The Evolutionary Void (24 page)

I wonder if the Opera House cloakroom fiends are here
tonight? They’d get a good haul out of this lot
.

“Macsen and Kanseen are here; look,” he said cheerfully.

“You’re not to talk to them until you’ve talked to at least fifteen other
couples,” Kristabel ordered. “Once you and Macsen start, that’s it for the
evening.”

“Yes, dear.” But he grinned because the rebuke wasn’t as sharp as they
had been of late. Kristabel had actually brightened up considerably in the last
few days since he’d spotted the Skylord.
And anyway, she’s
right. Macsen and I are a pair of dreadful old bores
.

A third hand pinched sharply. “And less of that,” she warned.

“Yes, yes, dear.”

They smiled at each other, then parted. It was easier to work the crowd
separately, they’d found.

A wine importer cornered him first. The man and his very young wife were
keen for trade with Golspith province, where some excellent vineyards were
producing some wonderful new varieties. The merchant’s third hand plucked a
glass from a waiter. It turned out he was proud to be sponsoring all the
party’s drinks for Mayor Trahaval tonight. Edeard took a sip and agreed the new
wine was all he had promised. “So if you could see your way to mentioning the
ruinous tariffs to your beautiful wife …” Which Edeard promised he would do.

Funny how people still thought he was the boss in their marriage.

Then came the street traders’ association chief. The man assured the
Waterwalker of his vote and those of his fellows for Chief Constable, but then,
Edeard had always taken care to maintain good relationships with the
associations.

Next was a Guild Master from the shipyards. A local Councillor, a woman:
“Just completely inspired by your wife, so I stood at the last election, and
now I’m on the Council.” Three sons from the district’s Grand Families, wanting
his opinion of joining the militia regiment. A shopkeeper. A chinaware dealer
called Zanlan, who was the fifth son of a third son in a big merchant family,
inordinately pleased to have broken free and set up for himself, importing
interesting new cargoes from many provinces. “I’m a member of the Apricot
Cottage Fellowship,” he told Edeard proudly.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” Edeard muttered diplomatically.

“We’re new, a generation like myself who aren’t going to sit about living
off our families. Things are changing on Querencia, and we want to grasp those
opportunities for ourselves.”

“That’s the kind of talk I like to hear,” Edeard said, genuinely
impressed.

“Of course, none of the established guilds and associations recognize us.
They’re probably frightened of the competition. And the Orchard Palace ignores
us completely; we get frozen out of so-called open contracts.”

“Leave it with me,” Edeard promised. “I’ll make some inquiries.”

“All we ask for is a fair market.”

Then there was a blacksmith. A female apprentice from the Eggshaper Guild
who was a little overawed and a little drunk.

He was on his fifth glass of the appalling new wines and his third plate
of heavily spiced pastries when he caught sight of Jiska and hurried over. “You
count as a party guest,” he told her. “Talk to me.”

“Oh, poor Daddy. Is Mummy bullying you horribly again?”

“I’m on a quota.”

“Sounds dreadful.” She gave him a knowing grin. Jiska was the second of
their seven children, blessed with her mother’s fine-featured beauty but with
Edeard’s dark hair. She was wearing a simple sky-blue dress with a narrow
skirt, contrary to this season’s fashion. But then, Jiska had never gone for
the excesses of Makkathran’s society, for which Edeard was extremely thankful.

“So where’s Natran?” he asked.

“He sends his apologies; there was some crisis at the ship. The new sails
weren’t right; bad rigging or something.”

“There’s always a crisis with that ship. Is it actually seaworthy?”

“Daddy!”

“Sorry.” Actually, he quite liked Natran. The man was from a trading
family, but after serving time with the family fleet, he’d acquired a boat of
his own. He was determined to found his own fleet and fortune.

“He’s doing very well for himself, you know,” Jiska said defensively.
“His agents have several profitable cargoes lined up.”

“I’m sure they have. He’s a smart young man with a whole load of
prospects.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh … have you ever heard of the Apricot Cottage Fellowship?”

“Yes, of course. Natran is affiliated. It’s made up of people with a
similar background to himself who’ve banded together for a greater political
voice. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. It’s a good idea. I like the way some family sons are striking
out for themselves.”

“Well, the older merchants should start taking notice of the fellowship’s
grievances. The way they treat legitimate competition isn’t exactly lawful.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You want to hear that, do you, Daddy? How my boyfriend and his friends
spend their drinking time grumbling about unfair competition from larger
rivals, how no one listens to them, how the world ignores them? I can talk for
hours on the subject if you wish.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure they’ll find a way of making their presence known
in the Council. Every other pressure group in the city certainly seems to
manage.”

“Daddy, you’re such a cynic.”

“So when are you going to take him out to our beach lodge for a week and
the day?”

The look she screwed her face up into was one of pure dismay. “Urrgh! I
thought you wanted to rid Makkathran of useless tradition, especially something
as demeaning as that one.”

“Er …”

“You know, I was eight before I found out the ‘Ignorant man’ song was all
about you. That was a fun day at school; even my closest friends … Oh, never
mind.”

“Ah, yes. I never did forgive Dybal for writing that one.”

“It’s horrible.”

I thought it was quite funny, actually
. “It’s
in the past, darling. Don’t worry about it. But my question still stands. You
could do a lot worse.”

“I know. It’s difficult for him; this is only his second year as Captain.
And we’re not going to rush into anything.”

“You’ve been going out for five years now,” he pointed out reasonably.
“When you know, you know.”

“I’m sure love at first sight worked well for you and Mummy. But I need
to know someone more than a couple of days.”

“It was not two days,” he protested. “I spent weeks wooing her.”

Jiska’s delicate eyebrow shot up. “Daddy, tell me: You didn’t just say
‘wooing’?”

He sighed in defeat. “You know, maybe if your generation did a bit more
wooing, I might have a few more children married off.”

“I’m not even forty yet.”

“And still beautiful.”

She pouted. “You old charmer. No wonder Mummy fell for you.”

“Just so you know, I don’t have any problem if you and Natran do want to
go before the Lady and marry.”

“Yep, got it, Daddy. Actually, got that four years and eleven months ago.
Anyway, my big brother is certainly doing his bit. You know what?” She leaned
in, eyes agleam.

“What?”

“I think Wenalee is expecting again.”

He gave his daughter a sharp look. “You haven’t farsighted that, have
you?”

“Really, Daddy! No, I did not. And I’m shocked you should think so.”

“Yeah,” he growled. Jiska had a farsight even more powerful than his own.

Maybe I should get her to track down my secret
watcher
. But the idea of Wenalee being pregnant really buoyed him up.
A third grandchild. That would be something
. He loved
having little Garant and Honalee (everyone called her Honeydew) running around
the tenth floor. Rolar, his oldest, certainly hadn’t wasted any time settling
down and starting a family.

“Uh oh,” Jiska murmured silkily. “Twins warning.”

Edeard scanned around to see Marilee and Analee worming through the
guests, heading straight for him. His fifth and sixth children were identical
twins, and right from the start they’d relished making a play of their matched
looks, always styling their hair the same and wearing indistinguishable
clothes. Tonight they’d dressed in synchronized satin gowns, except Marilee’s
was shimmering burgundy while Analee sported yellow-gold. Edeard smiled indulgently
at them; not that they deserved it, but what could a father do? They were
twenty-five and the absolute stars of Makkathran’s high society. As tall as he,
slim like their mother, faces where girlish wickedness forever lurked among
exquisite fine-boned features, and thick raven hair that came from his mother’s
family. Add their good looks to their status, and basically, whatever they
wanted, they tended to get, from clothes to pets and parties to boys.

“Daddy!” they chorused delightedly. He was kissed simultaneously on both
cheeks.

“We’ve been very good tonight.”

“We talked to so many people.”

“And convinced them to vote for you.”

“They all got reminded of what you did for the city.”

“Even though it was so long ago.”

“A debt like that can never be ignored.”

“So they’ll remind all their friends.”

“And their family to get out there on election day.”

“And put their cross where it counts.”

“Or they’ll have to answer to us.”

Being talked at by the twins was like being deafened by birdsong. “Thank
you both,” he said.

“So now we’ve done our duty.”

“And we’d like you to set us free.”

“Because there’s a super party at the Frandol family mansion tonight.”

“And we’ve found us a suitable escort.”

They both giggled and looked at their father pleadingly.

“Uh …” Edeard managed.

“Utrallis.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“And tall.”

“And serves in the Pholas and Zelda regiment.”

“But he’s independently wealthy, too.”

“Not just some minor son.”

“A gentleman of honor.”

“Happy to serve his city.”

“All right.” Edeard held his hands up. “Go on, go away, the pair of you.
Have fun.”

“Oh, we will.”

Another burst of giggling assaulted Edeard’s ears as they turned away.
Each girl raised a gloved hand. Two fingers beckoned imperiously. Through the
melee of guests Edeard saw a young man in his militia dress uniform, all
polished buttons and perfectly tailored scarlet and blue jacket. Utrallis
couldn’t possibly be older than the twins, though he held his broad shoulders
square and had a strong jaw. Edeard regarded his nose charily, suspecting a
distant Gilmorn heritage—he had a nasty flash memory of Ranalee and the
helpless lad in her office. Their eyes met, and the young man produced such a
panicked guilty look as his cheeks flushed crimson that Edeard couldn’t help
but feel sorry for him. Then Utrallis was suddenly caught between the twins and
hauled off.

Jiska shook her head as she sighed. “And he looked so sweet. Poor thing.
How is it they’re always so elated at the start of the evening, then when
morning comes, this tragic broken husk creeps out of the ziggurat looking like
he’s managed to escape from Honious itself?”

“The twins aren’t that bad,” Edeard said mildly.

“Daddy, you’ve got such a blind spot when it comes to them.”

He grinned roguishly. “Because I was so tough on you.”

Jiska raised her glass. “I’ll get around to Natran, don’t you worry. I
suppose five years is long enough.”

“No pressure. From me. Besides, it’s only two months till Marakas goes
before the Lady.”

She smiled with a kind of fond bewilderment. “I can’t believe he’s
marrying that one. I mean … Heliana is nice, and shapely, but really, what else
has she got? Are men genuinely that shallow?”

“Of course we are.”

“Poor Taralee.”

“Taralee will do fine; she’s destined for great things. One day she’s
going to be grand mistress of the Doctors Guild.” He was still inordinately
proud of his youngest, not yet twenty-two and already a Doctors Guild
journeyman. She’d completely eschewed the dizzy party life the twins had chosen
so she could devote herself to medicine.

“Let’s see,” Jiska mused. “After the election you’ll be Chief Constable.
So now that Dylorn’s joined the militia, you just need me or one of the twins
to become a Novice and work our way up to Pythia, and you’d be king of the
city.”

Trying to visualize either of the twins in a novice’s robing was plain
impossible. “Not the first time someone’s accused me of that ambition,” he
said.

“Really? Why?”

He looked at his daughter, smart, elegant, courted by every eligible man
in the city, completely carefree, and with such astonishing opportunities ahead
of her. But above all, his greatest triumph was to make her safe, to give her
that wonderful future. Yet she didn’t see that. The battles fought before her
birth meant very little to her generation. It was a depressing thought how
established he’d become, just to be taken for granted as one of Makkathran’s
principal figures. No questions asked, no need to prove himself, not anymore.

“Long old story. Ask Macsen sometime.”

“Oh, Lady. I know he’s your oldest friend, but I really can’t take any
more of those stories about the old days.”

“Good old days,” he corrected.

“If you say so, Daddy.”

It must have been something about Jiska’s skepticism or the appearance of
the Skylord, but Edeard gave Macsen an unusually critical appraisal as he made
his way over to his friend. The robes of office Macsen wore were fanciful,
allowing thick fur-trimmed fabric to flow easily around him. It was a generous
cut, perhaps designed to deflect attention from the equally generous belly
Macsen had cultivated over the last couple of decades. His handsome face, too,
was now a lot rounder. A fashionable short beard showed several gray strands.