The Temporal Void (83 page)

Crumbling enzyme-bonded concrete beneath her feet gave way to grass and the wide indigo fans of whiplit ferns. Araminta pushed her way forward into the dark spaces between the dapol trees. There were no thoughts impinging on the local gaiafield, no human ones anyway. The gentle thoughts of the Silfen Motherholm were somehow stronger. More so in one direction. She turned towards it, and pushed sharp branches out of her way. Dense whiplit fronds pressed against her legs, their curly strands damp from the night, making progress difficult.

She caught a glimpse of blue and red laser fans sweeping through the tangle of trees and froze. She was all too familiar with the strobes on Ellezelin support capsules by now. This one was just outside the force field, flying slowly along a shallow curve. Some patrol scanning for citizens seeking escape from the invasion.

The minds of the crew and paramilitary squad inside emitted a dull glow of thoughts into the gaiafield. All of them were tired, emotionally and physically, and they hated Colwyn City and its resentful inhabitants.

Araminta kept still until the capsule had glided away. She was close to the force field now, maybe just a couple of hundred yards away, but the trees must have shielded her from the capsule’s sensors. Her legs were soaking from the moisture on the whiplit fronds. Hands and cheeks had been scratched by dead twigs. And she was beginning to feel somewhat foolish floundering round in a forest at night, looking for a path that was actually some kind of alien wormhole which she was supposed to be able to sense because her ancestor was a friend of elves and the magic passed through the female bloodline.

‘Makes perfect sense to me,’ she muttered to herself.
I wonder what the me of a week ago would make of all this?

Thankfully, she stumbled out into a narrow animal track, and started along it. The fronds didn’t accost her so much, though she still had to ward off the branches.

Dear Ozzie, was it really only a week ago I was living a perfectly ordinary life? And I haven’t called Bovey for days. He must be worried sick. Cressida will be worried too, and cross that I haven’t confirmed my ticket offplanet.

The trees were spaced further apart now, the path easier to perceive. She couldn’t tell if that was because of a weak dawn light starting to rise, or if her mind was illuminating the compressed trail of loamy soil that had borne so many feet before hers. But she did know she was walking the right way, a knowledge that came in the form of cold relief. That newfound buoyancy faltered after only a few yards as she instinctively accepted the path was truly taking her away from her homeworld.

I’m being forced out
, she thought bitterly.
I haven’t even said goodbye to all the people I love. Not that there are many of them, but I should be allowed that
. Even though she was more confident about using the gaiafield, she still didn’t dare access the unisphere. That would be the first thing she would have to fix when she reached whatever world she was heading for. Araminta wanted to know who the hell Oscar Monroe was, and why he would help her. If he was telling the truth about working for ANA, and ANA wanted her to be free, there might be hope yet.

It was definitely getting lighter, even though Araminta knew it was still a couple of hours before dawn. She didn’t recognize most of the trees she was walking through now, either, the old familiar dapol trees were becoming few and far between. The newcomers were taller and thinner, with slimmer branches and silver-green leaves. Strange lavender star-flowers peeped up through the wiry yellow-tinged grass as the ground started to tip down. There was no sight of the force field through the upper branches of the new trees. And the gaiafield was fading out, allowing her tense thoughts to expand, calming the deep worry contaminating her body. Somewhere the Silfen Mother-holm smiled in compassion for her.

The trees were thinning out, and Araminta shivered in the cold air gusting past the white and green striped trunks, rubbing her hands along her arms and pulling up the front of her fleece. Then she walked out of the treeline and stopped dead.

‘Oh, great Ozzie,’ she murmured in astonished delight. She was halfway up a steep valley wall. The grassy mountainside beneath her feet swept down towards a broad meandering river. On the other side, maybe twenty or thirty miles away, the opposite side of the valley climbed upwards, its summits coated in thick fields of snow. Above that . . . Araminta shielded her eyes from the orange sun peeping over the jagged peaks. A quartet of tiny moons was racing across the sky, twisting round each other as they went. She was sure one of them must have been made from blue crystal, glints of sunlight flashed off its facets as it spun round and round.

Viotia didn’t have moons like that. In fact she’d never heard of anywhere that did.

Somewhere beyond the river, lurking among the spinneys and tracts of woodland, Araminta could sense the beginnings of another path. She set off down the mountain, laughing joyfully at her liberation.

The summer sun rose through a clear sky to illuminate one very excited city. It was election day in Makkathran. At last – after all the turmoil, the Sampalok riots and the banishment, followed by a fortnight of increasingly bitter campaigning by both mayoral candidates, and equally lively mud-slinging by the district Representatives – this was it. The day everyone got to make their opinion known on events and promises.

Edeard jogged over the Brotherhood Canal bridge and into Jeavons as the dawntime’s dew began to evaporate off the grass. It produced a wonderfully fresh scent in the air, triggering a completely unjustified sense of optimism as he reached the streets of Jeavons. Unjustified because the city’s mood was impossible to determine. So much had happened. So much to take in. So many rumours and whispers from the candidates and their allies to believe or ignore. Nobody knew what the result was going to be.

One thing was for certain, a lot of people were going to vote. As he ran down Golfice Street, Edeard could sense whole families rising early for breakfast. Election day was always a holiday. Businesses that were normally preparing to open as he ran past were shut for the day, market squares were devoid of stalls.

A holiday, then, but not a carnival. There was too much tension for that. Not helped by the fifty banished who’d made camp in the trees beyond North Gate and refused to budge. Relatives and friends and the politically motivated kept taking food out to them and making public collections. Keeping the cause alive and visible.

Edeard arrived back at the tenement and hurried up the stairs to his maisonette. Dinlay was waiting on the walkway outside. They grinned at each other and went in. Breakfasts together had become something of a ritual since the day in Sampalok.

‘Moment of truth then,’ Dinlay said as Edeard stripped off and scurried into the shower.

‘Yes,’ Edeard called out above the spray of water.

‘I’ve never known so many people say they’re coming out to vote. I suppose that’s a victory in its own way.’

‘What do you mean?’

Dinlay had sat himself at the small table where one of the ge-chimps was serving him with fruit and cereal. The second genistar was tending the kettle on the iron stove. ‘You’ve finally got people stirred up about the city’s leadership. Before, it never really made any difference which candidate you voted for. Nothing was different afterwards.’

Edeard stepped out and started rubbing himself dry with a towel. ‘That’s down to Finitan rather than me.’

Dinlay laughed. ‘I’m not sure I believe the false modesty routine any more.’

‘Okay, if I’m that confident about myself, how come I’m not standing?’

‘Not the right time,’ Dinlay said shrewdly. ‘For all you achieved, you’re still too young. Even Captain is pushing it.’

‘Ha!’ Edeard grunted. Walsfol hadn’t objected to Ronark’s astute manoeuvring; indeed he’d been keen to accept the old captain in his own office at the Courts of Justice. Crucially, Owain had mounted no challenge to Edeard’s promotion as he took charge of the Jeavons constable station. Coming into direct conflict with the Waterwalker while the city’s mood was unknown was not something the wily Mayor would allow to happen. They’d maintained a scrupulously courteous attitude to each other ever since the Sampalok riots. Sometimes it was all Edeard could do not to snigger at how polite they were whenever they met. There were strong elements of farce to the encounters.

Edeard flicked his friend’s epaulettes playfully. ‘Thank you, Corporal.’

‘That’s different,’ Dinlay said, straightening the epaulettes. ‘These were well deserved and sorely earned.’

The ge-chimp brought two large cups of tea over to the table. Edeard picked his up, and gave Dinlay a mildly concerned look. ‘Er . . . you didn’t want to be Master of Sampalok, did you?’

‘By the Lady!’ Dinlay was genuinely shocked. ‘No, Edeard. I’m a constable. And that means so much more today, all thanks to you. I’m going to be Chief Constable to your Mayor.’

‘Okay. I was sort of improvising back there.’

‘I know. But it was a clever choice. He already knows far more about Grand Family politics than I ever will.’

‘The Grand Council needs to worry about her, not him,’ Edeard said.

‘And that’s a fact.’

They grinned again, then finished their light meal in companionable silence. The ge-chimps cleared the table, then started picking up Edeard’s discarded jogging clothes, putting them in the laundry basket. Dinlay paused as he was pulling on his jacket, noticing something odd. His third hand swiped one of Edeard’s odd running shoes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before. Did they have them in your village?’

‘No,’ Edeard said as he buttoned up his own jacket. ‘Something I dreamt up. They’re very comfortable to run in.’

Dinlay shrugged and gave the shoe back to the ge-chimp.

They walked out of the tenement together and headed for the district’s public hall. Edeard’s farsight swept through the scene ahead. The hall stood by itself in the middle of a square, a strange onion-shaped building standing on twenty fat pillars. Big folding wooden doors had been fixed between them, sealing off the large central auditorium from the elements. The curving internal wall that overlooked the chamber was ribbed by eight narrow galleries that provided access to the hundreds of small unlit cubicles wrapped around the whole structure like a honeycomb. For once, the galleries didn’t have Makkathran’s bad stairs between them, instead the hall boasted steep ramps. Nobody ever really used the galleries or their cubicles.

On the floor of the auditorium long tables had been set up, along with voting booths. Constables from Jeavons station worked alongside a team from the Guild of Clerks preparing the hall ready for the election. The clerks had their big ledgers of official registry ready, along with sealed boxes of ballot papers.

People were already arriving outside, well ahead of the official starting time. They were all watching the end of Forpal Avenue when Edeard and Dinlay emerged. Farsight had forewarned everyone the Waterwalker was on his way. Edeard smiled pleasantly as he moved through them, making sure his mind was well shielded, not allowing anybody to see how nervous he was becoming. He’d never seen an election before. Back in Ashwell the vote for the Mayor was limited to village elders.

Felax opened the door to let them inside the auditorium, saluting as they went past. Edeard saluted back; it was good to see constables actually out of the station again on active duties. The team he’d built up to help him fight the gangs had spent far too long cooped up in the small hall working diligently through paperwork like apprentice clerks. Now they were out on patrol again, visible and helpful to citizens as they should be.

The clerks inside the public hall were completing their preparations. As soon as Edeard arrived Urarl beckoned him over to the first table.

‘Boxes are ready for inspection sir.’

‘Thank you,’ Edeard said. He looked to the Master of Clerks standing beside Urarl, who nodded. Edeard used his farsight to examine the wax seal on each box to check if it had been tampered with. He couldn’t sense any flaws.

‘They are undisturbed,’ he announced.

‘I concur,’ the Master of Clerks agreed. He proffered a clipboard to Edeard, who had to sign the docket for each box in triplicate. The Master added his signature.

Under Urarl’s instruction, Marcol and two other probationary constables opened the boxes and started distributing ballot papers along the tables. Edeard did his best not to smile at Marcol’s diligence. The boy was trying desperately hard, and slowly succeeding in throwing off his Sampalok upbringing to shape up as a decent constable.

‘Almost time,’ the Master of Clerks said.

Edeard used his farsight to perceive the Orchard Palace. The Grand Master of the Guild of Clerks was standing on the balcony that faced Golden Park. He was waiting stoically, a big brass pocket-watch in his hand. Everyone in the hall finished what they were doing and waited. It was a scene that was repeated in every single district across Makkathran.

‘I declare the voting open,’ the Grand Master longtalked.

Dinlay gave Felax the okay, and the auditorium doors were opened. First in were the accredited observers from both mayoral candidates, who presented their papers to the Master of Clerks and Edeard. Balogg, the current Jeavons District Representative, was the first voter, as tradition dictated. He was followed in by his two rivals. All of them were allied to Finitan, claiming to support the banishment.

Edeard watched with quiet interest as the voting began. People came in and went over to the clerks, who confirmed their residency in the ledger. After that they were issued with their two ballot papers, one for the Mayor’s office, and one for the District Representative. They went into the little booth to mark the paper, most casting a seclusion haze for privacy, though some proudly and openly put crosses down for their candidate. Finally, the ballots were posted through a slot in the lid of a metal box that was already locked and sealed. The keys were kept by the Grand Master of the Clerks Guild. Edeard couldn’t see any way to cheat the system, provided everything was conducted in the open and monitored by honest dependable officials. Which, he acknowledged sadly, was the weak point.