Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary Void

“Why the sudden interest?” Jaralee asked.

“I think I perceived one of them called Tathal use domination on someone he was doing business with. Colfal, as it happens.”

“Ah, the impossible court case,” Jaralee said. Her first apprenticeship had been with the Guild of Lawyers, before she transferred to the clerks. That made her invaluable for Edeard’s investigations; her ability to piece together solid evidence from scraps of information in diverse files was legend, and her legal background enabled her to see what charges could legitimately be applied.

“There have been cases where domination has been proved,” Golbon said.

“Grand Family members testifying against ordinary citizens,” Jaralee countered. “It’s basically hearsay. The court chose to recognize it those few times because of the people involved. Legally, though, there is no acknowledged proof of tampering with another’s thoughts.”

“I know there’s no legal basis,” Edeard said. “But if it did happen with Colfal, then it’s part of a greater criminal act. If we can establish that, we can go after the other facts they’ll have left behind.”

“Okay,” Jaralee said. “As long as you understand no court will convict on that allegation alone.”

“Understood,” Edeard said, trying not to think of Salrana. “There’s something else you should know. Tathal has a very strong psychic ability. Apparently even Marcol had difficulty countering him. Presumably this helps his dominance ability.”

“Lady,” Golbon muttered. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”

“I doubt it,” Edeard said. “But just be careful. Tathal isn’t the only strong rogue psychic in the city.” He told them about the occasional sweeps of farsight that had dogged him over the years. Even though he trusted them implicitly, he didn’t mention the tunnels. The only way those youngsters could have gotten down there was with the compliance of Makkathran itself. He didn’t know if it simply responded to any strong psychic or if it actively chose to help some and not others. Somehow he doubted the latter; it had only ever consciously communicated to him once, the day he’d learned of the Void’s true ability.

“Are they linked?” Jaralee asked.

“I don’t know, but I also want you to see if there’s any financial connection between Ranalee and the Apricot Cottage fellowship.”

“I see,” she said in a neutral tone.

Edeard did his best not to smile. Over the years the Grand Council committee on organized crime had expended a great deal of time and effort investigating Ranalee, all to no avail. Jaralee and the others had come to recognize the owner of the House of Blue Petals as Edeard’s personal obsession; he often suspected their diligence was less than it should have been because of that. “I know there was a, uh, physical connection between Ranalee and Tathal a few years ago. She was probably the one who taught him how to use dominance effectively.”

Again, Jaralee and Golbon shared a knowing look.

“We’ll look into it,” Jaralee assured him.

Edeard and Kristabel took a family gondola from the Culverit mansion down to Mid Pool. It was late afternoon, with the falling sun polishing streaks of cirrostratus cloud to a tender gold. Warm air hung heavy over the city, redolent with scent of the sea.

They weren’t the only ones enjoying the last of the balmy day; hundreds of gondolas were moving up and down Great Major Canal. Progress was slow. Edeard thought every gondola in Makkathran must be out on the water; he’d never seen so many of the sleek black craft together before. The streets and avenues along both sides of the water also were crammed with people.

As he watched them, he noticed how many were elderly, being helped along by their families. Most of them were heading toward Eyrie.

Kristabel caught his gaze. “How long?”

“They’ll be here in nine days.”

“Five Skylords,” she said, awed by the notion. “I wonder if that many ever came in Rah’s time.”

“The Lady never gave numbers.” Edeard saw an old woman with an uncanny resemblance to Mistress Florrel being helped along by three younger woman; she could barely walk, her joints were so arthritic. Her mind leaked little spikes of pain, along with a mild bewilderment. He suspected she wasn’t entirely aware of what was going on. On the water below her, gondolas carried her contemporaries toward the crooked towers of Eyrie. The difference was money; they had enough coinage to make that last stretch of the journey in comfort.

“How did they cope back then?” Kristabel wondered.

“The population wasn’t as large as it is today. Fewer people lived in the city, so there’d be rooms they could all use without any of the trouble we’re having.” The influx of elderly travelers waiting for the arrival of a Skylord was reaching disturbing proportions. It had risen steadily in the years since Finitan’s guidance and word of the Skylords’ return spread out across the provinces. Now thousands flocked to Makkathran every month, all of them aided by family, swelling the numbers to a level where the city could barely cope. Once again the constables were fully deployed on the streets, quashing a hundred outbreaks of minor crime each day, from disputes over rooms to the inflated price for food charged to visitors. The constables also had to ensure free movement along those streets, which, given that a lot of the elderly had difficulty walking, was becoming quite taxing. The charity and goodwill of the permanent residents that had blossomed after the first couple of visits by Skylords were all but gone now.

The gondola arrived in Mid Pool and headed up Trade Route Canal. They had to wait several minutes before the mooring platform at the end of Jodsell Street had a free berth. From there it was only a short walk along the street to the district master’s mansion at the center of Sampalok.

Edeard always felt slightly bashful whenever he entered the big square at the heart of Sampalok. This was the place everyone associated with the day of banishment: the turning point in Makkathran’s life and that of Querencia itself. It wasn’t, of course: the true change had started in a secret vault under the Spiral Tower of the Weapons Guild, and nobody would ever know.

The mansion of the Sampalok district’s master and mistress stood in the middle of the vast square, a six-sided giant of a building, each face a different pastel color, with its own high archway into the surrounding court. None of them had gates or doors; unlike their predecessors, the new district master and mistress didn’t turn away the people they were supposed to serve.

In years past the square had been well traveled, with a few vendors setting up stalls to sell fruit and drinks. Kids ran about, dodging the fountains. But mainly it was open space. Not so any longer. Hundreds of modest bamboo-framed tents had been pitched outside the mansion’s walls. Even as he walked to the main gate, Edeard could see more being assembled, with lively ge-chimps scampering over the frame, binding the canes together. Families stood by with bundles of belongings they’d carried from their hometowns.

Kristabel sniffed the air suspiciously. “I thought Kanseen had arranged sanitation wagons for the district.”

Edeard shrugged, and they passed into the mansion’s court, with its white statues and neat bushes growing out of long troughs. The main doors were open, leading to a hall whose ceiling shone with a perfect white light. Broad wing stairs curved up to the first-floor gallery. They were easy to walk up, just as Edeard always intended. He’d never really known what layout to adopt inside the mansion; it was the outside he was so sure of. When the moment came, he’d sketched out an internal design similar to the one he’d disposed of, except now the lights were white, the baths were a sensible size, the beds were a decent height, and so on down a long list of architectural discomforts that Makkathran citizens had worked around for two millennia.