrounded itself with sounded like something Bise would concoct. And he was sure Ranalee made an excellent tutor.

“Yes, his name’s on the residency application for the cottage.”

“All right, so what about Colfal?”

Jaralee smiled happily again. “His herbalist shop is on the way down. It’s getting so bad, he hasn’t even filed his tax statement this year, which is a big risk. The inspector is getting ready for compulsory submission proceedings. I checked around his usual suppliers. He’s made some bad decisions lately. Income is drying up. The finance houses are asking for payment.”

“So Colfal is in desperate need of a new partner, especially one who has a lot of cash,” Edeard observed.

“True,” she agreed. “But Colfal has been a herbalist for over seventy years. It’s only this last year he’s started to make bad decisions.”

“That’s what seventy years of smoking kestric does to a brain,” Golbon remarked.

“These are really bad decisions,” Jaralee countered. “He’s been changing his normal stock for stuff that hardly anyone buys.”

“Who did he get the new herbs from?” Edeard asked sharply.

She nodded agreement. “I’m looking into it. This can’t be done quickly.”

Standing in the Apricot Cottage’s lounge, facing the nest, Edeard finally knew that legal details such as who bought what from whom were of no consequence whatsoever. The nest was very different from Buate; they weren’t going to be blocked by any tax investigation.

“It’s not a term we favor,” Tathal said in amusement. “But it does seem to have caught hold.”

A multitude of fast thoughts flashed through the air around Edeard. The nest members were all communicating with one another; it was like the swift birdsong of a complex gifting, except Edeard couldn’t comprehend any of it. Real unease began to stir in his mind.

“I’m surprised,” he said, keeping the tone level, affable. “Nobody wants to say much about any of you.”

“We discourage attention,” one of the women said. She was sitting to Tathal’s left, covered in a shawl of thick, deep purple wool. It didn’t disguise her pregnancy.

The constant flow of mental twittering shifted for a moment, purifying. “Samilee,” Edeard said abruptly, as if he’d known her for years, even though she was only twenty-three. Her current favorite food was scrambled Qotox eggs with bearnaise sauce and a toasted muffin. The cravings were quite pronounced with only five weeks to go until her due date. Her son’s father was either Uphal or Johans.

Edeard shivered in reaction to the knowledge.

“Welcome, Waterwalker,” she replied formally.

Thoughts swirled again, as if the lacework shadows were in motion around the lounge.

“Can you blame us?” That was Halan, twenty-eight years old and so delighted to have found a home in the city after a decade and a half of unbearable loneliness in Hapturn province. His exemplary financial aptitude placed him in charge of the nest’s principal businesses.

“Look what the establishment tried to do to you when you showed them your ability,” Johans said. Twenty-nine and a very conscientious follower of city fashion, he designed many of his own clothes and those of the nest’s male members. Three of the most renowned outfitters in Lillylight district belonged to him, their original families eased out in that way in which the nest specialized.

“A whole regiment deployed with the sole intent of killing you in cold blood,” Uphal remarked. Their chief persuader, the one who whispered strongly to the weak, the inferior who swarmed the city like vermin.

“History,” Edeard told them. “A history I evolved so that we could all live together no matter our talents and abilities.”

“That they can live together.” Kiary and Manel sneered in unison. The young lovers who had such a fun, wild time in the tunnels and elsewhere in the city: the Mayor’s oval sanctum, the altar of the Lady’s church, Edeard and Kristabel’s big bed on the tenth floor of …

Tathal snapped his fingers in irritation as Edeard turned to glower at them.

“Enough,” he chided. Tathal, the first to realize his dawning power, the gatherer of lost frightened kindred, the nurturer, the teacher, the nest father. Father to seventeen of their impressive second generation.

“Oh, Ladycrapit,” Edeard muttered under his breath. He hadn’t been this scared for a long long time. Decades. And even then he’d had youthful certainty on his side.

“So you see, Waterwalker,” Tathal said, “like you, we are Querencia’s future.”

“I don’t see that at all.”

“You said that you thought stronger psychics were emerging as a sign of human maturity in the Void,” Halan said.

“What?”

“I talked to Kanseen once,” Hala said with a dreamy smile. “She has such fond thoughts of you, a little thread of longing never extinguished. I believe that’s why she recalls your time in the Jeavons squad together so clearly even after all this time. Back then, after your triumphant day of banishment, you told her that was your reason for enlisting Marcol as a constable: to tame him, to bind him to your vision. You saw the strong emerging from the masses; that’s very prophetic. We respect that.”

“And you’ve been keeping an eye out for others of strength ever since,” Uphal said. “Bringing them into the establishment. The establishment whose throne you’ve claimed. Indoctrinating them with your ideals.”

“But that was then,” Tathal said. “When the strong were few, and afraid. Now our numbers are growing. Soon there will be enough of us that we can emerge from the shadows without fear. One day, all humans will be as us. As you.”

“Really?”

“You doubt your own beliefs? Or do you dare not put a voice to them? You know we are right. For we are here, are we not?”

“What exactly do you see yourselves becoming?” Edeard asked.

The nest’s thoughts swirled around him again, faster than ever. This time he knew their amusement: tinged with derision, perhaps even a scent of disappointment. The great Waterwalker: not so impressive, after all.

“We are the children of today’s people,” Tathal said. “And as with all children, one day we will inherit the world from our parents.”

“Okay.” Edeard cleared his throat. “But I don’t think you’re the type to wait patiently.”

“We are simply readying ourselves for every eventuality,” Tathal said. “I do not delude myself that the transition will be smooth and peaceful, for it is never a pleasant realization that your evolution has ended and a new order is replacing you.”

“Unbelievable.” Edeard shook his head wearily. “A revolution. You’re going to replace the Grand Council with your own followers. Is that the best you can do?”

“We have no intention of replacing the Grand Council. Can you not understand what we are? We don’t need to make the kind of empty political promises Rah made to the masses, his ludicrous democracy. He knew the right of it when he established the families of the district masters. That was where he expected our true strength to emerge. The Grand Families tried; for centuries they have chosen their bloodstock on the basis of psychic strength. But we have supplanted them as the true heirs of Rah. Evolution is inevitable, yet it is also random. Isn’t that utterly wonderful?”

“So the weak don’t get a say in the world you control.”

“They can join with us,” Uphal said. “If their thoughts are bright enough, they will belong. That’s what we are: a union of pure thought, faster and more resolute than any debating chamber full of the greedy and corrupt that rules every town and city. It is democracy on a level beyond the reach of the weak. Your children will be a part of it, especially the twins. Marilee and Analee are already open and honest with each other; that is a big part of what we are, what we offer. It’s a wondrous life: nobody alone, nobody frightened. And there are more of us out there, more than you know, Waterwalker.”

Edeard gave him a thin smile. “I suggest you don’t threaten my family. I suggest that quite strongly.”

“I’m not threatening anyone.”

“Really? I’ve seen how you use dominance to bind people, to deny them free will. That’s how you’ve come this far. Control seems to be what you’re actually about.”

Tathal grinned. “How is your campaign for Mayor coming along? Dinlay is putting an election team together for you, isn’t he? Always the loyal one, Dinlay. His admiration for you verges on worship. Do you discourage that?”

“If I become Mayor, it will because the people who live in this city say I can. And when that mandate is over, I will step down.”

“Your nobility is part of your appeal. To their kind.”

“You talk as if you’re different. You’re not.”

“But we are, and you know it. And to make your guilt burn even brighter, you belong with us.”

“Dominance is psychic assault. It is illegal as well as immoral. I want you to stop using it against other people. You can start with Colfal.”

Kiary and Manel laughed derisively. “This is why we’re cautious? Come on. He’s an old man we can squash like ge-chimp crap.”

Tathal waved them into silence. “Don’t do that,” he said to Edeard. “Don’t fall back on righteous indignation; it does not become you. You were the first. You have a duty to your own kind. You are the bridge between us and the others. If you want to retain your self-respect, your grandeur, you will work with us. Continue as that bridge. People trust you; they will need your reassurance that what is happening here is inevitable. You are essential for the transition, Waterwalker. You cannot stop us; we are nature. Destiny. Help us. Or do you consider yourself above that?”

Edeard held up a warning finger, grimly aware of how pathetic that must appear to the nest. “Stop interfering with other people’s lives; leave their minds alone. You are not their superiors. We are all-”

“One nation?” Tathal inquired; the mockery was palpable.

Edeard turned and left the room. He was somewhat surprised he was still alive and allowed to do so.

Mirnatha was in the ziggurat when a shaken Edeard arrived home. He’d completely forgotten she was visiting. She was up on the tenth floor, along with Olbal, her husband, and their children. Kristabel was on the floor of the private lounge, entertaining the two toddlers while the older ones were playing with Marakas and Rolar’s children in the big playroom on the other side of the ziggurat. The children’s excited laughter and squealing echoed down the vast stairwell, causing him to smile regretfully as he climbed the last few stairs. He passed the short corridor leading to his bedroom and gave the closed door a pensive look. Kiary and Manel creeping in unseen to have their dirty little thrill was far too much like the time Mirnatha had been kidnapped. Too many memories, he told himself.

By the time he reached the main lounge, he’d managed to compose himself and strengthen his mental shield. He smiled widely as Mirnatha rushed across to kiss him effusively, and then he shook hands warmly with Olbal. Everyone had been surprised when Mirnatha had married him. She’d spent her teens and twenties enjoying every delight and excitement the city could offer a supremely eligible Grand Family daughter. Then suddenly Olbal had come to town, and the next thing Julan, Kristabel, and Edeard knew was her engagement being announced and a wedding six weeks later in Caldratown, the capital of Joxla province. Kristabel had worried it would never last; Edeard had a little more confidence. He rather liked his brother-in-law, who owned a huge farming and woodland estate in Joxla province, to the north of the Donsori Mountains. Olbal didn’t care much for the city and its politics and its society events; he was a practical man whose brain was occupied with agricultural management and food market prices. Such a man offered the kind of stability Mirnatha needed. And here they were, still together thirty years down the line, with nine children.

“So what’s new?” Mirnatha asked as she settled back into a sofa and reclaimed her teacup from a ge-chimp.

Edeard hesitated. You really don’t want to know that. “Not much. Still being bullied.”

Mirnatha clapped her hands delightedly. “Excellent. Well done, sis. Keep them on a short leash, I say.”

Edeard and Olbal exchanged a martyred look.

“We’ve said nothing, but he’s finally going to run for Mayor,” Kristabel said.

“Really?” Olbal asked, intrigued.

“It’s all down to timing,” Edeard explained.

“Will you change anything?”

Not me. But my word doesn’t count for much now. He looked at Alfal and Fanlol, the two toddlers, and smiled grimly. “I think things are pretty good as they are now. I’ll try and keep them that way.” His third hand poked playfully at Alfal as the boy banged an old wooden cart against a chair leg. Alfal turned around, a mischievous smile on his sweet little face, and pushed back with his third hand. The force was surprisingly strong, in fact, very strong indeed for a three-year-old.

“He’s a tough one, my little man,” Mirnatha said adoringly. “But then, they all are. That’s what growing up in the fresh air does to you. You two should spend more time outside the city.”

“I’d love to,” Edeard said. “I always wanted to take a long voyage across the sea to find some new continents.”

“Like Captain Allard, hey?” Olbal asked. “Now that would be quite something. I might even join you.”

“Over my dead body,” Mirnatha said.

“Families would be voyaging with us,” Edeard told her reasonably. “After all, it would take years.”

“What? Including the children?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“There aren’t any ships that big,” Kristabel said.

“So we build them.”

“A fleet,” Olbal said. “I like that idea.”

Kristabel and Mirnatha looked at each other. “Man dreams,” Mirnatha exclaimed. “It’ll never happen.”

– -

After dinner Olbal asked Edeard for a moment together, and they went out onto the hortus. Ku and Honious were both bright in the night sky, Honious in particular, its bulbous ruby clouds braided by sulfurous wisps surrounding a dark center where lost souls were said to fall. People were taking it as a bad omen that it was sharing the night with the Skylords. They were just visible above the horizon, five scintillations, growing steadily larger each night.

Edeard eyed them carefully. Normally he’d be excited and content at their impending arrival, but now that he knew the true nature of the nest, he couldn’t help but feel the doomsayers might be right.

“Are you all right?” Olbal asked.

“Yeah, sorry. Just distracted by this whole Mayor thing.”

“That I can understand. Rather you than me.”

Edeard gave him a false grin. “What was it you wanted to ask?”

“Ah.” Olbal leaned on the thick rail and looked out across the Grand Central Canal. “I know this sounds stupid, that I’m probably making a big fuss about nothing.”

“But?”

“My nephew, Constatin; he arrived in Makkathran three weeks ago. He was here to negotiate with merchants directly this year, agreeing on a price for this season’s apples and pears. We normally deal with Garroy of the Linsell family, and I wanted to keep that arrangement going.”

“I know the Linsell family; they bring a lot of fruit to Makkathran’s markets.”

“Yes, well … the thing is, Constatin has disappeared.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just miss him on the road?”

“He was with Torran. It was Torran who told me he didn’t come back one day.”

“Okay. What happened?”

“It was a Tuesday. Constatin had arranged to meet Garroy for lunch at the Blue Fox off Golden Park to thrash out the new deal.”

“I know it,” Edeard said stiffly.

“He never got there. Garroy called at Torran’s inn that evening wanting to know what happened. He wasn’t there. Torran searched for a day and a half before going to the Ysidro constable station. There wasn’t much they could do, but the desk sergeant promised he’d keep his farsight stretched. Since then, we’ve heard nothing.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t think there were any gangs in Makkathran these days.”

“There aren’t,” Edeard said flatly. It was strange. But then several station captains had mentioned that the number of missing people reported over the last couple of years had risen slightly. It was to be expected given how many visitors Makkathran was receiving and how unfamiliar they were with the city streets.

“It was morning, Edeard, broad daylight. What could have befallen him? Torran checked the hospitals and even the cemetery.”

Edeard put his hand on Olbal’s shoulder, trying to push through a sensation of reassurance. “I’ll speak with the station captain. I doubt it was a priority for them; at the least I can rectify that.”

“Thank you, Edeard. I hate to use family like this, but my sister is badly worried. He was an only son.”

“That’s okay.” Edeard frowned, thinking about what else he should be asking. Mysteries like this were rarities in Makkathran. There was only one person he knew who solved such strange puzzles, but that was ridiculous; she was nothing but a figment of his bizarre dreams. However, she used a method of elimination to determine suspects, and gathering all possible information was essential to that method. “You said you wanted to deal with the merchants directly this year. Is that unusual?”

“Not really. I normally use their agents; they have them in every province. And Garroy visits us every few years to keep up a personal contact; I have dinner with him whenever I’m in town. You need that level of trust if you are in business.”

“So what’s different? Why send Constatin here this time?”

“I was contacted by some new merchants seeking to buy our produce. They were offering a good price, a very good price.”

“Is that bad?”

“No. And I fully expect to sell them a substantial percentage of our crop. However, I want to maintain our trade with the Linsell family; they are a reliable buyer, and the future is what I must look to, especially with so many children.” He smiled fondly. “New merchants come and new merchants go. Constatin was sent partly as reassurance that although we obviously wanted to squeeze the price up, we would not abandon the Linsell family.”

“Who are the new merchants?” Edeard asked. He was getting a bad feeling about this.

“They worked for a supplier here in the city called Uphal.”

“What’s the matter?” Kristabel asked. She was sitting up in bed, watching Edeard pull his silk pajamas on. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ You’ve been quiet since you got back this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” he said, and rolled onto the bed. The walls remembered nothing. Kiary and Manel had taken away the memory usually contained within the city’s substance. He was going to have to find out how to do that for himself. “Sorry, but it’s not good news.”

“I’m a big girl.”

He smirked. For once she was wearing a sheer black negligee with a plunging neckline. Even after seven children she was still slim and, with her hair worn loose, very alluring. And she knew it; there was a calculating smile playing across her lips. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, giving her figure an openly admiring look.

“Did somebody die?”

“No. There are some psychics in Makkathran who are at least as strong as I am. And there’s a lot of them.”

“Oh. But you’ve found plenty of powerful psychics over the years; there’s Marcol, and Jenovan, and what’s that new girl who came to you last year?”

“Vikye. No, darling. What they’re doing is a lot bigger than anything we can handle.”

“Why? What are they doing?”

“Same thing Ranalee and One Nation were trying. Except this isn’t about establishing good snobbish blood as overlords; this is about strength pure and simple. If you’re a strong psychic, that means you have the right to rule everyone else.”

“There’s a lot of us to try and quash.”

“I know, and that’s what frightens me the most. Owain had guns and fear to keep people in line. The nest has dominance, which they haven’t been afraid to use. They also have the same skill I have with the city.”

Kristabel gave him a sober look. “Oh. If their strength comes from numbers, then you pick them off one at a time.”

“Won’t work,” he said apologetically. “They call themselves a nest for a reason. They’re like a family of the mind; it’s quite weird to see them together. Back when old Chae was training us, he made sure our farsight was always aware of where the others of the squad were. The nest has a more sophisticated version of that technique. I’d never be able to isolate one of them.”

“Ladycrapit, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. But they’re young, and they want to forge ahead in their own fashion. They’ve never learned how to accommodate other people because they’ve never had to; if they’re allowed to carry on the way they are, they never will. That means I might have a small opening.”

“To do what?”

“They asked me to be a bridge between them and the ‘weaker’ people.”

“Weaker?” she snapped indignantly.

“Yes. That’s their way of thinking. That’s what has to be broken.”

“Do you really think you can do that? Edeard, I know we never talk about Owain and Buate and all the others that vanished, and I never asked, but … you couldn’t make them change their minds, could you?”

“No.” He sighed. “But this time I really have to try.” Lady, but I don’t want to have to do that kind of thing again.

“So they share their thoughts all the time?”

“Sort of. They claim it’s a development of democracy. They’re still all individuals, but for decision making they communicate on a very deep level, in their own mental language. I suspect that’s how they overcome anyone else with strength; they can gang up in perfect union. And the more that embrace them, the stronger they become.” He’d been intrigued by the union they had ever since the encounter. To share thoughts so easily must be a wonderful thing, except they’d perverted it, using dominance to rid the concept of all equality. He suspected that Tathal was the cause of that. If the nest could have started without that malign influence, it might have had a chance to develop in a positive, beneficial manner. He’d concluded years ago that psychic abilities in the newer generations were significantly higher than among his own agemates. People were changing, adapting to their easier life.

Kristabel gave him a worried look. “Embrace or get subsumed?”

“Good question. Dominance isn’t my specialty, and the Lady knows I never found out how to reverse it.”

“No,” she growled.

“The one good thing is the way they’ve covered their tracks and set about amassing wealth.”

“How can that be good?”

“It shows they aren’t that different from the rest of us, after all. They chase after wealth and power just like everyone.”

“Taralee doesn’t,” Kristabel said immediately. “And you’re the ultimate champion of democracy. After all, you could have been emperor.”

“Yes, but … once you become part of the nest, you become part of what they are, what they aim for.”

Kristabel wrinkled her nose. “A blatant psychic aristocracy.”

“Yes. And then what happens to those who won’t or can’t become a part of it? They lack any signs of compassion.”

She stroked a hand across his cheek. “Poor Edeard. You have to find a way.”

“Easily said.”

“If you can’t, who will?”

“I know. At least they’ve offered to listen to me.” Which wasn’t quite what Tathal had said.

“Are they really stronger than you?”

“Who knows? Individually, I expect we’re about the same. Though Marcol certainly panicked when he was trying to contain Tathal. It’s this union of theirs which has me worried.”

Kristabel was frowning as she considered what he was telling her. “It sounds like Tathal is the leader.”

“He is.”

“But if they have this mental democracy, surely they wouldn’t need a leader. If he’s as strong as you think, especially when it comes to dominance, isn’t this nest just another gang, with him as the boss? The rest of them won’t even know; they just think they have free will. That’s always the worst aspect of dominance, how the victim just embraces it.”

“They did seem to be contributing to the union. But to be honest, I couldn’t interpret any of their combined thoughts.”

“He’s the key, isn’t he, this Tathal?”

“I think so. But the chances of me ever getting him by himself are slim.”

“He was on his own when Marcol confronted him.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

She grinned. “Of course I am.”

“So if you wouldn’t mind telling me, how do I watch someone who knows I’m going to be looking for an opportunity and is in control of the city the same way I am?”

“You’re the Waterwalker.” She pulled him closer, arms twining around his neck. “You tell me.”

“You did it,” Salrana said. “I didn’t believe you could or you would. I suppose … thank you, Edeard. I mean that.”

“Timath has withdrawn his objection?” a surprised Edeard asked. He’d completely forgotten, hadn’t even talked to the Grand Master of the Lawyers Guild.

“Yes. It’s all over. Once Garnfal accepts the Skylord’s guidance, his estate passes to me.”

“I see. That’s wonderful news. Er, did Timath say why he wasn’t going to challenge the will?”

“Not really. Just that he’d changed his mind.”

“Okay. I’m glad for you, really I am.”

Changed his mind, my ass, Edeard thought. The nest couldn’t have been more blatant if they’d bludgeoned Timath with a wooden club. They want me to know. They want to see what I’ll do.

It was surprisingly easy to work out some of Tathal’s possible weaknesses. Edeard put Argian on tracking down Constatin’s final movements. If he’d left any trace, any impression with people along his route to the Blue Fox, Argian would find it. Edeard at least expected Argian to find out roughly at which point he’d vanished. That would allow him to check the memory within the city structure. Any gaps would be as incriminating as seeing Constatin being abducted by members of the nest.

His second possibility was the other missing people. Golbon and Jaralee had been bemused at first. It was an odd request, seeing if they could tie in anyone who had gone missing during the last few years to the nest’s business deals, but they soon set to cross-referencing files. It was what they excelled at, and they had begun to enjoy the scent of the chase again. They even talked about bringing back other members of the old committee.

That left just the last two leads. They were the ones he needed to follow personally. And without a great deal of surprise, his first one took only three hours to confirm. After all, a station captain led a busy life. Especially Dinlay, who structured his days with meetings and inspections and appointments with civic notables and even made sure he went out on patrol with his officers three times a week. That left his wife with a lot of time to fill during the day.

Edeard floated in the middle of a transport tube, eyes closed, drifting along slowly as he kept pace with Gealee. She moved through Lillylight’s central streets, wandering in and out of shops. Midmorning was taken up with meeting her girlfriends in a coffeehouse for gossip and admiring one another’s morning purchases. Edeard didn’t use farsight; rather, he pulled the images directly from the city’s substance, feeling the weight of her high heels walking along, receiving the splash of color her bright orange and black coat made amid the throng, hearing her voice growing sharp with shopgirls, the scent of her perfume wafting through the air. Then, just before midday, she walked over Steen Canal into Abad, where she went into one of the little cylindrical cottages behind the Jarcon family’s mansion. It was the home of the family’s second farrier, a hulking twenty-three-year-old with thick ebony hair that tumbled down over his shoulders. Gealee particularly liked twining her fingers through that hair while her lusty beau pounded away on top of her on the bed, on the lounge floor, on the awkward stairs …

“Missing your honeymoon already?” Edeard asked.

Gealee didn’t start or feign surprise when he emerged from the shadows of a deep alcove on Spinwell Lane, a dark narrow passage barely a couple of yards wide in some places. She was using it as a quiet shortcut back to Steen Canal.

Instead, she took the moment to adjust her wide-brimmed hat. “Did you enjoy watching?” she retorted.

“Not really. Dinlay is one of my oldest friends.”

“And I’m his wife. I am quite devoted in that respect. He wants for nothing, I assure you.”

“Did Tathal tell you to make sure of that? Did you even have a choice?”

Her lips pushed together into a pout as she gave him a shrewd glance. “Clever,” she said with a reluctant sigh. “But then, I never did think you got to be Waterwalker by brute strength alone. How did you know?”

“Tathal knew I was going to put myself forward for Mayor. I trust the people Dinlay has spoken to about making up my team, just as I trust Dinlay and the master and mistress of Sampalok. That leaves you.”

“Well done. But it doesn’t really help you, does it?”

“I’m not sure. How do you think Dinlay will react when I tell him you used domination on him?”

Gealee laughed. “Oh, but we didn’t; that’s the beauty of it. I’m his type. You know that well enough; you’ve seen all his wives and the girlfriends between. All we needed to do was put me in the same room as him and wait. It was inevitable. Actually, he’s quite endearing-for someone his age. So dedicated to the rule of law, to you.”

“You leave Dinlay alone. Do you understand?”

“You want me to leave him? To break his heart? Once more?”

“I want you to wait a decent interval until he realizes he’s made another mistake.”

“Why don’t you just tell him? A true friend would.” She tilted her head to one side, regarding him thoughtfully. “You don’t know what to do about us, do you? Which means you know you can’t defeat us.”

“You’re the ones who think in those terms.”

“We’re the same as you. The only difference is that we’re family, not loners. Why don’t you join us? You know we’re the future. Why else are so many of us appearing? It is our time. You can’t argue against that. But you can play such a large part in birthing a new world, a new way of life. That’s what you were sent here to do; that’s why you’re the first: to lead the way.”

“We cannot split society between those who have and those who don’t. People the Lady has blessed with an exceptional talent have a duty to use it for the greater benefit. I’ve seen what happens when the ruling group begins to think only of itself. You weren’t even born, but that’s what Makkathran was like when I arrived. Your way of thinking isn’t the future; it’s the dead past. You have despoiled your gift; that is what I will end.”

Her smile became cold. “Join us.”

The command was so strong that Edeard’s eyes actually watered; it was like having a needle of ice penetrate his brain. “Ladyfuck.” He staggered backward struggling to shield his mind.

Gealee made no move, no attempt to follow up her demand. “You see, Waterwalker? That was just me, and I’m not even the strongest of us. Do you really think anyone can resist the entire nest?”

He shook the stupor from his head, staring at her with a mixture of anger and fright.

“Now that you’ve found out what I am, I can hardly spy on you anymore,” she said in a chillingly level tone. “I’m going to return to the nest now. You’re Dinlay’s friend: You tell him why he doesn’t have a wife anymore.” She adjusted her orange and black coat and walked off down the alley, her heels making loud clicks on the pavement.

Edeard watched her go, still shaken. His trembling palm wiped cold sweat from his brow. So much for using her to expose a weakness. But it did illustrate the lengths the nest would go to in order to find out what he was doing, what he was capable of. And he had one ability left of which they had no clue. The ultimate sanction. If I have to use it, I won’t be so brutal as before. I’ll go back and try to reason with Tathal, to persuade him to share his talent before he becomes a selfish power seeker. Somehow the notion didn’t leave him feeling as confident as it should have, mainly because there was only one person left to ask about the origin of the nest’s leader. He really didn’t want to do that, but there weren’t a whole lot of choices left.

With three days left until the Skylords arrived, the throng around the towers of Eyrie was so tightly packed that any movement within the district was becoming difficult. Some families resolutely refused to move on, setting up camp with enough food to see themselves through the duration. Constables struggled to keep pathways open. Mothers and their Novices suffered abuse for not allowing the eager aspirants up into the towers. The Mayor’s appeals for calm and tolerance went completely unheeded. After all, none of the visitors had voted for him or even against him. He wasn’t their authority figure.

Edeard sat under a canvas awning and wove a seclusion haze around himself as his gondolier sailed past the edge of the district. It was early evening, and the smell of food cooking on open fires trickled across the canal. Open fires were of course banned in Makkathran. He gritted his teeth and ignored the violations. Something was going to have to be done about the stopover visitors before the next Skylords arrived. But right now he had something a lot more important, not to mention personal.

The gondola traveled the length of Great Major Canal to Forest Pool. Edeard alighted at a mooring platform. He could just see the ships berthed at the docks, their sails furled amid a forest of rigging. Natran had confided to him that the number of passengers his ships were bringing in for guidance had risen sevenfold over the last eighteen months. Some fleet captains were talking about commissioning a whole new class of ship, one without any cargo holds, just to bring people in from the farthest coastal cities.

There were times when Edeard believed half of Querencia’s population was on the move to Makkathran so they might ascend from the towers. He watched the ships for a while before admitting to himself he was just finding excuses. He turned his back on the docks and walked into Myco.

The House of Blue Petals was open, but this early in the evening there were hardly any customers. As always, there were two burly men at the big front door. They gave him a very surprised look when he walked past them but said nothing. He sensed their urgent direct longtalk up to the office above.

His third hand pushed the door open. He wondered just how many times he’d come to this place over the years. How many confrontations had there been by now? Weariness and malice mingled to produce a rogue thought: I should just demolish this place, get the city to make a park. But the nest probably would reverse the action.

Ranalee was waiting, hair perfectly styled in narrow curves, long pale-gray dress of fine-knit wool. The soft fabric clung to her, revealing a belly heavy from the fifth month of pregnancy.

It was a sight that brought Edeard up short. All the words he’d rehearsed, ready to snap at her, withered away.

She caught his surprise and smiled complacently. “Dear Edeard, is something the matter?”

“I … didn’t know.” He waved a hand toward her, embarrassed, mainly at himself.

“And why should you? You have a city to run.” She poured some wine and held the glass out to him. “It’s a lovely Sousax; try it. I can’t have any myself, not in this delicate condition.”

“No thank you.”

“Afraid I’m trying to poison you?”

He sighed. “No.”

Her smile turned mocking, and she let out a theatrical moan as she sank down into a long settee. “Then why are you here? Kristabel not interested in you anymore? I have several truly lovely girls at the moment, and they’re all very discreet.”

“Don’t push me, Ranalee.”

“I’m trying to be helpful.”

“Then tell me about Tathal.”

Her glance slipped down to her full belly. “What about him?”

“Did you ever …” Then he realized why she was looking at her unborn and groaned. “Oh, Lady, it’s not?”

“Of course it’s his.” Her hand touched the bulge fondly. “He is stronger than you in so many ways. My own deceits were nothing before him; he saw through me so easily, swifter than you ever did. But he forgave me: He allowed me to join the nest, and in return I taught him my art.”

Edeard examined what he could of her thoughts shimmering beneath a thick shield. The gaps were the tops of chasms opening into darkness. It was as if her head were filled with ebony shadow. That wasn’t Ranalee. “He used domination on you.”

Her smile was one of sensual recollection. The shadows began to take shape, revealing themselves as the nest members. They engulfed her, obliterating sight, sound. She couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. Then she was suddenly no longer alone in the darkness. He was there with her. Fear was surpassed by consummate pleasure. She welcomed it, turning to the source, weeping her gratitude. “It was so exciting to see all I’d hoped for finally come to pass. His strength is intoxicating, Edeard. He is raw, like you used to be, but not the shackled fool that you were. He is free and unafraid. My child will be as glorious as his father.”

“That’s not you talking.”

“Wrong as always, Edeard. I didn’t need the encouragement the others of the nest received. My thoughts already ran along these paths. He held my hand and took me exactly where I wanted to go. That was a kindness you never showed.”

“So you taught him domination.”

“He already knew. I simply showed him subtlety where all he had before was crude strength.”

“Lady! Do you have any idea what you’ve helped create? What you’ve let loose on the rest of us?”

Her hands tightened on the bulge. “Yes,” she hissed. “I’m not blinded by him, Edeard. I’m not like the rest of the nest. I admire him. I belong with him, and he knows that; why else would he take me as consort? My child will be a part of Querencia’s future, a big part.” She laughed. “Perhaps he will even be stronger than his father.”

“Your dream,” he said brokenly. “But he’s taken it for his own.”

“Join us, Edeard,” she said, leaning forward eagerly. “This could be your moment, your real triumph.”

He turned and walked for the door. “You know the answer to that.”

“Yes.” She paused. “Thankfully, not all of your family is as stupid and reactionary as you.”

He stopped, knowing he was doing exactly what she wanted. A puppet to her manipulations again. “What do you mean?”

Her answer was a triumphant smile. “I told you once we would have your blood.”

“What have you done?”

“I have done nothing. But all children leave their parents behind eventually. You know this in your heart.”

People turned around to look in astonishment as the Waterwalker slid up through the solid pavement of Boldar Avenue. None of them said anything; none of them moved. They simply watched as he strode purposefully to the door of Apricot Cottage, his black cloak flapping as if a hurricane were blowing. Only then did he notice their placid interest, the identical calmness. The residents of Boldar Avenue belonged to the nest.

Edeard sensed them inside, upstairs in the big lounge. Marilee and Analee were with them, their thoughts content, fluttering with excitement. Not quite their thoughts as they used to be.

Edeard was enraged; his third hand smashed down the front door. He marched up the stairs.

Tathal had a knowing smile on his lips as Edeard burst into the lounge; it was echoed by the faces of the nest. Marilee and Analee wore it, too. They were standing on either side of Tathal: Marilee with her head resting on his shoulder, Analee with her arm around his waist.

“Undo it,” Edeard demanded.

Tathal gave Analee an indolent look, then glanced around at Marilee. “No,” he said. Marilee smiled adoringly up at him.

“I will destroy you.”

“If you could, you would have done so by now. This was all the proof I needed. Besides, your daughters were almost a part of us already. They had learned to share.”

“Don’t be cross, Daddy,” Marilee urged.

“Be happy for us.”

“This is so wonderful.”

“Belonging like this.”

“Now everyone can share and grow like we always did.”

“Everyone will be happy together.”

Tears threatened to blind Edeard. “You did this to them.”

“We are together,” Tathal said. “We are happy.”

“Because you tell everyone to be.” Edeard was certain he wouldn’t stand a chance against them if he went on the offensive. That didn’t leave him much choice.

“Please, Waterwalker, join us, join me; you and I are equals. As Mayor, you can make the transition so smooth, so painless.”

“Not a chance, as the Lady is my witness.”

Tathal took a slow step forward. “You’ve already done it once.”

“What?”

“I’ve been so curious. Exactly what is your power? Is it more than communing with the city? We all have that now.”

“Give this up,” Edeard said. “Now. I will not ask again.”

“So curious.” He took another step forward. “You know you cannot defeat us, yet you make threats. I see through you. You believe, you truly believe, you have the upper hand.” He cocked his head to one side, regarding Edeard in fascination. “What is it? What have I not got?”

“My daughters first.”

“I saw something when I studied you at Colfal’s shop. There was a certainty about you, a confidence that I’ve never seen in anyone before. You think yourself unassailable. Why?”

It was all Edeard could do not to shrink away as Tathal moved closer still; it was like a kitten being stalked by a fil-rat. “Let. Them. Go. Free.”

“I’ve already seen what happens if you win,” Tathal murmured.

“What?”

“Your words. Spoken in the seconds before you slaughtered Owain and his conspirators. I have watched the memory of the chamber below the Spiral Tower many times. You were impressively brutal, Waterwalker. Even Mistress Florrel was ripped apart by that frightening gun. An old woman, though not a harmless one, I imagine. But what did you mean by that? I have been sorely puzzled. You spoke as if you’d seen the future.”

Edeard said nothing. He was too shocked by the revelation of his dreadful act being uncovered.

“Is that it?” Tathal asked. “Is that your secret? Your timesense?” A frown creased his handsome young face. “But no. If you could see the future, you would know what I am, what I am to become.”

“You are to become nothing.”

“What are you?”

Edeard screamed as the question seared its way into his brain, falling like acid on every nerve fiber. He had to confess. Every member of the nest had joined his or her mind to Tathal’s, offering strength to the compulsion. Third hands closed around him, crushing his body, suffocating him. Their thoughts began to seep into his mind, corroding his free will.

He didn’t have time to be neat and clever, nor did he have the time to summon up the focus to go far. He thought of when he was free-they allowed him that-the moments before he broke down the door to the Apricot Cottage. And reached for that-

Edeard gasped for breath as he slid up through the pavement of Boldar Avenue. Everyone was turning to stare at him, their heads filled with identical placid thoughts. Above him, the nest awaited.

He didn’t even wait to sense if there was a glimmer of suspicion rising amid their unified mind. His memory conjured up that evening … no, just before then, a few hours earlier, the astronomer’s parlor-

Edeard stood outside the House of Blue Petals, waiting patiently. It was late afternoon, and away at the other end of the city, the Grand Council was called to session. In the Tosella district, Finitan railed against his infirmity and pain.

Eventually, a young Tathal walked confidently across the street to the House of Blue Petals. He stopped abruptly and turned to stare at Edeard.

“You’ve been watching me,” Edeard said.

Tathal’s adolescent face screwed up into a suspicious grimace. “So?”

“You’re afraid I can stop you.”

“Ladyfuckit,” Tathal spit. His third hand began to extend as his mind was veiled behind an inordinately powerful shield.

“You have an extraordinary talent,” Edeard said calmly. “Why don’t you join me? The people of this world need help. There’s so much good you can do.”

“Join you? Not even you can dominate me, Waterwalker. I’m nobody’s genistar.”

“I have no intention of attempting that trick.” His gaze flicked to the House of Blue Petals. “She tried it on me once, you know.”

“Yeah? Must be pretty stupid not to learn from that mistake. But I made her teach me a lot.” He sneered. “I like that. She still thinks she’s in control, but she bends over when I tell her to.”

“Honious! You’ve already started to bind the nest to you, haven’t you?”

Tathal narrowed his eyes. Misgivings leaked out from his shield. “What do you want?”

“Not you. You’re too late.” Edeard remembered a day from a couple of years previously. Reached for it-

Edeard tried. He even impressed himself with his tenacity, seeking that one moment when Tathal had an ounce of humanity in his soul. If it existed, he never found it. In the end he doubted its existence.

But he tried, waiting outside the city gates when a fifteen-year-old Tathal arrived with a caravan. That, too, was long after his personality had established itself. He’d already dominated the entire caravan, lording it over them in the master’s wagon. It wasn’t as subtle as the nest; men and women served him while their daughters became his stable of whores. The old and the recalcitrant had been discarded along the route.

Before that … Edeard found that Tathal came from Ustaven province. He missed Taralee’s seventeenth birthday to travel to the capital, Growan, nine months before Tathal left it with the caravan. Just in time to sense the fourteen-year-old finally kill Matrar, his abusive father with a display of telekinesis that was shocking to witness. Minutes later he threw his broken alcoholic mother out of their house.

Farther back … Five years previously, Edeard spent a month in Growan, drinking in Matrar’s tavern, trying to reason with the miserable man, to steer him away from using violence against his family. To no avail.

Two years beforehand, and Edeard bribed the owner of the carpentry lodge where Matrar worked, promoting him so his life might be a little easier. There would be more money, and Matrar might see a brighter future opening up if he strove to better himself. But the new money was spent on longer binges, and his obvious failings bred resentment among the men he was supposed to supervise.

Eventually Edeard found himself outside the tavern Matrar favored for the last time. It had taken some admirable detective work among the badly maintained civic records of Growan’s Guild of Clerks, but eventually he’d tracked down Tathal’s birth certificate. Not that he entirely trusted it. That was why he was outside the tavern ten days before the probable night. He was dressed in simple field worker clothes and a heavy coat, with his face disguised by a shallow concealment mirage. Not even Kristabel would recognize him.

As a waitress squirmed between battered old wooden tables, he surreptitiously tipped a phial of vinac juice into Matrar’s ale. It was an act he performed every night for a fortnight.

Tathal was never conceived. Never existed, so could never be remembered or even mourned.

Edeard arrived back in Makkathran in time for Taralee’s second birthday. Just as he recalled, she developed chicken pox two days later. Then in autumn that year a ridiculously happy Mirnatha announced her surprise engagement. Finitan was at the height of his powers and supporting the special Grand Council committee on organized crime, which was producing good results.

He recalled it all. The events. The conversations. Even the weather. There was little he wanted to change. At first. Then he grew weary of the sameness. Knowing became a burden as he became exasperated with people repeating the same mistakes once more.

The only thing that differed now was his dreams: still bizarre, impossible, but fresh, new.