The Dreaming Void (47 page)

He did not know what to say, so he just ducked his head gracelessly.

“Will you stay for the service?”

“I, er, have to get to my lodgings, thank you.” He backed away and turned, walking quickly across the plaza.

“Don't forget,” Salrana's longtalk voice chided him. “Talk to me first thing tomorrow. I want to know that you're all right.”

“I will.”

Even with the cold orange light shining down from the twisted towers, he was unnerved walking through the empty district. The dark upper sections of the towers formed black silhouettes against the glowing night sky. His mind kept firmly focused on the warm aura of human minds on the other side of the Grove Canal. Before he reached any bridge, he came to a decision. His farsight strained to reach the Blue Tower. The sparks of minds were very hard to distinguish through its walls, but he persevered and eventually found one he recognized.

“Excuse me, sir,” he longtalked to Topar.

There was a small burst of surprise from the man, quickly smothered. “Where are you, Edeard?”

“In Eyrie, sir.”

“And you farsighted me through the walls of the Blue Tower from there?”

“Er, yes, sir.”

“Of course you did. So what can I do for you?”

“I know this probably seems sudden to you, sir, but I have thought over what the Grand Master said to me. I'd like to join the constables. There's nothing else for me here.”

“Yes, we did make that promise to you, didn't we? Very well. Report to the main constable station in the Jeavons district. By the time you get there, they will be expecting you. Your letter of sponsorship will be with the captain in the morning.”

“Yes, sir. Please thank the Grand Master for me, sir. I'll not let him down.”

“Somehow, Edeard, I don't think you will. One word of advice from a lifelong citizen of Makkathran.”

“Sir?”

“Don't let your fellow constables realize how strong you are, not at first. It may attract the wrong kind of interest. Politics, remember?”

“I remember, sir.”

         

“Get up, you little turds!”

Edeard groaned, immensely tired, blinking against the orange light flooding into the dormitory. His thoughts were a confused whirl as reality intruded into the shrinking dream.

“Come on. Up! I haven't got the time to nurse you pathetic tits. If you can't even get up in the morning, what use are you? None. Which doesn't surprise me in any respect. I want every one of you dressed and in the small hall in five minutes. Anyone who doesn't make it before I close the doors can piss off right back home to your mummy again. Now move it.”

“Whaa—?” Edeard managed. Someone walked past the end of his bed and whacked his feet with a truncheon. “Ouch!”

“If you think that hurt, wait till I get to work on your feelings, farm boy.”

Edeard hurriedly pushed the blanket down and rolled out. There were six bed alcoves in the dorm room; only two were empty. He had met the other constable recruits the previous night at a quick session before Chae, their squad's training sergeant, marched in and barked at them to shut up and get some sleep “because you've got an early start in the morning.”

As he struggled into his shirt, Edeard suspected it was Chae who'd just woken them. The voice was familiar.

“He's got to be kidding,” said Boyd, a tall lad with lank blond hair and large ears. The fourth son of a baker in the Jeavons district not far from the station, he was in his early twenties, and as he had seen his older brother take on more and more of the bake house, he finally had acknowledged that he was not going to inherit any part of the family business. His sisters were married, and his other brothers all had left the district to forge their own way forward. He lacked their entrepreneurial streak, so decided the only way out was the guilds or signing up with either the militia or the constables. He did not have the money to buy into the militia, and his psychic talents were limited.

“Oh, no, he's not,” Macsen said as he hurriedly pulled up his trousers. His story was similar to Boyd's; he was the unrecognized son of a mistress to a grand family's patriarch. Usually such a father would quietly buy such an offspring a minor commission in the militia or smooth the way for his entry into a professional guild such as the lawyers or clerks. Unfortunately, this patriarch chose to travel on one of his trading ships, voyaging south along the coast, where one of the Lyot Sea's rare storms blew up. The wife and the eldest son threw Macsen and his mother out of their estate cottage on the Iguru even before the memorial service had been held.

Edeard shoved his bare feet into his boots. “We'd better do as he says, at least until we figure out how serious the officers are,” he said. He looked at the locker beside the cot where his shoulder bag was resting and briefly wondered if it would be safe. Not that there was much of value inside.
And anyway, this is a constable station.

“Chae's serious, all right,” Dinlay said. Their final roommate was also a youngest son, but his father was a constable. As such, Dinlay was the only one to have a uniform already. He was doing up the silver buttons on the front of his dark blue tunic. The little metal circles had been polished to a sheen, as had his black ankle-high boots. The trousers were pressed, showing a sharp crease down the front. It was not a new uniform, but one had to look carefully to see any wear. Dinlay had told them the previous night that it used to belong to his father when he had been a probationary constable. Of the four of them, he seemed to be the only one enthusiastic about their new profession. He used a longtalk whisper to tell them: “Father said Sergeant Chae is a heavy drinker. He was sent to this station because he's screwed up everywhere else in the city.”

“So they put him in charge of training recruits?” Macsen exclaimed.

Dinlay winced, glancing about uncomfortably. “Not so loud. He doesn't like being reminded he threw his career away.”

Boyd chuckled. “Career. In the constables. Aren't you the comedian.”

Dinlay gave him an angry look before putting on his wire-rimmed glasses. There was something about him that reminded Edeard of Fahin: not just his short-sight problem but the way he was so dedicated to his life choice yet at the same time so obviously was not cut out for it.

Edeard shivered despite pulling on a thick woolen jumper. He had not thought of Fahin in a long time, and his disturbingly weird dream left the memory of resurrected skeletons lingering like a bad aftertaste. It was an unfortunate combination with which to be starting his first morning.

Not that it was morning yet, he noticed as they scurried down the station's central stair to the small hall where they would spend the next six months learning their new craft. The glowing nebulae of Querencia's night sky were still visible through the feathery curtain of cloud drifting in from the sea. Dawn was at least an hour away.

Edeard still was not used to the way Makkathran buildings blocked his farsight, so when they arrived in the hall, he was surprised that another probationary constable was already there along with Sergeant Chae. She was about his age, perhaps a little older, with dark hair cut shorter than he had ever seen on a girl before. Her face was rounded with chubby cheeks and what looked like a permanent scowl. Even by Makkathran standards, her thoughts were heavily veiled, allowing no hint as to her true feelings. Edeard tried not to be too obvious in the way he checked her out, but when his eyes switched from her legs—long but thighs rather too plump—to her chest, he suddenly realized she was watching him. She raised an eyebrow in scornful query. His cheeks reddened, and he turned away.

Chae was standing at the head of the room under one of the ceiling's circular light patches. Thankfully, his anger seemed to have vanished. “Very good, boys and girls; almost on time. Now believe it or not, this early morning is not designed with the sole purpose of making your lives miserable, I'll have plenty of opportunity for that over the next few months. No. Today I want us to get acquainted. That means we'll be starting with some simple tests to discover the level—or lack of—your psychic abilities. This way we can combine you into a squad which together will perform a great deal better than the sum of its parts. And believe me, you will need to work together. There are gangs out there that will happily shred your flesh and feed you to the fil-rats if you try and interrupt their activities.”

Edeard was not quite sure he believed that and hoped his thoughts did not show his doubt. He concentrated on trying to achieve the same passivity that everyone else was displaying.

“Constable Kanseen, would you begin, please,” Chae said. He gestured at the bench in front of him. There were five metal balls resting on the ancient wood, the smallest was the size of a human fist, while the others were progressively larger. A sixth ball sat on the floor, a good eighteen inches in diameter.

“Which one?” Kanseen asked.

“You just show me what you can do, young lady,” Chae said. There was a strong note of contempt ringing through his voice. “That way I can assess what duties to assign you—if any.”

Kanseen's face hardened into an even more disapproving scowl. She glared at the fourth ball. It slowly rose into the air.

Macsen whistled approvingly and clapped. The other probationary constables grinned appreciatively. Edeard took a moment and joined in the acknowledgment. He assumed someone had given her the same advice about not revealing her full strength.

“That it?” Chae asked.

“Sir,” Kanseen grunted.

“Okay, thank you. Boyd, let's see what you're made of.”

A grinning Boyd stepped forward. The fourth ball quivered and rose a couple of inches above the wood. Boyd's brow glistened with perspiration.

Macsen managed to lift the fifth ball. Dinlay produced a confident grin and elevated the fifth and second balls, which drew a heavy round of applause. Even Kanseen joined in.

“All right, Edeard, show them how the countryside is so much better than the city.”

Edeard nodded slowly and moved forward. The others were watching eagerly. He was sorely tempted to fling the sixth ball right at the sergeant, but Topar's caution was still fresh in his mind.

His third hand closed around the fifth ball and sent it bobbing up through the air until it was halfway to the ceiling. The others cheered. He lifted the second ball, then made a show of straining to lift the third, allowing it to hover a few inches above the wood.

The first ball shot off the table and streaked toward Edeard. His shield hardened, deflecting it easily enough. At the same time he dropped the three balls he was holding aloft.

All the probationary constables fell silent, staring at him and Chae.

“Very good, Edeard,” Chae drawled. “You almost convinced me. Little too much time between the hit and the drop, though. Work on that.”

Edeard gave the sergeant a sullen stare.

Chae leaned forward. In a stage whisper he said: “I have friends in the Eggshaper Guild guard, lad.”

Edeard reddened.

“Constables should be honest above all else,” Chae continued. “Especially with their own squadmates. Ultimately your lives may depend on each other. Now, do you want to try again?”

Edeard pulled the sixth ball into the air. He heard Boyd gasp in surprise.

“Thank you, Edeard,” Chae said. “Now, then, farsight. I have placed some markers around the district. Let's see who can find what.”

Edeard let the sixth ball down gently. He wondered what Chae would have said if he had known how much more he could lift.

The psychic tests went on for another hour, measuring their various talents, until Chae declared he had had enough of them. Edeard was interested in the results. Kanseen had a farsight almost as good as his own, while Dinlay probably could longshout halfway across the Iguru plain, a capability of which he was inordinately proud. Macsen's shield seemed disproportionaly stronger than his third hand; nothing Chae threw at him got through. Boyd was all-around unexceptional. It left Edeard wondering if he was above average or if his squadmates were distinctly below average. Sergeant Chae's psychic ability was certainly powerful enough.

Chae told them to get some breakfast, then report for uniform fitting. “If any of you have money, I'd advise you to spend it on your tunic. Those without money will have the cost taken out of their pay for the next six months, and I assure you it won't leave you with much at the end of the week.”

They trooped along to the station's main hall, a long chamber with an arching ceiling and a big crystal window at the far end. Some of the benches already were occupied. A sergeant told them the bench at the far end would be theirs for the duration of their probationary period. The rest of the constables ignored them.

Ge-monkeys hurried out of the kitchen, bringing crockery. They were adept at receiving orders, Edeard found when he instructed one to bring tea and scrambled eggs. At least the station provided their food. He wondered if he should try to longtalk Salrana. The sun was just starting to rise outside.