The Temporal Void (98 page)

Just to gain entrance to the Spiral Tower was difficult enough, there was only one entrance, and it was heavily guarded. All visitors had to be accompanied by a Master. Beyond that, armed guards kept a ceaseless vigil on the first and second basement levels. There were also ingenious trips and traps along the corridors and steps to catch anyone using concealment.

It was reasonable, therefore, for those who assembled in the chamber of records two days after Topar’s little expedition left Makkathran to exude a degree of security. Grand Master Owain greeted his eleven guests warmly. No one made any attempt to hide their sense of trepidation and excitement as they made their way into the broad cross vaulted chamber. There was a simple wooden table set up in the middle, with thirteen chairs around it. Tall shelving cabinets were arrayed round the lead-grey walls, containing hundreds of leather folders which held every pistol and bullet design produced by the Guild over its two millennia existence. Long teardrop lighting patterns stretched across the curving ceiling, glowing passively.

Bise was the last to be shown in. He smiled round at his fellows as the three thick, heavy doors swung shut behind him. Complicated locks rotated, pushing steel bolts into place and securing them, combination bands were spun.

‘My poor boy,’ Mistress Florrel said, and embraced Sampalok’s ex-Master warmly. ‘Welcome home.’

‘Thank you, Grandmama.’

‘Did you get the food I had sent out to you? I had the bakery on Jodsell Street make those raspberry muffins especially. I know how much you liked them as a boy.’

‘Yes indeed, it was most kind.’

‘Was exile so terrible?’

‘It had its moments.’

‘It had its costs,’ Tannarl said. ‘Half of your family stayed at my lodge.’

‘For which you will be fully recompensed,’ Owain said smoothly. ‘Come, come, we are not here to squabble among ourselves over a little coinage. Our moment draws near.’

‘It was drawing near two years ago,’ Bise said. ‘Then
he
arrived.’

‘Well the Waterwalker is off running round the countryside now, trying to find bandits,’ Buate said. ‘And when he does, he won’t be coming back.’

‘Don’t be too sure,’ Owain said. ‘His telekinesis is incredibly strong. Makkathran hasn’t seen the like since the days of Rah. And not even Rah could alter the city buildings.’

Bise glowered at the reminder.

‘Careful cousin,’ Tannarl said. ‘You tread close to heresy.’

‘I state the simple truth.’

‘You don’t seriously believe he can ward off the reception I have arranged for him?’ Buate asked. ‘The whole point of ambushing him outside the crystal wall is to rob him of the advantage which the city gives him.’

‘The outcome is almost irrelevant,’ Owain said. ‘Even if he does survive there will be nothing for him to return to. We must be absolute in that. Our supporters are ready.’

‘There will be resistance,’ Buate warned.

‘Lady take them,’ Tannarl said. ‘I say we don’t wait any—’

The Waterwalker rose smoothly through the floor of the records chamber, his black cloak enveloping him like an extinguished nebula. He studied each one of the conspirators sitting around the table. Several had risen to their feet, hands reaching for their pistols. A motion which died as he gave them a lofty dismissive smile.

‘The election has given us a Mayor and a full Council,’ the Waterwalker said. ‘There will be no change, no revolution. We are not One Nation until we choose to be so.’

‘What are you proposing?’ Owain asked.

‘I am proposing nothing. Your time is over.’

‘This time, maybe,’ Bise snarled. ‘But there will be other opportunities.’

‘No, there won’t,’ the Waterwalker told him. ‘I’ve already seen what happens if you win.’

Owain frowned at the strange claim. Uneasy thoughts were stirring beneath his normally resolute shield.

‘You cannot arrest us,’ Mistress Florrel said. ‘Our kind are not accountable in common law courts. And we have many allies in the Upper Council where you would need to enact judgement.’

‘Quite right,’ the Waterwalker agreed. ‘It would be pointless.’

Tannarl strode across the chamber, his third hand reaching out. The big lock on the inner door turned sharply, its intricate combination bands spinning round until the bolts were freed. They withdrew, and the door swung open. There were several sharp breaths. The door opened on to a smooth section of grey wall. There was no way out of the chamber.

‘I have heard many times from your followers that I am weak,’ the Waterwalker said. ‘That I lack resolution. If you believe that, you don’t know me at all. This revolution will end here, now. Without you, it cannot happen. Without the rapid-fire guns it cannot be attempted ever again. Makkathran will remain a democracy.’ His cloak parted, and he held an arm out, palm down. A rapid-fire gun slipped up through the floor and rose into his hand. He closed his fingers around it.

‘No,’ Owain said. ‘This is against everything you stand for.’

‘You really shouldn’t believe everything a heartbroken teenage girl tells you.’

Owain grimaced as his fear began to manifest.

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Mistress Florrel said. ‘My family will not permit this.’

‘It is my family now,’ Edeard told her calmly.

Eleven third hands pushed and hammered against the Waterwalker’s shield, trying to find a weakness, a way though. Longshouts for help were hurled at the impermeable chamber walls.

‘For all of my life I have known that sometimes to do what’s right, you first have to do what’s wrong,’ the Waterwalker told them. ‘Now I realize the truth of it. That is what I am.’ His finger squeezed down on the trigger. He held it there until the magazine was empty.

Storage vault five contained over three hundred rapid-fire guns. They were wrapped in oiled cloth, sitting on racks that formed neat ranks across the floor.

Edeard replaced the one he’d used on its rack. He asked the city to dispose of them all. The floor beneath the racks changed, becoming porous, and the dreadful weapons sank down to oblivion.

His farsight swept out, examining the other vaults. Storage vault eight contained the bullets used by the rapid-fire guns. The city quietly absorbed the crates. Vault two had the long-barrelled pistols. Seventeen housed some huge guns, their barrels as big as his legs, mounted on little wheeled trolleys. Iron balls larger than his fist were stacked in pyramids beside them – the bullets, he realized. He shuddered as he imagined the damage they could cause. All sank away. Finally, the shelving cabinets in the chamber of records slid beneath the solid floor.

The secret power of the Weapons Guild was no more. There would never be an internal threat to Makkathran’s Grand Council and Mayor again.

Apart from the elections. And the Guild quarrels. And the merchants manoeuvring and bribing for gain. And the Grand Families struggling for advantage.

He grinned at the thought of it all. That crazy, wondrous life lived by Makkathran’s citizens.
It’s all Finitan’s problem now.

The warm afternoon light lit up the white pillars that lined Golden Park. Even the last bloom on the bushes and vines glowed with an exotic splendour in celebration of what had been an exceptionally pleasant summer. Edeard walked for some way across its elegant paths, drawing his thoughts together. Resolving to do what he must.

It was hard for his farsight to search out the frail souls of his parents. He stood beside one of the pillars along the Champ Canal side of Golden Park, bathed in the rich light reflected off the metal, extending his ability to its utmost.

They were there. A few feet away, watching him as always. ‘Thank you,’ he told them.

‘You can see us?’ his mother asked in surprise.

‘Yes, Mother. I can see you now.’

‘My son.’

‘Father. You’ve taken such care of me, more than I ever deserved.’

‘What were we supposed to do? You are all that remains of us.’

‘Not any more. I have a wife now. We will have children. They will have more. Everything you are will go on through them.’

‘We should watch for them,’ his mother said, she sounded uncertain.

‘No,’ Edeard said. ‘It is time for you to let go. I can take care of myself now, more than you know. The price you have paid for watching me is too high. You cannot do this any more. You must go to the Heart. There is still time. There is always time.’

‘Oh Edeard.’

‘Here.’ He held out a hand. His mother reached out, touching his fingertips. He fought against wincing as the debilitating cold burned him. Instead, he smiled in reverence as she took substance before him. ‘Goodbye, Mother,’ he said, and brushed his lips to hers. ‘We will be together in the Heart one day, I promise.’

Her sorrow and regret were dreadfully poignant. But she smiled as she withdrew from his touch. His father held her closely.

‘Journey well,’ Edeard told them. He watched them fade up into the warm clear blue sky, refusing to acknowledge any remorse.

A lot of people were using Golden Park that afternoon, taking advantage of the lingering summer. Children raced over the grassy areas, playing elaborate games of catch. Apprentices bunking off duties gathered in the shade of the park’s huge martoz trees, sharing bottles of beer and gossip about their Masters.

Salrana walked along one of the crushed slate paths, enjoying the activity. Lads eyed her wishfully, although her crisp blue and white Novice robes proved too great a barrier for any casual attempt to attract her attention. She crossed the ginger sandstone bridge into Ysidro. Right ahead of her was the Blue Fox tavern, a circular three-storey building with a strange hexagonal rustication pattern embossed on the coppery wall. Its slim lancet windows made it seem taller than it actually was. She hesitated for a moment before slipping in through one of the smaller side doors, something swirled on the periphery of her farsight, as if a pillar of fog had gusted down the alleyway. She frowned, but it didn’t resolve in her senses, so she scurried up the stairs to the third floor.

The Blue Fox was favoured by Grand Family members as a place to conduct their liaisons; the exceptionally thick walls of the rooms eliminated the need to maintain a seclusion haze. Privacy was guaranteed against all but the most exceptional psychics. Salrana used the key she’d been given to unlock the door of a reserved room.

Sunlight was diffused by the tinted gauze covering the windows. More fabrics were draped over the walls. Candles flickered on the dresser, giving off a thick musky scent. The big bed was strewn with silk sheets and fur blankets.

Salrana’s lover was waiting for her beside the bed. Flushed with anticipation, Salrana removed her Novice robe to show off the delicate lace camisole she wore underneath, a recent gift from her lover. That same lover drew her close and kissed her. Gentle hands undid the topmost bow on the camisole. Another kiss was given. The next bow was undone. More kisses, each one more intimate. The camisole fell open at the front. A whimper of excitement sounded deep in Salrana’s throat, she couldn’t contain herself any further, and clung to her lover, returning the kisses fiercely.

Edeard discarded his concealment. Salrana jumped in shock. Her mind radiated guilt.

‘You,’ Edeard said sourly. ‘I should have guessed. I really should.’

‘But you didn’t, did you?’ Ranalee said disdainfully; she pulled her own satin negligee up, and combed some of her dishevelled hair back into place. ‘I thought you had left the city.’

‘Yes. A lot of people made that mistake. Your friends. Your family. Your fellow conspirators.’

Ranalee’s eyes widened. Surprise shone there at first, then she became alarmed as her directed longtalk questions went unanswered. ‘What have you done?’ she hissed.

‘They won’t answer you. Not now. Not ever.’

‘Father?’ she gasped.

‘The Lady will bless his soul, I’m sure. I doubt anyone else will.’

‘Bastard!’ Ranalee was trembling, on the verge of tears.

‘You were planning worse for me, far worse.’

Ranalee recovered to glare at him defiantly. ‘So what do you plan for me?’

‘Nothing. Because you are nothing without Owain and your family. Owner of a bordello. What is that? Not anything.’

Salrana took a hesitant step forwards. ‘Edeard—’

‘Not a word from you. I don’t blame you. Do you know what they did to your mind, what this vixen can do?’ Even as he spoke he could sense the difference in Salrana’s unshielded thoughts. The harshness that flowed where once there had only been contentment and geniality.

‘Of course she does,’ Ranalee gloated. Her arm went protectively round Salrana, who leant in closer, seeking reassurance. ‘I showed her a real life.’

‘They used your anger with me for abandoning you. This . . . this agent of Honious, came for you when you were vulnerable. It was no accident she met you. It was not chance. I know what she’s like, Salrana. She has a perverted skill that can twist your very thoughts, she warps what should be something beautiful into something diseased. It’s not love you feel for her, it is a wretched corruption of the affection your true self can experience.’

‘No,’ Salrana interrupted with soft insistence. ‘It was I who found Ranalee.’

‘They exploited you. Her. Owain. The rest. Their only interest is in your past, our background. Lady, you’re just another weapon to use against me. You’re supposed to lure me out of the city if the ambush failed, remember?’

Salrana gave Ranalee a startled look, then faced Edeard again. ‘I wouldn’t have done it.’

‘Ha!’ Edeard closed his eyes to mute the pain seeing her like this brought him. ‘You would. Please, Salrana, I can help you. There are others who can show you how they abused your thoughts, how this evil whore bewitched you.’

‘So you can do what?’ Salrana snapped, suddenly angry. ‘Take Ranalee from me? Leave me with nothing? Again?’

‘That’s not—’

‘I am myself.’

‘They were going to
breed
you. In the Lady’s name, you know that’s not right.’

‘Your strength made you the Waterwalker,’ Ranalee said. ‘Your power attracted Kristabel to you, and now you are part of a Grand Family, you have their wealth and estate at your disposal. Your children will be born to a privilege no one in your pitiful Ashwell could ever comprehend. Why can’t Salrana have children that are strong? Why can’t Salrana have children who will enjoy that same cushion of money?’