The Evolutionary Void (34 page)

“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.