The Dreaming Void (72 page)

“There's a Silfen path on Viotia?”

“Yes. They don't use it much. They don't enjoy planets with civilizations like ours on them.”

“Where does it lead?” Araminta asked breathlessly.

“They don't lead to any one place; they join up and twist. Time is different along them as well. That's why humans who aren't Silfen friends are always lost along them. I was lucky; I managed to get back after a couple of days. Mother was furious with me.”

“So … my dreams. They're not actually mine?”

“That Skylord one the other night wasn't, no.”

“It felt so real.”

“Didn't it just?” She glanced pointedly around the bar packed with Living Dream followers. “Now you see why they're so devout. If you're offered that kind of temptation every time you go to sleep, well, who would want to wake up? That's what the Void is to them. Their dreams, forever.”

“I don't get it. So what if they're real? That city they always go on about: Makkathran. It's medieval, isn't it? And their Waterwalker fights all the time. That's awful. Even if you've got telepathic powers, they're not that special. Our technology is just as good. Who wants to live like that?”

“You seriously need to review Inigo's dreams before you make that sort of judgment. The Waterwalker transforms an entire human society.”

“So he's a talented politician?”

“Oh, no, darling, he's much more than that. He revealed the true nature of the Void to us. He showed us what it can do. That kind of power scares me shitless, which is precisely what so many find so attractive.” Cressida waved her elegant hand at the Living Dream supporters. “Ozzie help us if these dreadful little fools ever gain the same ability the Waterwalker discovered. Eating up the galaxy would be the least of our worries.”

Inigo's Sixth Dream

Nearly eighty probationary constables sat together in a block of seats on the ultrablack floor of Malfit Hall as the vast arching ceiling above played images of wispy clouds traversing the beautiful gold and pink dawn sky. Edeard had one of the seats in the second row and kept his head tipped back so he could watch the giant ceiling in astonishment. He was sure it must be the marvel of the world. His fellow squadmates were all amused by his reaction, not that they'd actually been in the Orchard Palace before except for Dinlay. But at least they'd known about the moving imagery, and they hadn't thought to warn him.

Edeard gasped as Nikran rose up into the replica sky. The ruddy brown planet here was a lot larger than it ever appeared in Querencia's skies. He could see tiny features etched on the world's eternal deserts. For some reason that made him think of it as an actual place rather than an element of the celestial panorama.

“Does anyone live there?” he whispered to Kanseen, who was in the chair next to him.

She looked at him, frowning, then glanced up at the image of Nikran and giggled.

“What?” Macsen hissed.

“Edeard wants to know if anyone lives on Nikran,” Kanseen announced solemnly.

The whole squad snickered; surrounding squads joined in. Edeard felt his face heating up. “Why not?” he protested. “Rah's ship fell onto this world; why not another ship to Nikran?”

“Absolutely,” Macsen said. “Perfectly valid question. In fact, there's a whole other Makkathran up there.”

Edeard ignored them and simply looked straight ahead in a dignified manner. He resolved never to tell his friends of his dreams and what they showed him.

The block of probationary constables settled down. Edeard started to concentrate on what he was seeing. They were facing the grand curving staircase that dominated one side of the hall. Owain, the Mayor of Makkathran, had appeared at the top, followed by the Guild Masters and District Masters who made up the Upper Council. They were all wearing their full ceremonial robes, producing a splendid blaze of color as they filed down to the floor of the hall.

“Oh, Lady,” Dinlay groaned.

Edeard caught a sensation of queasiness emanating from his friend. “Ten seconds maximum,” he told Dinlay, using a tiny directed longtalk voice. “Then it's all over. Just hold it together for ten seconds. You can do that.”

Dinlay nodded while appearing completely unconvinced.

Edeard resisted looking at the much bigger block of seats behind him, where the families and friends of the probationary constables were gathered to watch them receive their bronze epaulets. It was probably an exaggeration, but half of them were Dinlay's family and all of them were in uniform.

“I bet there's a crime wave going on in every district,” Macsen had muttered while they were taking their seats earlier. “There aren't any constables left out there to patrol.”

Owain reached the platform that had been set up at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled at the attentive audience. “It is always an honor and a privilege for me to perform this ceremony,” he said. “In my position I hear so many people complain not just about the state which the city is in but of the chaos which supposedly reigns in the lands outside our crystal walls. I wish they were standing here now to see so many young people coming forward to serve their city. I am heartened by the sense of duty you are displaying in making this commitment to serve your fellow citizens. You give me confidence for the future.”

Now, that's a real politician,
Edeard thought uncharitably. The Mayor, of all people, must have known how inadequate the number of constables was, known that the eighty of them there weren't enough, that at least an equal number of constables had left in the last few months to become private bodyguards or for a better paid and respected job as a sheriff in some provincial town.
Why doesn't he do something about it?

The Mayor finished his inspirational speech. The probationary constables stood up as one, and then the first row trooped up to the platform to be greeted by the Mayor. The Chief Constable read each probationer's name out to the hall while an assistant handed a pair of epaulets to the Mayor to be presented with a handshake and a smile.

Edeard's row started to move forward. He had thought that this would be boring at the least, that it was stupid, an irritation he could have done without, especially as the only person in the audience clapping for him was Salrana, who had been given the day off from her duties. But now he was here, now he was walking up to the Mayor of the entire city, he actually began to feel a sense of occasion. Behind him the audience was radiant with pride. They believed in the constables. In front, the Upper Council was registering its approval. None of the councillors had to be there; it was a ceremony repeated three times a year, every year. They had been to dozens and would have to come to dozens more. If they had wanted to cry off, they could have done that. But it was important enough for them to turn out every time.

And here he was himself, coming forward to make a public pledge to the citizens of Makkathran that he would do his best to protect them and implement the rule of law. This was why Rah and those who followed him into office had created this ceremony and others like it: to recognize and honor the commitment the constables made to their city and lives. It was neither silly nor a waste of time; it was a show of respect.

Edeard stood in front of the Mayor, who smiled politely and shook his hand as the Chief Constable read out his name. A pair of bronze epaulets was pressed into his hand. “Thank you, sir,” Edeard said. There was a lump in his throat. “I won't let you down.”
Ashwell will never happen here.

If the Mayor was surprised, he did not show it. Edeard caught sight of Finitan standing on the grand staircase. The Master of the Eggshaper Guild looked rather splendid in a gold and purple gown with elaborate scarlet symbols embroidered down the front; his silver-tipped hood was arranged over the left shoulder. He caught Edeard's eye and winked. “Well done, lad,” his longtalk whispered.

Edeard stepped off the platform. There was a burst of applause. He nearly laughed; it was as if the audience were rejoicing that he was out of the way. In fact, it was Dinlay's considerable family clapping loudly as their relative received his epaulets. Dinlay managed not to trip or throw up or collapse from fright. He followed Edeard back to their seats with a glowing face, grinning back at his kin.

Afterward there was a formal reception party, with the Mayor and the Upper Council mixing with the new constables and their families while ge-monkeys circled Malfit Hall with trays of drinks. It was scheduled to last an hour. Edeard might have warmed to the graduation ceremony itself, but he planned to be out of the party in under ten minutes.

“No you don't,” Salrana decreed. “Just look at who's here.”

Edeard frowned at the people babbling away, the families in their finery, the resplendent Upper Council members. “Who?”

She gave him a withering look. “The Pythia for a start. And she noticed me. I felt her farsight on me during the ceremony.”

Edeard took another look. “Fair enough; you're the only novice here. She probably thinks you ducked out of your assignments to pick up the free booze.”

Salrana drew herself up. It shifted the fabric of her white and blue robe in a way Edeard could not help noticing. If he kept doing that and kept thinking those accompanying thoughts about how she was growing up, the Lady really would blast him out of existence one day.

“Edeard, you can still be disappointingly childish at times. We are both citizens of Makkathran now, today you especially. Try and act in an appropriate fashion.”

Edeard's mouth dropped open.

“Now we are going over to thank Grand Master Finitan for sponsoring you, as is the right expression of gratitude, which you
do
feel, and see if we can be introduced to others in the Upper Council as well. If you're to become Chief Constable, you need to start paying attention to the city's political dynamics.”

“Uh. Yes,” Edeard admitted. “Chief Constable?”

“That's your route onto the Upper Council now that you've chosen the constables over a guild.”

“I've been graduated eight minutes.”

“Those that hesitate, lose. The Lady's book, fifth chapter.”

His lips twitched. “I knew that.”

“Did you now?” Salrana raised an eyebrow. “I might have to test you later.”

“I've had quite enough of exams these last few weeks, thank you.”

“Poor Edeard. Come on.” She pulled at his hand, all girlish again.

Grand Master Finitan was talking to a pair of fellow Upper Council members as Edeard and Salrana approached him. He smiled and turned to them. “Congratulations, my boy. A proud day for you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you again for sponsoring me.”

“Well, it seems to have put me in credit with the Chief Constable. You graduated third in your class. That's an astonishing result for someone unfamiliar with our city.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Allow me to introduce Masters Graley of the Geography Guild and Imilan of the Chemistry Guild. This is Constable Edeard from the Rulan province, a friend of my old Master.”

“Masters.” Edeard bowed formally. Then he saw Salrana pluck at her skirt and hold the fabric up daintily on one side as she performed a peculiar little bow that involved bending her knees and keeping her back straight.

“And Novice Salrana,” Finitan said smoothly. “Also from Rulan.”

“A pleasure,” Imilan said.

Edeard did not care for the way the Master's eyes lingered on Salrana.

“You're a long way from home, Novice,” the Master said.

“No, sir,” she said in a polite tone. “Makkathran is my home now.”

“Well said, Novice,” Finitan said. “I wish all our citizens were as appreciative of their city as you are.”

“Now, Finitan,” Graley chided. “This is not the day.”

“Apologies.” Finitan inclined his head at the youngsters. “So Edeard, have you had a run-in with our criminal element yet?”

“A few, sir, yes.”

“He's being very modest, sir,” Salrana said. “He led his squad after some thieves in the Silvarum market. He recovered the stolen items as well.”

Edeard shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny of all three Masters.

“And are these miscreants now laboring away at the Trampello mine to pay for their crime?” Imilan asked.

“No, sir,” Edeard admitted. “They got away. That time. They won't again.”

“I imagine they won't,” Finitan said with an edge of amusement.

“Come along, Edeard; let me introduce you to the Mayor. It's about time he saw an honorable man again.”

“Sir?”

“Old joke. We often clash in the Council.” He signaled them to follow him. “Not over anything important to the lives of real people, of course.”

The Mayor of Makkathran was talking to the Pythia just beside the little platform where he had handed out the epaulets. If he was bored or annoyed to be introduced to a new constable, he did not show it. Edeard had never encountered a mind so perfectly shielded, not that he paid much attention. He was entranced by the Pythia. He had been expecting some ancient woman, full of grandmotherly warmth. Instead, he was disconcerted to find that the Pythia retained the beauty of a woman still awaiting her half century, a beauty only emphasized by her gold-trimmed white robe with its flowing hood that she wore forward, casting her face in a slight shadow.

Salrana did her strange bow again to the Pythia.

“The Lady's blessing upon you my child,” the Pythia said. She sounded bored in that way Makkathran's aristocrats always did when they had to deal with those they considered to be of a lower order. That wasn't what Edeard had expected from a Pythia. Then she turned her attention to him. Startlingly light blue eyes fixed on him, surrounded by a mass of thick bronze hair twined with gold and silver leaves. The eyes narrowed in judgment, which Edeard found heartbreaking. He felt like he had disappointed her, which was a terrible thing. Then she smiled, banishing his worry. “Now, you
are
interesting, Constable,” she said.

“My Lady?” he stammered. He somehow could feel the Pythia's farsight on him, as if she were picking through his mind. There was something disconcertingly intimate about the contact. And she was very beautiful, merely a yard away, her half smile open and inviting.

Salrana made a groaning sound in her throat.

“I'm not quite that exalted,” the Pythia said lightly. “There is only one true Lady. My usual form of address is ‘Dear Mother.' ”

“I apologize, Dear Mother.”

“Think nothing of it. You've come a long way to get here, and you still have a long way to travel.”

“I do?”

But the Pythia had turned to face Finitan. “What a fascinating young friend you have, Grand Master.”

“I'm pleased you think so, Pythia.”

“So young, yet so strong.”

The way she said it sent a shudder of felonious delight down Edeard's spine. He didn't dare glance in her direction; instead he fixed his gaze on the Mayor, who was frowning.

“Do you foresee great things for him?” Finitan asked jovially.

The Pythia turned to stare directly at Edeard, an act he could not ignore, not in a group like this, not without appearing extraordinarily rude. He tried to return the look but found it incredibly difficult.

“Your potential is very strong,” she said. There was an almost teasing quality to her voice. “Do you follow the Lady's teachings, Constable Edeard?”

“I try my best, Dear Mother.”

“I'm sure you do. May She bless your endeavors in your new duties.”

Edeard almost did not hear her. A movement behind Finitan had caught his eye. In horror, he watched Mistress Florell heading toward them, all black chiffon and wide veils hanging from a tall hat. His dismay must have leaked out. As one, Finitan, the Mayor, and the Pythia turned to acknowledge the approaching grande dame.