The Evolutionary Void (33 page)

It had been a while since Araminta had used the mélange program. Nothing
wrong with the program; it was its association with Likan that made her all
squirmy and uncomfortable. That was stupid. She certainly couldn’t afford that
kind of weakness now.

As she walked beside the little brook, she sent her perception seeping
out ahead of her, experiencing it flowing along the path. Far away she could
feel the Silfen Motherholme, sympathetic and imposing. There was the human
gaiafield, fizzing with agitation and excitement. On the other side of her mind
was the Skylord—she recoiled from that right away. Her feet kept on walking.
All around her the trees were growing higher, muddling those on the world she
walked among with those of Francola Wood. She knew now where the path would
take her into Francola Wood, smelling the scent of the whiplit fronds. Her mind
found a host of people lurking in the undergrowth, cleverly concealed by their
gadgetry while their steely thoughts filled with expectation. They were waiting
for her.

Yet even as it swept her along to its ending, she knew the path was
fluid, simply anchored in place by past wishes, directions sung to it by Silfen
millennia ago. She tried to make her own wishes known. Somehow they weren’t
clear enough, and the path remained obdurately in place. So she summoned up the
mélange and felt the calmness sinking through her body, centering her, enabling
her to concentrate on every sensation she was receiving.

The tunes imprinted on the path’s structure were easier to trace, to
comprehend. With that knowledge she began to form the new tunes that her
thoughts spun out. Wishes amplified by a fond nostalgia and the most fragile of
hopes.

Onward her feet fell, pressing down on damp grass as the melody permeated
her whole existence. She swayed in time to the gentle undulations she had set
free, finally happy that the end of the path was moving with her, carrying her
onward to the place she so urgently sought. There, ahead of her, the thoughts
she knew so well radiated out from his home.

Araminta opened her eyes to look across the lawn toward the big old
house. Her initial smile faded from her face. There had been a fire. Long black
smoke marks contaminated the white walls above three of the big ground-floor
arches. Two of the balconies were smashed. There was a hole in the roof, which
looked melted.

“Oh, great Ozzie,” she moaned. The dismay was kept in place by the
mélange, occupying a single stream in her mind, an emotion that neither colored
nor determined her behavior. “Bovey!” she called as she ran for the house.
“Bovey!”

Two of hims were outside by the swimming pool. They turned around at her
voice. The gaiafield revealed his burst of astonishment.

“You’re okay,” she gasped as she came to a halt a few meters short of
hims. One was the Bovey she’d been on their first date with, the body she truly
identified as
him
; the other was the tall blond
youngster. At their feet was another body, inert, covered in a beach towel.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Not one of you.”

“Hey,” the older of hims said, and threw his arms around her. “It’s okay.”

Some small part of herself marveled at how calm she was, channeling all
the emotion away so she could remain perfectly rational and controlled. She
knew what she should say, even if her voice lacked the appropriate intensity.
“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No, no,” he soothed.

“I should have told you. Warned you. I left because I didn’t want you to
get involved, to get hurt.”

Neither of hims could avoid looking at the corpse. “It’s okay. You came
back; that’s all that matters.”

“It is not okay. They killed one of you.” A pulse of regret and guilt in
his mind alerted her. “No, it’s not just one, is it? How many?”

He took a step back from her, though his hands were still gripping her
shoulders.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“Five,” he said, as if ashamed.

“Bastards!”

“It doesn’t matter.” His grin was rueful. “That’s the point of being mes;
bodyloss is irrelevant. Some of mes are scattered all across this city, and
nobody knows how many there are; certainly not those thugs. I’m safe. Safer
than you.”

“This is my fault. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come to you, not
before it’s all over.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said earnestly. “Really, I am. Just seeing you,
knowing you’re okay, makes this all worthwhile.” Both of hims looked back
across the empty garden toward the Cairns, whose muddy waters flowed past the
bank at the bottom of the lawn. “How did you get here? Everyone thinks you’re
on Chobamba.”

“Long story.”

A sound similar to faint thunder rolled across the house. Araminta turned
to the source, seeing energy weapons flash just below the curving force field
dome. She didn’t need any kind of program to tell her it was the Francola
district.

“Not again,” Bovey groaned. “Enough!”

“It’s me,” she said impassively. “They’re fighting because they think I’m
there.”

“Araminta.” It came out of both of hims, a distraught desperate voice.

“I can’t stay. They’ll find me eventually.”

“Run, then. I’ll come with you. We’ll just keep on running. The navy can
probably help.”

“No. I can’t do that. ANA has gone. Nobody is going to help us; nobody
can stop Living Dream and the Accelerators. It’s down to me now.”

“You?”

“I’m not running, not hiding. Not anymore. I know I have no right to ask
this, because I didn’t have the courage to tell you about myself before.”

“I understand.”

“You’re sweet, too sweet. After this is over, I want us to be together. I
really do. That’s why I’m here, so you know that.”

He hugged her tight again. “It’ll happen,” he whispered fiercely. “It
will.”

“There are things I have to do,” she said. “Things I don’t want to, but I
can’t see any other way. I have an idea, but I’m going to need your help to
make it work.”

I
N 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 mélange 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.”