The Temporal Void (42 page)

‘What do you want?’ Rapsail’s instinctive self-preservation was starting to get through his alcohol-saturated brain. He tried to longshout, but that required too much concentration.

A hand tugged his hood away from his head.

‘I warn you, I have friends in this city. Powerful friends.’

‘This is a message for your father,’ Medath, the enforcer crew’s leader said.

‘What message?’ Rapsail asked as the rain slicked down his hair.

‘He’ll understand.’

A fist slammed into Rapsail’s podgy stomach. The young man doubled up immediately, falling to his knees. Tears of pain mingled with the rain on his cheeks. ‘Oh sweet Lady, no. I have money. Please.’

‘It’s not your cash we want,’ Medath explained patiently. ‘It’s your inheritance.’

Two of the men pulled leather-weighted coshes from under their cloaks, while two more used their third hands to pinion Rapsail in his cowed position.

‘After all,’ Medath said reasonably. ‘You won’t be needing it. Cripples don’t have anything to spend it on.’

Rapsail whimpered piteously.

‘Damage him,’ Medath ordered. ‘Badly.’

Two coshes were raised into the air, slick with water. They kept on rising, pulled out of grasping fingers to whirl away into the night. Both men grunted in surprise. Medath fell into a crouch, long blades sliding into his hands. He scanned round with his farsight, probing every doorway and alcove along the street as his telekinetic shield hardened. One of the other enforcers aimed a kick at Rapsail’s head. His boot was yanked backwards, sending him crashing down. There was a sickening
slap
as his face smacked flat on to the pavement. He yelled ‘Help me’ through the blood pouring out of his mouth and nose. Then froze in terror as he was tugged violently across the pavement. He slid away from his comrades at frightening speed, hands scrabbling at the wet surface to no effect. His shrieks were cut off as he vanished round the corner.

‘Dear Lady!’ another gasped. He started to run. His feet left the ground, and he was propelled through the air to crash into the nearest wall. He crumpled to the ground, stunned.

The remaining three enforcers closed together. Medath kept his blades held ready; the others drew pistols. Laughter echoed down the street. It was too much for one. He fired at a clutch of shadows. The bullet stopped a mere couple of feet from the pistol muzzle, hanging in mid-air. Raindrops curved neatly around it.

‘Waterwalker,’ Medath breathed.

‘Good evening.’ Edeard walked forward, his body becoming visible amid the wavering shadows and unceasing rain as he reached the middle of the street. The rain avoided him, parting above his head to leave his splendid new tunic perfectly dry. Behind him, Kanseen and Dinlay emerged from nowhere.

‘You’re under arrest,’ Edeard said. He extended a hand, and the two pistols were wrenched out of their owners’ fingers. ‘Cuff them,’ he told Dinlay. He turned to Kanseen. ‘Get the knives.’

Medath watched her approach. He rotated the blades skilfully, and proffered the handles towards her. Edeard was walking towards the enforcer who’d been flung against the wall, bending over as the man groaned weakly.

‘I’ll take those,’ Kanseen said, and held out a hand for the knives.

It was Medath’s one chance, he sent them flying towards her with a vigorous flick of his wrists. At the same time he shoved his third hand against Edeard with his full strength. ‘Fight them,’ he bellowed at his two accomplices. Kanseen stumbled as she warded off the knives, tumbling on to the pavement. Dinlay was grappling with one of the enforcers, while Edeard came to his aid, swiftly restraining the second with a resolute telekinetic grip. By the time they’d got them both subdued and cuffed, Medath had sprinted away. Edeard’s farsight followed him charging over the iron bridge just above Mid Pool.

Macsen and Boyd cast off their concealment. Boyd had the unconscious first enforcer slung over his shoulder. Macsen hurried over to Kanseen and helped her to her feet.

‘Well, that was humiliating,’ she said as she tried to brush water off her uniform trousers.

‘He believed it,’ Edeard said. His farsight showed him Medath was over the bridge and into Pholas Park.

‘For a real tough guy, he can run very fast,’ Boyd observed in amusement.

Edeard turned to the man he’d cuffed. ‘Hold your arms out, Sentan.’

‘You know my name.’

‘Of course I know your name. I know your house, I know what you ate for lunch, your girlfriend, your three children who’ve got themselves proper jobs. Now hold your arms out.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Edeard used his third hand to pull Sentan’s arms up. The man flinched at the force.

‘Please,’ he implored. ‘I . . . I’ll stop this. By the Lady I will.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Edeard said. He slipped the key into the cuffs and unlocked them. Sentan gave him a frightened look.

‘I’m not arresting you,’ Edeard said. ‘Any of you.’

‘Please, Waterwalker, oh please, no. Don’t kill me.’

‘Shut up. I’m tired of wasting my time in court with people like you. So this is what you’re going to do: leave.’

‘I . . . what?’ Sentan gasped.

‘You and your friends are going to leave Makkathran. Tonight. Now. My squad will escort you to the South Gate. You will walk through it and you will not come back.’

‘Where will I go?’

Edeard leaned forward, putting his face an inch from Sentan. ‘What do your victims do after you’ve beaten them, after you’ve snapped their bones and made their blood run over the floor of their homes while their children are made to watch, after they’ve been carried off screaming in pain to the hospital? They get on with their lives as best they can. Do you understand me now?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you come back. If you set foot in my city again. I will know. Do you believe that? Do you believe me?’

‘Yes. Yes, sir.’

‘Then go.’

Sentan bowed his head in defeat. Edeard went over to Rapsail, who was still kneeling on the ground. He was a mess, his trousers soaking wet, hair plastered against his head, cloak in disarray. ‘Thank you,’ he sobbed. ‘Thank you, Waterwalker.’

‘Get up,’ Edeard told him without sympathy. Behind him, Dinlay and Macsen were sorting out the cowed enforcer crew; moving them down the street on the start of their journey out of the city.

Rapsail managed to clamber to his feet, and stood swaying as the rain continued to lash against him. Edeard made an effort to calm down; he was sworn to protect Makkathran’s ordinary citizens, but people like Rapsail made it difficult to feel any empathy for his kind.

‘There’s a reason you were picked on tonight,’ Edeard said coldly. ‘Your father didn’t come to us, to me, when Medath’s friends gave him their ultimatum. If I don’t know what the gangs are up to, I cannot protect you from them. Tonight you were lucky, and for that you are in debt to my squad.’

‘Of course,’ Rapsail said. ‘Father will pay you handsomely for your services. We are gentlemen of honour.’

‘I do not want money,’ Edeard ground out.

Rapsail was sobering fast, even in his befuddled state he could sense Edeard’s anger. ‘Of course not, I apologize profusely, Waterwalker. Er, what do you want?’

‘Information. Your family is not the only one they have come visiting. Tomorrow, when you have sobered up, I will visit you and your father, and we will discuss how the constables can remove the gangs’ influence from your fellow merchants.’

‘Yes, yes of course.’

Edeard beckoned Kanseen over. ‘Get him back home in one piece. Tell his father I’ll be there in the morning.’

‘I’ve really got the good duties tonight, haven’t I?’

Edeard grinned awkwardly. ‘You did well, I know that wasn’t easy for you. Thank you.’

‘Huh!’ But she couldn’t help a small flash of gratification from leaking out. ‘Come on, sir,’ she said, and took a grip on Rapsail’s shoulder.

‘I say, a girl constable.’

‘Yes. Sir.’

‘And a jolly pretty one, too.’

Edeard and Boyd drew in a sharp breath together, wincing. But Kanseen allowed Rapsail to continue living.

‘Let me come with you, Edeard,’ Boyd said as the unlikely pair walked away. ‘Please.’

‘I can handle this.’

‘They nearly killed you last time.’

‘I was trying not to cause a fuss, then. I think we all know those days are behind us now.’

Boyd gave him a very sceptical stare. ‘All right.’

‘I need you to go back to the Reckless Colonel. Somebody there was longtalking directly to the enforcer crew. Make it clear to the owner he’s now on my shitlist; I want his full cooperation from now on. And see if you can turn the informer as well.’

‘Lady, is that all?’

‘We all have different abilities; that’s what makes us good as a team.’

‘All right, but just be careful.’

‘All I’m going to do is introduce myself.’

‘What if Ranalee’s there?’

‘The Lady isn’t that cruel. Is she?’

Edeard had stayed out of Myco ever since the night of the fire. He knew he was physically capable of protecting himself from anything Ivarl and his lieutenants could throw at him. What he lacked was motivation. He hadn’t quite lost his nerve as far as confronting Ivarl – or his replacement – was concerned. It was just that he needed time to restore his confidence. The kidnapping and Kristabel had done that.

Edeard slid up smoothly and silently, up through the city-altered floor into the lounge of the House of Blue Petals to find it nearly deserted. The doors were closed and locked. Two drunks were snoring on couches, with blankets thrown over them by considerate staff. Three ge-monkeys and a couple of tired stewards were busy in the room at the back, washing the last of the glasses. The fires in the iron stoves had sunk to a cosy red glimmer.

He took a good look round. The furniture was similar to last time, though it was all new of course. Even the piano looked the same. There were no globes full of oil, or any other container for that matter. No beagle, either.

Edeard shed his concealment, and walked up the stairs to the gallery. Several of the rooms were still occupied by girls and their clients. The madam and two doormen were sitting in a small parlour, eating a very late supper as they waited for the girls to finish.

It felt strange to be visible as he walked along the corridors and up stairs where before he had always crept about like a nervous ghost. As he approached the long room on the third floor which Ivarl used to hold court in, the doors swung open for him, pulled by someone’s third hand. Edeard walked through.

‘I wondered when you’d pay me a visit,’ Buate said.

That he and Ivarl shared a parent wasn’t in question. Edeard guessed it must be their father. He had the same broad forehead and strange green eyes. But where Ivarl’s powerful frame had started to inflate, Buate was slim and muscled, as if he’d spent his life doing hard physical work. He was also younger than his half-brother, probably no more than seventy, with luxuriant black hair arranged in trim ringlets that hung below his collar – a fashion that was current amid the Grand Families in the city’s northern districts. As was the expensive gold-embroidered leather waistcoat that he’d left unbuttoned to reveal a vivid scarlet shirt. His jewellery was more discreet than Ivarl’s, a couple of gold bands on his fingers, and one diamond stud earring. A very large diamond, Edeard noted.

Buate was sitting behind the desk, gazing at his visitor with aristocratic contempt. Unlike Ivarl, who had always kept the office tidy, there were papers and legal scrolls scattered everywhere. As if to counter the difference, Nanitte was there as before, sitting on a broad velvet-covered couch to one side of the desk; above her gauzy skirt she wore a strange narrow corset of leather straps that looked uncomfortably tight. She gave Edeard a blank stare, her mind perfectly shielded.

Edeard used his third hand to close the door. ‘It will only be the one visit,’ he said, deliberately ignoring Nanitte – though there might have been a bruise on her cheek, the light was too poor for him to be sure. ‘This kind of visit, anyway.’

Buate picked up a silver stiletto, playing with it absently. ‘And what is this kind of visit, Waterwalker?’

‘A friendly one.’

‘Indeed? What kind of friendship do you imagine we could have?’

‘Brief.’

Buate laughed. ‘I see why my dear brother enjoyed you as his sparring partner.’

‘I don’t remember seeing you at the funeral.’

‘I was busy in the provinces. I only returned to Makkathran after I heard the sad news.’

‘Do you know who killed him?’

‘I thought he drowned.’

‘No. He was dead long before he hit the water. Torture tends to do that.’

‘That’s awful. I trust you’re busy finding the criminals who did this.’

‘That’s one of the reasons I’m here.’

‘Ah. How interesting.’

‘Did you hear Grand Master Finitan has declared his candidacy for Mayor?’

‘It was the talk of the house tonight.’

‘His campaign will be centred on banishment.’

‘Yes, so I heard. I’m afraid he won’t be getting my vote. Too many of my friends would suffer under such a policy.’

‘That’s why you need to lead them away.’

Buate’s detached amusement faltered. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I want you to go now. Leave the city. Take your colleagues and your business associates and your lieutenants with you. This way you’ll be able to leave with most of your money; you can live a good life in exile.’

‘Normally I’d just laugh at something so preposterous. But I can see you’re actually being serious.’

‘A lot of people are going to get hurt over the next few months. There will be deaths. You can avoid that. Think of this as an appeal to your better nature.’

‘You believe I have one?’

‘I think you’re smarter than your dead brother. He was a jumped-up thug, using equally stupid muscle against small fry. But now you’re here, and I see things are already changing. The gangs are targeting merchants and larger businesses now. You’re trying to integrate yourself deeper within the city’s economy, and submerge yourself from legal challenge. That takes a more methodical mind.’ He reached out with his third hand, and aggravated a whole ream of paperwork on the desk, sending the sheets fluttering across the floor. Nanitte scrambled to pick up those that fell across her and the couch. ‘The mind of someone who appreciates paperwork.’