The Temporal Void (65 page)

‘Nothing that pleasant. You are under arrest.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Suspicion of extortion. We intend to hold you while we gather corroborating evidence.’

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Very well.’ He closed his eyes, and longtalked strongly. ‘This is it my friends. Go forward!’

Edeard quietly asked the city to bring the remaining Jamolar barrels up from the tunnel running under Zulmal Street. They slithered up quietly in the gaps between the swollen knobbly buildings, sitting unnoticed in the shade of the creepers and trees, displacing some of the rubbish cluttering the gutters.

The squad moved back out of the house, surrounding Buate. Doors were starting to open all along Zulmal Street. Men emerged, carrying long clubs or knives, hammers, pokers, broken bottles. Edeard ignored them, concentrating on the five barrels that had emerged at the side of Buate’s house. His third hand detached the tops of each one.

‘You won’t make it ten yards,’ Buate gloated.

On either side of the street, the men began to edge their way forward. They were giving Edeard and the squad nervous glances, but slowly and surely they kept moving. There was a great deal of longtalk slithering among them.

‘Go on, go on,’ was the most common phrase. ‘Keep going. There’s hundreds of us.’

‘Stand back,’ Edeard instructed loudly. A rock came whirling out of the sky, thrown by someone at the rear of the swelling mob. Macsen’s third hand swatted it away easily.

Buate started to laugh. ‘Not quite the people’s champion you thought you were, eh, Waterwalker?’

Edeard’s third hand sucked the oil out of all five barrels, consolidating it into a giant globe. He sent it streaking forwards. As it flew a couple of yards over his head he held up a hand. A single thread of light crackled out from his extended index finger.

The oil ignited with a loud roar, spitting out fat globules of flame. Edeard guided it down to a yard above the street then sent it racing on ahead of him. The men lining the route yelled in fear and dived aside. Great droplets of flaming oil splattered onto the street, hissing and fizzing in its wake.

‘This way,’ Edeard told a startled Buate politely. They began to walk back down Zulmal Street. The would-be mob were keeping their distance now, watching the fireball anxiously as Edeard began to draw it back. ‘I never got to thank your dear brother for this idea,’ he said to Buate. ‘It was a good one.’

‘It’s a long way to Parliament House,’ Buate growled. ‘And we’re not there yet.’ He was using his longtalk to issue a fast stream of instructions.

Edeard’s farsight showed him people taking to the streets all across Sampalok. He was ready for that. The constables had been instructed that under no account was anyone from the district to get across a bridge and spread their brand of disturbance into the rest of the city. From what he could perceive, the bridge reinforcement teams were holding well. None of the rapidly forming crowds were getting close to the end of a bridge. He picked out several of the Hundred directing people, goading them onwards. Stones and bottles were starting to be thrown and telekinetically guided on to the constables. Blade discs were also skimming through the air.

The arrest teams weren’t fairing as well as he hoped. The most able farsighted constables were assigned to tracking those on the list, and guiding the teams towards them. They were having trouble pushing through the hostile crowds thronging the streets.

‘The thing about fire, Waterwalker, is that you can never really control how it burns,’ Buate said.

Edeard was very conscious of how quickly the fireball’s oil was being used up. The street behind them was now jammed with angry people, yelling insults and abuse. More of the mob were starting to mill around in the alleys on the way back to Mid Pool. As soon as the squad passed, they came out to join the main press behind them.

‘Edeard,’ Boyd growled under his breath.

‘You know that we can dodge anything they throw at us,’ Edeard said with quiet reassurance to his friends. ‘Our only real concern is to get this bastard into a cell.’

‘Once ignited, a flame will burn until there is no more fuel,’ Buate said. His hand waved at the mob following them. ‘They don’t need ringleaders any more. They’re burning on their hatred for you.’

The barrels secreted down the alleys had been discovered. They were tipped over and smashed. Jamolar oil rippled down the street ahead of the squad. Edeard sent the fireball soaring high above the rooftops, then burst it apart in a vivid halo of flame. The mob below flinched.

Edeard just caught a flash of white light. The oil on the street burst into flame. People screamed and ran. A wall of flame raced towards the squad.

‘Shit,’ Edeard grunted. He asked the city to change the street, and the oil vanished, soaked away by the suddenly porous pavement. Puffs of smoke floated between the buildings, dissipating in the breeze.

Buate’s jaw dropped. ‘What—’

Edeard winked at him. ‘Keep going.’

The crowd along Zulmal Street kept a respectful distance as the squad walked the rest of the way to the Mid Pool concourse. There were over a hundred constables on the broad semicircle around the pool, with more behind the bridges over to Bellis and Pholas Park. Livid crowds were boiling round the entrance to each street that led into Sampalok.

Macsen and Boyd handed a sullen Buate over to one of the arrest teams, with instructions to take him to the cells underneath Parliament House.

‘Now what?’ Kanseen asked, looking at the jeering crowd blocking the end of Amtol Street.

‘I don’t know,’ Edeard said. He was longtalking with the senior sergeants at each of the bridges, checking up on the progress of the other arrest teams. ‘We’ve managed to nab eight of the Hundred, including Buate. That’s not going to have the effect I wanted.’ He gave the street mobs a worried glance. ‘I don’t want to send anyone in there again. That really will kick things off.’

‘If we stand out here, we’ve lost,’ Macsen said. ‘You’ll be admitting they’re in charge of Sampalok, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

‘I thought we didn’t mind if they rioted in Sampalok,’ Boyd said.

‘There are a lot of decent folk who live here,’ Edeard said. ‘And this is a very big crowd. It’s the same at every bridge. I didn’t realize Buate still had this much control.’

‘We could go in with concealment,’ Dinlay said. ‘Snatch the closest one on the list and bring him out quickly. That Hundred are the key to this, they’re the ones stirring people up. Take them out one at a time.’

‘You might be right,’ Edeard said. He wasn’t sure. The size and animosity of the response had caught him off guard. But then Sampalok residents always had a chip on their shoulder, it wouldn’t take much to rile them.

He went over to the watcher crew at the end of the concourse next to Trade Route Canal to find out which of the Hundred was nearby. Before he’d even spoken to anyone the sergeant at the middle bridge into High Moat was longtalking that the crowd was rampaging along the streets, breaking into shops and businesses. Looting had begun. Edeard’s farsight flicked over to the area, sensing a deluge of anger and glee. Not a good combination, he thought as his farsight found a ge-eagle overhead. The genistar’s acute sight revealed flames and smoke pouring out of five or six buildings. When it swooped lower he could see dense congregations pressed up against commercial premises. Goods were being hauled out of shattered doors to be passed around the eager crowd. Scores of kids were running away, each clutching at some piece of loot.

The ge-eagle’s thoughts filled with agitation. Something was pulling at it, forcing it down towards the curving, angled rooftops of Sampalok. Its powerful wings flapped madly as its distress mounted.

Edeard found that extremely alarming. Few people had the telekinetic strength to reach all the way up to a ge-eagle, and fewer still had the inclination to attack a defenceless creature.

It was inordinately difficult to farsight telekinesis, but Edeard could just make out the tenuous band of force stretching up from the ground. He focused on the origin, a youth no more than fifteen, standing in Entfall Avenue while the crowd surged around him.

‘Stop that,’ Edeard commanded.

The lad started. His telekinesis abandoned the ge-eagle, and he ran into the nearest building.

The sound of wood splintering reverberated across the Mid Pool concourse. Edeard looked round to see a group of people had battered down the door to a baker’s shop in Mislore Avenue. Cheers rang out as the crowd swarmed in to help themselves to fresh loaves and cakes. Sharp cries from the baker and his family vanished swiftly. Then the grocer’s next door was breached. A clothing shop. A tavern – to the accompaniment of much cheering. An ironmonger’s. Cafe. A cobbler.

‘What do we do, Waterwalker?’ the senior sergeant on the concourse demanded.

Edeard looked at him, not knowing the answer. Then there came the sound of doors being broken on Zulmal Street.

‘Lady!’ He turned to the sergeant. ‘Drive them back, get them out of those premises.’

The sergeant, who was from Vaji station, gave him a dubious stare. ‘Yes, sir.’

A squad of over fifty constables formed up, with Edeard at the head. He led them into Mislore Avenue. As soon as the crowd saw him coming, they turned and ran. A sleet of projectiles hurtled through the air at the advancing constables. Edeard battered all of them away, sending them tumbling to the ground ahead of him. When he looked down the first side alley he could see directly into Zulmal Street; the riot and looting was worse there. Further up Mislore Avenue the crowd was breaking into a fresh set of shops.

‘You did this!’ a woman screamed at him. She’d run out of a splintered doorway, wearing a long yellow dress that was smeared with blood. Her hand clutched at a long knife which she waved extravagantly. ‘You, Waterwalker, you ruined us. Two hundred years my family has lived here, two hundred years our shop has thrived, now we’ve lost everything. Rot in Honious, you bastard.’

Edeard stopped advancing down Mislore Avenue. All he was accomplishing was to push people into areas that were undamaged, providing them with further targets. ‘Lady, help me,’ he muttered.

Three more sergeants reported riots starting. Six sections of Sampalok were in chaos now.

‘Trouble here,’ Dinlay’s longtalk reported. Edeard could tell his friend was trying not to panic.

‘Back to the concourse,’ he told the constables he was leading.

When he got there, he found the rioters in Zulmal Street had been emboldened by his absence. They’d spilled out into the concourse to confront the constables defending the bridge over to Bellis. Behind them, the looting was multiplying. Violence spilled on to the street at the beleaguered business owners did their best to defend their livelihoods. He saw clubs swing brutally. Third hands clashed. Then his worst fear was realized: a pistol shot rang out.

Everyone on the concourse froze, trying to see where the shot had come from. Out of the corner of his eye Edeard saw Kanseen fall. She was on the front rank of the constables (of course); now she crumpled to her knees, hands clutching her chest, breathing with difficulty.

‘Kanseen!’ Macsen bellowed. He shoved his way through the silent constables to reach her side. His arms went round her.

‘All right,’ she gasped. ‘I’m all right. Lady! I’ll never complain about these drosilk waistcoats again.’ She was rubbing her chest where the bullet had struck. Macsen let out a sob of relief, and kissed her.

A furious Edeard strode out into the empty zone between the constables and the rioters. The nearest members of the mob shuffled backwards.

‘Break this up!’ Edeard roared. ‘Go back to your homes. This is over.’

For a moment the silence held. Then someone unseen yelled, ‘Fuck the Waterwalker.’

Two more pistol shots rang out. Edeard was ready for them. The bullets hung in the air a couple of feet in front of him. He was going to make a show of examining them and sneering contemptuously. Slap it into the rioters that he was invincible, that their moment of rebellion was over. But it was a signal for a renewed round of jeering.

‘One of mine fired the shots,’ Argian longtalked directly to Edeard.

Edeard’s gaze flicked up to the roof of the building at the start of Zulmal Street. Argian was there, crouched down amid the profusion of flowering vines. ‘Who? Where?’ Edeard asked.

‘Junlie. He’s already retreating.’

The hail of missiles was starting again.

‘All right,’ Edeard snarled at the rioters. ‘I warned you.’

Those in the front rank faltered, their taunts and abuse fading as they saw his determination.

Edeard’s cloak billowed wide, freeing his arms. He brought them up in a wide curving motion, his eyes closed. Concentrating hard. He’d never really exerted his full telekinetic strength before, not like this. Not aggressively. Behind him, the surface of Mid Pool shivered. Twin plumes of water exploded high into the air. Their crests warped round to streak over the concourse, merging directly above Edeard. The constables underneath the giant airborne streams gasped, crouching down fearfully.

Edeard grinned mercilessly. He flung the water directly at the rioters as a single wavefront. It hit the ground in front of Zulmal Street, throwing up a huge cloud of spume. The main bulk of water surged onwards into the street, knocking everybody off their feet. Third hands formed desperate body shields, warding the thundering foam away from mouths and noses. Edeard kept it coming, standing immobile as the vast torrent churned above him. Captured fil-rats squawked in terror as they were propelled overhead within the unnatural flood. The leading wave rushed fifty yards down the street – seventy – a hundred. Its force and size reduced gradually as smaller streams poured away down the side alleys.

The surface of Mid Pool sank down drastically as Edeard continued to siphon water out. Water along the connecting canals began to dip and race in to fill the depression.

Edeard took a deep calming breath, and slowly lowered his arms. Above him, the final swell of water splattered down into the street.