The Temporal Void (41 page)

‘We’re splitting into political groups,’ Kristabel whispered into his ear an hour into the party. ‘How very Makkathran of us.’

Edeard scanned round with his farsight. She was right. Three distinct groups of Masters had collected on the Malfit Hall’s black floor. One led by Finitan, who was all smiles and enthusiasm, with District Masters who’d joined the exclusion campaign. Most vociferous among them was Julan, who was almost unrecognizable as the broken man of the Festival of Guidance. His enthusiasm was sweeping people along as he greeted families to congratulate them; they weren’t used to talking to District Masters, let alone ones so effusive and pleasant.

‘Your father is a talented politician,’ Edeard observed.

‘Try and say that as if it was a good thing.’ Her third hand pinched him sharply on his buttock.

Edeard resisted the impulse to return the jab. Finitan caught his eye and smiled approvingly at Kristabel before turning back to the head of the Fiacre pottery association whose third daughter had just received her epaulettes. There were another eight District Masters in their group, representing Jeavons, Silvarum, Zelda, Drupe, Tosella, Lillylight, Ilongo, and Padua. Finitan also had the Masters for Vaji, Cobara, and Myco in his orbit, where they were being assiduously courted for their support.

The biggest group, clustering together in the middle of the hall, were the undecided. Still the majority of districts.

Then there were those who formed a picket around Owain. The most traditional families, Edeard noted, with Bise at their centre. They too were glad-handing, chatting happily with the new constables. He was rather perturbed to see the Pythia was among them. Surely she could see the exclusion warrants needed to be extended? Then he remembered she had gently refused to prohibit anyone from entering Eyrie. It had been reasonable enough, people should be allowed to attend the Lady’s church.

‘This division isn’t good,’ he said to Kristabel as the guests started to leave. ‘Makkathran needs to be united if we’re to defeat the gangs.’

‘Quite.’ She led him over to Finitan and her father.

‘Welcome back,’ Julan said. He embraced his daughter, then shook hands with Edeard. There was a slight pause when he looked at Edeard, as if expecting something. Finitan, too, seemed to be waiting. Edeard wasn’t sure what to say.

‘Right then,’ Finitan said. ‘This is as good a time as any. Edeard, while you and Kristabel were away, we’ve been pressuring the remaining District Masters and Representatives to join the exclusion warrants scheme, sadly to little avail. The Mayor has been equally effusive in opposition to it.’

‘But why?’ Edeard asked.

‘Because, as he rightly points out, we have no conclusion, no final answer as to what to do with these people.’

‘I do,’ Edeard said, feeling confident after everything he and Kristabel had talked about.

‘You do?’ Finitan asked.

‘Yes, sir. The only thing we can do. Banishment.’

‘Ah. That’s a bold statement, young Edeard.’

He grinned sheepishly at Kristabel. ‘It was pointed out to me that, although it sounds drastic, the actual numbers of people we need to get rid of are tiny in relation to the city’s overall population.’

Finitan and Julan exchanged a look. ‘That makes this easier then,’ Finitan said. ‘It’s quite plain that Owain is going to steer this into another clash in Council, and delaying tactics will work in his favour. We need to grab the initiative back from him, and proposing banishment is exactly the kind of prospect that will galvanize people into supporting us.’

Edeard glanced over at the Masters gathered around Owain. ‘I don’t understand, I expected it would make things worse in Council.’

‘It will,’ Finitan said with a smile. ‘And we can capitalize on that division.’

‘Ah,’ Kristabel said, she nodded in understanding. ‘Of course.’

‘Of course, what?’ Edeard said.

‘I am going to announce my candidature for Mayor,’ Finitan said. ‘And banishing the gangs will by my campaign pledge to the people of Makkathran.’

‘What did he say?’ Boyd asked as the squad made its way back to Jeavons station after the ceremony.

‘That he’s going to run for Mayor,’ Edeard told them all. He was still taken aback by the notion, though the excitement was growing.
With Finitan in charge, so many things can change.
‘There’ll be a party in the Blue Tower tonight so he can make a public announcement.’

‘Not Finitan, you arse,’ Macsen snapped. ‘Master Julan?’

‘Julan? He didn’t say anything. But with his support, Finitan stands a real chance.’

‘All right,’ Kanseen said. ‘Forget that. What did you say?’

‘I said that I’d support him in any way I could.’

They all gave each other puzzled looks. Edeard could sense their minds closing against him, but not before several traces of irritation and disappointment were manifested. He guessed taking a week off had annoyed them more than he’d realized at the time.

‘Okay then, at least we’ve been busy,’ Dinlay said as they passed through the station’s main gate. ‘Unfortunately, so have the gangs. The gondoliers pulled another body from the canal last Thursday. The second son of a cloth merchant from Igadi district.’

‘Lady!’ Edeard groaned. ‘It didn’t take them long to regain their courage.’

They settled in the small hall. Dinlay’s third hand shut the doors behind them. Kanseen sat down on one of the tables, her boots resting on a bench. Macsen directed a ge-chimp to fetch some water. ‘That was very cheap wine at the party,’ he complained as he gulped down several mouthfuls from a glass tankard.

Dinlay pulled a bench over to sit opposite Edeard. His face was exhibiting a great deal of contentment. Boyd sat next to him, trying not to show too much amusement at his squadmate’s attitude.

‘So what did the second son do to annoy the gangs?’ Edeard asked.

‘Nothing,’ Dinlay said. ‘They’re using a variant on the old extortion racket.’

‘A clever one,’ Macsen said, finishing his second tankard of water.

‘They’re not bothering with small shops and stalls any more,’ Dinlay explained. ‘They’ve moved up a social class to target the smaller merchants. And they don’t ask for money, they want a share of the business itself.’

‘It’s a route to legitimacy,’ Kanseen said.

‘If you’ve got a warehouse full of stock, someone comes along and asks if they can buy a share in your venture. But the thing is, they want to defer payment for that percentage.’

‘It’ll come out of increased profits, is what they usually say,’ Boyd said. ‘So far, nothing criminal. Certainly nothing you can use to complain to the constables or courts.’

‘Except you know who it is and what they’re asking,’ Dinlay continued. ‘They make that very clear. If you don’t comply, then a family member gets hurt.’

‘Or in some cases, murdered,’ Macsen said. ‘As with the cloth merchant’s son. Which is extreme, but those are the cases we get to hear about.’

‘So we don’t know how widespread it is,’ Edeard said.

‘No. But everyone is complaining about how prices are creeping up, and there’s no reason. There’s no shortage of anything; the port is crowded with ships delivering cargo, and the city’s warehouses are full.’

‘The lower and middle level of merchants don’t have the kind of protective associations which shops and small traders have,’ Kanseen said. ‘Their commercial rivalry precludes almost all cooperation.’

‘But they have personal guards,’ Edeard said.

‘No, they don’t,’ Dinlay said. ‘Oh, the patriarch will have some toughs with him when he collects large payments from clients, or pays a ship’s captain, but we’re not talking about the kind of small army which the Grand Families employ here. These merchants have large families who are completely unprotected, and they’re a vital part of Makkathran’s economy.’

‘I see,’ Edeard said. He had hoped for a brief respite after he got back, but he should have known better. ‘So we need to identify who—’

‘No, we don’t,’ Dinlay said merrily.

‘We don’t?’

‘Already done it.’

‘Ah.’ Now a lot of the squad’s attitude became clearer to Edeard. He looked round, seeing their smug faces. ‘So what do you need me for?’

‘To provide us with brute strength back-up during the arrest,’ Macsen said with an innocent tone.

Edeard laughed. ‘Tell me.’

‘First the bad news,’ Boyd said. ‘The House of Blue Petals has a new owner.’

‘Who?’ Edeard asked sharply.

Boyd gave Dinlay a sly glance, as if seeking approval. ‘Buate.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Nobody had,’ Boyd said. ‘Turns out he’s Ivarl’s half-brother.’

‘Oh, great.’

‘Would you like the bad news now?’ Macsen asked.

Edeard gave him a brusque stare.

‘Rumour has it that Buate has a partner.’

‘Go on.’

‘Ranalee.’

Edeard dropped his face into his hands, and chuckled softly.
I should have seen that coming, especially after Tannarl teamed up with Ivarl that night.

‘Edeard?’ Kanseen queried.

‘Actually, that’s good news,’ he told them.

‘It is?’

‘We finally have a link between the gangs and a Grand Family. Can we prove she’s the partner?’

‘The Occupancy Deed is filed at the city Registry,’ Dinlay said, taking off his glasses to give them a polish. ‘It’s considered privileged unless a crime has been committed either on the premises or by the owner. We could lodge a request in the lower court to view it. But all it tells us is who’s claimed residence rights to the structure, and as we know Buate is family it won’t tell us anything new. And the articles of corporation governing the Blue Petal’s business will be held by the Guild of Tax Clerks. However, the nature of the business means the arrangement with Ranalee isn’t likely to be written down anywhere.’

‘So it’s just hearsay?’

Dinlay shrugged. ‘Yes.’

‘And this is what you managed to discover while I was away?’

‘As my soon-to-be-father says, everyone’s a critic,’ Macsen said with mock dismay. ‘No, actually, we have been doing difficult observation work under dangerous conditions for little pay and scant thanks from our corporal and station captain.’

‘For the love of the Lady, will you tell me what is going on?’

‘We followed several gang members who are covered by exclusion warrants – with good reason. One of them was a member of an enforcer crew,’ Dinlay said, grinning broadly. ‘They’ve just told a merchant called Charyau in Neph that they want a third of his business. He imports salsponge.’

‘What the heck is salsponge?’ Edeard demanded. ‘And I swear on the Lady if just one of you gives me that pitying look over this I will dump the lot of you headfirst in Birmingham Pool and hold you under.’

Boyd opened his mouth ready to explain. A frown creased his forehead, and he turned to Macsen. Macsen pursed his lips and gave Kanseen inquisitive stare.

‘Well don’t ask me,’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard of it before.’

‘It must be valuable,’ Dinlay mused. ‘Charyau has a big family, who dress in fine clothes and carouse all over the city; and there’s also two mistresses he covers in jewellery.’

‘Did he agree to their terms?’ Edeard asked.

‘No,’ Boyd said. ‘The Lady blessed him with a backbone and a lot of pompous bluster. He refused.’

‘So we followed the enforcer crew home to Sampalok.’

‘You went into Sampalok?’ Edeard asked in surprise.

‘Like I said: difficult and dangerous,’ Macsen announced portentously. ‘Which is why we know that they’re going to kick the crap out of Rapsail, Charyau’s firstborn, as the first warning. And they’re going to do it tonight.’

‘Where?’ Edeard asked eagerly.

Riorn Street was a sinuous pathway on the northernmost corner of Abad, linking the Roseway Canal to the Great Major Canal. The buildings which made up its walls were all tall and imposing, though one of them did incline outwards, allowing broad strands of unkempt gurkvine to dangle down from the eves like a living partition along the street. It was the building next to the overhanging vegetation which housed the Reckless Colonel, a restaurant and theatre of good repute, where the wealthier sons of the city’s gentlemen congregated for a pleasurable night among their own.

Good, expensive food was to be found on the starched white linen cloths of its hexagonal tables; the cellar was stocked with an enviable selection of vintage wines from across Querencia. The lounge area offered deep and cosy chairs and settees, while the dancers who graced the stage performed their elegant moves with amazing agility to the pitch-perfect house band. Five large doormen stood outside the glossy wooden doors, physically and telekinetically strong, their presence alone enough to deter anyone foolish enough to be born beneath a certain status in life.

It was after two o’clock in the morning when one of them tipped his tall peaked hat to Rapsail, who tottered unsteadily down the three awkward steps to the pavement. A heavy rain was lashing the street, dimming the orange lights shining down from the building walls. Rapsail tightened his leather cloak around his long blue and scarlet jacket as he grunted his inebriated ‘goodnight’ to the doormen, and began to weave an unsteady route towards the Great Major Canal.

Alcohol suppressed his farsight as much as it did his optical focus. He had no awareness of the five men lurking in the deeper shadows and alleys off Riorn Street. Nor did he notice as they emerged from their secluded refuges to walk both behind and alongside him. It was only as they started to close in that he frowned with intoxicated confusion.

‘I say, hello you fellows,’ he slurred.

A third hand closed around his ankles. For a moment his legs moved sluggishly, then he peered down at his immobile feet. Rapsail blinked down at his polished leather shoes with their fashionable brass and silver buckles. They didn’t seem to be doing what he wanted, which was to get him far, far away from this place.

‘I say, that’s off.’

One of his assailants laughed. They circled him now, dark spectres with hoods pulled over their heads, faces shadowed and wreathed with a seclusion haze. Rain pattered heavily on their oilskin cloaks to form quick rivulets over the fabric.