Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary Void

“This is unexpected,” he said as he walked past her. He didn’t pause or attempt to shake hands or even contemplate a platonic kiss.

Her gaze followed him as he sat down. “Nothing’s changed,” she began.

“Something must have, to bring you here.”

“Call it desperation if you like. And I know you.”

Edeard really was puzzled now. All the attempts he’d made to make some kind of peace between them had always come to nothing, and there had been a great many over the decades. Even then he’d still carried on helping where he could, especially with her no-good offspring. She must have known that. “What do you want?”

“I won’t owe you anything. I won’t change, I won’t show gratitude.”

“I’m not asking you to. What is it you want, Salrana?”

She finally looked away, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “My husband, Garnfal, he’s going to accept the guidance of the Skylords. He’s not been well for over a year now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with genuine sympathy. “I didn’t know.”

“He … he took good care of me, you know. He wasn’t like some of the others.”

The ones Ranalee gave you to , he thought coldly.

“Anyway,” she continued, “he’s been making provisions for me. His house in Horrod Lane goes to his eldest son, Timath, of course. I wouldn’t want it otherwise. But there are goods which are quite valuable, goods he bought with money he earned himself. Garnfal has left me these in his will.”

“The family doesn’t want you to have them?”

“Some of it they don’t mind. But there is some land in Ivecove; that’s a fishing village four miles north of the city. A cottage in a large patch of ground. Garnfal enjoyed the gardens; he said you could never have a proper garden in the city. We stayed there every summer. Then last autumn, a merchant approached him, offering to buy the land so he could build an inn there instead. He said it was to accommodate all the people coming to accept the guidance of the Skylords. Until now, Garnfal has refused.”

“And this is what Timath objects to?”

“Yes. Garnfal has given me his blessing to sell the cottage once he is dead, which will bring in an exceptional price. Timath has already engaged a lawyer to contest the will. He claims that the true price of the cottage is not reflected in Garnfal’s accounts, that I am defrauding the family. He calls himself and his siblings Garnfal’s true family.”

“I see.” Both your problem and Timath’s view of this . “Why are you telling me this?”

“I hoped you might talk to Timath, make him see that I am not some fastfox bitch who has bewitched his father, that I love Garnfal.”

Edeard puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled a long breath. “Salrana …”

“I’m not! Edeard, whatever you think of me, you must know that in this I have free will. I chose Garnfal for myself, by myself. Please, you must believe me. To be stripped of what is rightfully mine by a jealous, work-shy son cannot be the justice you seek for everyone.”

“Honious,” he said weakly. “You should have been a lawyer.”

“Timath has engaged Master Cherix.” She shrugged and gave him a timid smile. “If that makes any difference.”

Edeard let out a groan of defeat and tipped his head back to gaze at the high curving ceiling. “I will speak to the Grand Master of the Lawyers Guild, ask him if he can arbitrate a settlement between you and Timath.”

“Thank you, Waterwalker.”

“I think to you I am still Edeard.”

Salrana rose to her feet, giving him a sad look. “No, you are the Waterwalker. Edeard of Ashwell died on the day of Bise’s banishment.”

At midday Edeard took a gondola from the Orchard Palace to the Abad district. As the gondola slid along the Great Major Canal, he could see the crowds clustering around the base of Eyrie’s towers. Nobody was going up yet; that wasn’t allowed until the night before. Constables were assisting Mothers in keeping people away from the long winding stairs at the center of each tower. No arrests had been made yet, though Edeard was getting daily reports of incidents involving frustrated relatives. In truth, the ascent to the top of the towers had to be carefully managed. The platforms thrusting up into Querencia’s skies had a finite area, and there were no rails around the sides. Everyone who went up was elderly and infirm; they had to be cared for even in their last hours. The Mothers were now quite experienced in overseeing the whole event, a fact that went unappreciated among those who had traveled so far, with their hope building along every aching mile.

So far this week, Edeard knew, there had been fifteen deaths among those waiting in Eyrie. Their families had to be treated with a great deal of tact and understanding. Even so, tempers had flared and violence had swiftly followed. To have come so far and not achieve guidance was unbearable. Understandably so. With another seven days to go, there would be more deaths, each one more excruciating to the survivors than the last.

The gondola pulled up at a platform in the middle of Abad. Edeard climbed up the steps to Mayno Street and set off into the district. Boldar Avenue was a fifteen-minute walk from the canal, a zigzag pavement serving narrow four-and five-story cottages. Most of the lower floors had wide doorways and were used as shops or crafthouses. He saw several that were packed full of stopover travelers.

At the far end of the street one of the largest cottages had a pair of tall apricot trees growing outside the front door, their fruit starting to swell amid the fluttering leaves. Edeard was immediately aware of the strange thoughts emanating from inside. There were over a dozen people in various rooms that his farsight could sense, yet all of them seemed to be similar somehow. All had the same emotional state. Even the rhythm of their thoughts was in harmony. The oddity was enough to make him hesitate as he faced the scarlet-painted door. Deep windows were set in the curving wall on either side, their dark curtains drawn, revealing nothing. Then he knocked.

A young woman opened it for him. She was wearing a simple black dress trimmed in white lace, with long auburn hair wound in elaborate curls before flowing halfway down her back. Her smile was generous and genuine enough.

“Waterwalker, please come in. My name is Hala. I wondered when you’d visit.”

“Why is that?” he asked as he walked in. The hall was long with an arched ceiling, splitting several times, like a smaller version of the tunnels beneath the city. He hadn’t realized the cottage was so large; it had to be connected with several others along the street. He eyed the continuous strip of light along the apex of the hall. It glowed a perfect white, and he’d never asked the city to alter it.

“I admire the path you’ve followed,” Hala said. “Given how alone you were, it’s admirable.”

“Uh huh,” Edeard said. He wondered if she was the one whose farsight had been following him over the years.

The ground floor of the cottage was divided into several large rooms, saloons typical of any private members’ club in Makkathran. It appeared deserted apart from a few ge-chimps cleaning up.

“We’re upstairs,” Hala said, and led him down the hall to a spiral stair. The steps had been adjusted for human legs.

Edeard’s curiosity grew. Someone obviously had a rapport with the city similar to his own.

There were children on the second floor. It was similar to a family floor in the ziggurat, with living rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and bedrooms all jumbled together. The children laughed and peeked out at him from doorways before shrieking and running away when he pointed at them. He counted nearly thirty.