The Evolutionary Void (35 page)

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.”