The Temporal Void (27 page)

‘Eddis, my husband,’ the woman barked. ‘You exiled him. Threw him out of his own house. We live in Fonscale Street. Now you bastards come along and tell him he’s banned from Silvarum, where we’ve lived for seven years. He can’t come home. Can’t come to the house my family has lived in for three centuries. What kind of a law is that, eh? So you tell me, where do I go? How do I feed the children without their father. Eh? Answer me, you backward country shite.’

Edeard just stared at her, his mind a shocked blank. Boyd groaned, and rolled his eyes up, appealing to the Lady. ‘Oh crapit,’ he groaned.

Kanseen was having none of it. ‘How did he feed them before?’ she asked. ‘What job did your husband have?’

‘Go to Honious, bitch. You’ve done this to us. You’ve ruined our lives.’

‘What job?’

‘He’s a good man. He put food on the table for us. He loved his kiddies.’

‘Yours maybe,’ Kanseen said. ‘But he hurt other children, didn’t he? Threatened them, hit them, made their parents hand over money they’d worked hard for.’

‘He never did.’ She covered the eldest boy’s ears. ‘Lies. That’s what you speak: lies! You’ll all go to Honious. Eddis worked in the abattoir on Crompton Alley. Dirty work, hard work that no genistar can do.’

‘You knew what he did,’ Kanseen snarled. ‘If you miss him, then go to him, follow him to his new home. But remember this, we will wipe the city clean of his kind. After this year, there’ll be no more of him.’

The woman spat at Kanseen, who swatted it away with her third hand. All three children were crying now.

‘I want you to tell Eddis something from me,’ Edeard said. ‘Tell him that if he leaves the gang behind, if he finds himself a proper job – and there’s plenty to be had – he’ll be welcome back in Fonscale Street. I’ll cancel the warrant myself. That’s all he’s got to do.’

‘Screw you!’ She pulled at her children. ‘You know nothing about life. Ivarl will dance on your ashes yet. And no Skylord will ever rescue your soul.’

Macsen touched the brim of his hat as she stomped off down the street. ‘Thank you, madam, always a pleasure to help the citizenry,’ but he didn’t say it very loud.

‘You okay?’ Kanseen asked.

‘Yeah.’ Edeard gave her a shaky nod. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. Lady, how many families have been split up like that?’

‘Are you serious?’ an incredulous Kanseen asked. ‘What about the families of Eddis’s victims? The people you’re supposed to be helping? Isoix and his children? Don’t they deserve some consideration?’

‘Yes, sorry,’ he hung his head. ‘I just wasn’t expecting this to be so hard.’

‘Cheer up,’ Boyd said, and put his arm round Edeard. ‘It can only get worse.’

Edeard was about to remonstrate, then saw Boyd’s mocking expression, and he managed a weak smile. ‘Much worse.’

‘Far, far worse,’ Macsen promised.

‘Let’s go and see what misery and torment Walsfol has in store for us then.’

As he set off with his friends, Edeard chastised himself for not expecting such an ambush. The only real surprise was that it hadn’t happened earlier. Although they’d managed to add another fifty warrants to the original batch, fifteen had been cancelled. There had been a few genuine cases of mistaken identity, but more than one person in the associations had used the scheme to settle an old grudge. Then there were some traders who’d taken advantage in order to get commercial rivals banned from the district, reducing competition. Each reported case of abuse had to be properly reviewed and sorted out, which took a great deal of time for the constables – but not as long as a court case, as Edeard had to keep pointing out to the grumbling Masters and station captains.

But even with the troubles and abuse and legal challenges and the racketeers’ unrelenting attempts to get past, he considered it a success. And in that he wasn’t alone. The gangs had made hardly any collections in Jeavons and Silvarum, and only two traders had been assaulted before the constables arrived. Makkathran’s remaining districts had watched the results keenly. Under continuing pressure the Masters of Haxpen, Lillylight, Drupe, Ilongo, and Padua were drawing up their own warrants and talking to the station captains about enforcement. In another couple of days, they could well be signed. Tomorrow was the last day of Vologral’s three-week trial. Not that the District Master and Representatives would have the final say. Not any more. The Grand Council was due to convene to debate the ‘disturbance’ to city life caused by the reintroduction of the exclusion warrants. Finitan was leading the bloc of Councillors arguing their benefit. If they lost, the warrants would be revoked; and as Finitan had told him, Bise was preparing an act to rescind the original law. He had a lot of tacit support, Finitan said, because no one was sure where the whole thing would end. Was it the Waterwalker’s intention to turn Sampalok into a criminal ghetto, cut off from the rest of the city? And exactly how did such a young inexperienced constable come to lead such a campaign in the first place? Politically, the Masters were becoming very nervous of Edeard. Finitan was coming under increasing pressure from his fellow Masters to produce a valid conclusion to the campaign.

Edeard didn’t actually have one. When he did think that far ahead, to a time every district had issued warrants, he’d assumed the Grand Council would step in with a final solution. Expulsion was his preferred option, though he wasn’t sure how that would be achieved, nor where the gang members would be banished to. He’d just wanted to start the ball rolling, to give people hope. Only now were the true consequences becoming apparent.

Though even he had to laugh when on the day after Cherix received his ducking in Birmingham Pool, District Master Bise very publically signed an exclusion warrant preventing Edeard from entering Sampalok. Less amusing was the dignified announcement from the Pythia saying that she would never prohibit anyone from entering Eyrie to attend the Lady’s church. Owain also declared no warrants would apply to Anemone and Majate, so that all citizens would be able to reach the seat of government, a right which Rah himself had laid down. And as for the protestations from the Gondoliers Guild about restricting their trade . . . There had never been a gondola strike in Makkathran before. Even though it had only lasted a day, it shocked everyone. There were threats that more would be called, especially if the vote in the Grand Council tomorrow didn’t go the way the gondoliers wanted. The Dockers Guild had also pitched in with a promise to support the gondoliers.

Thankfully, Edeard was getting a lot of support and encouragement from various traders and merchants. Ordinary people, too, were grateful, if their reaction to the constable squads on bridge duty were anything to go by.

Edeard just wanted tomorrow’s Council debate to be over, one way or the other. The weight of expectation that had fallen on him was awesome.

Dinlay was waiting outside the main entrance of the Culverit family mansion. The first rays of sunlight had already reached the highest level of the ten-storey ziggurat, to glint on the huge horseshoe arch windows. Five pistol-carrying guards with the family’s insignia on their coats opened the grand iron-bound front gate. The squad walked in through the giant archway to find themselves in a broad courtyard. Vivid topaz climbing roses smothered the pillars on every side, while tall granite statues of past Culverit Masters and Mistresses gazed down sternly. An equerry greeted them and ushered them inside. Edeard sighed when confronted with a spiral stair.

‘I suppose the family live on the top floor,’ he muttered to Boyd.

‘The Master’s family do, of course.’

The summit of the mansion was a house larger than the Jeavons constable station, surrounded on each side by a strip of hortus garden. It was the traditional residence of the District Master, with the lower floors occupied by dozens of relatives and household staff and clerks who administered his estates.

As they ascended, Edeard became very conscious of the mood swirling round him. There was anger, predominant in the men, and a great deal of fright and sorrow.

‘Something bad has happened here,’ he said quietly. Macsen gave a short uncomfortable nod of agreement.

Walsfol and Julan were waiting for them on the upper hortus garden that faced the Grand Major Canal. Even so early, the Chief Constable was wearing a pristine tunic, his gold buttons shining brightly in the rising sun. Julan, by contrast, was one of the few aristocrats who showed his age. A hundred and fifty three years made his shoulders sag, and his grey hair thin. He wore a rumpled house robe over his nightshirt. His eyes were red rimmed, and sunken with abject despair.

The squad had brought Edeard up to date with Culverit family gossip on the way over. Now, as never before, they were the subject of intense speculation and discussion within the rest of Makkathran’s aristocracy. Master Julan had married very late in life. In itself that wasn’t too unusual among his class. It was a truly romantic marriage. Apparently he fell completely in love with his wife (a hundred and eight years his junior) as soon as they were introduced, and was utterly devoted to her until her tragic, untimely death six years ago. Though what scandalized everyone was that the first child she produced had been a daughter, Kristabel, as was their second child, during whose birth she’d died. There was no son to inherit. It was almost without precedent in the city. But to the dismay of Lorin, Julan’s younger brother, there was a clause in the Culvert family’s legally registered claim to the Haxpen District to allow the lineage continuation through a daughter if there were no sons. The situation had occurred only twice before in Makkathran’s two-thousand-year history.

Consequently, Julan was estranged from a good percentage of his relatives; meanwhile Kristabel was the most desired girl in the city, with every noble son desperate for an introduction. Any party she was due to attend was besieged by potential suitors. ‘And Lady, wouldn’t you just know it, she’s an exceptionally pretty thing, too,’ Macsen had finished wistfully.

‘We have a problem,’ Walsfol announced as soon as the squad was ushered on to the high terrace. ‘No doubt the entire city will know by breakfast, but Mirnatha has been abducted.’

Edeard risked a sideways glance at Dinlay.

‘The second daughter,’ Dinlay explained with direct longtalk.

‘I’m terribly sorry, sir,’ Edeard said to Julan. ‘Obviously, if I can do anything to help, I will.’

Julan’s distress abated long enough for him to give Edeard a fierce judgmental stare. He held up a small square of paper. ‘You can start by explaining this.’

Edeard gave him a puzzled look, and appealed to Walsfol. The Chief Constable gently extracted the paper from Julan and handed it to Edeard. ‘A ge-eagle delivered it not quite an hour ago.’

With a sinking heart, Edeard read the note.

‘Oh, Lady, no,’ Edeard groaned.

‘I can’t order you to deliver the money,’ Walsfol said.

‘You don’t have to, sir, I’ll take it of course. Er . . . do you have the money?’ he asked Julan. With that much coinage you could buy Rulan province and still have enough left over for a fleet of the fastest merchant vessels.

‘It can be found, yes.’

‘Where’s Owestorn?’

‘It’s a village out on the Iguru,’ Dinlay said. ‘Maybe two hours’ ride from South Gate.’

A long way from any possible help, Edeard realized, and even I can’t longtalk that far. ‘The note was delivered after Mirnatha was taken,’ he said delicately. ‘Is there any proof that it came from those who hold her?’

Julan held up his hand. His fingers clenched a blue ribbon with a long tuft of gold-brown hair. ‘This was attached.’

‘I understand.’

Tears were running down the old man’s cheeks. ‘The ribbon was from her nightdress. I know it was. I kissed her goodnight. I kiss my Mirnatha every night. She is so precious—’ He began to cry, sobbing helplessly. Walsfol moved to comfort him. ‘We’ll have her back for you, my friend, be assured. Every effort will be made. The constabulary will not rest until she is in your arms again.’

‘She is but a child,’ Julan wailed. ‘Six years old! Who could do such a thing? Why?’ He stared wildly at Edeard. ‘Why have they done this? What is your part in this? Why you? Why can’t I go? She’s my baby.’

‘I don’t know, sir.’ Somehow, just having so much anguish directed at him made Edeard feel shamed.

‘Of course you do,’ a thin voice snapped.

Edeard’s farsight identified her being helped though the doorway behind him out on to the hortus, but he didn’t want to turn round.

‘It is your fault,’ Mistress Florrel insisted. ‘And yours alone. You caused this with your ridiculous crusade against the gangs. Why couldn’t you just leave things well alone? Nobody was being harmed. This city worked perfectly well before you arrived.’

Edeard took a deep breath, trying to keep a shield around the growing anger in his mind. Mistress Florrel was in one of her usual archaic black dresses, wearing a tall hat that seemed to have purple fruit growing out of it. A man in fine aristocratic robes was holding her arm as she made her way slowly towards Edeard.

‘Lorin,’ Macsen murmured. ‘Julan’s younger brother.’

Mistress Florrel stood directly in front of Edeard, her shoulders all hunched up as if in sorrow; but still managed to fix him with a merciless stare. ‘Well?’

‘Mistress Florrel.’

‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

‘I will bring the girl back and deal with those responsible.’

‘You will do no such thing. You will hand the money over as you’re told. Nothing more. I don’t want this made any worse by your wretched stupidity. Officers from the militia will take full charge of things from now on. Gentlemen of good character and family, that’s what we need. Not some country buffoon.’