The Evolutionary Void (54 page)

They ate in silence for a few minutes as Edeard considered what he was
going to ask the Skylords. He was sure they’d be in range by the following
morning or a day later at the least.

What could possibly have upset their pattern? Change originated from him;
he’d traveled back to start again enough times to know that by now. Everyone
else would just carry on as before unless he did something to alter their paths
through life. It was influence that mattered the most: He did something
different, so the lives of the people interacting with him altered to varying
degrees, and so the effect spread out like a sluggish ripple. The major
difference he’d made each time since the epic voyage around the world was to
explain how the Skylords didn’t need the towers of Eyrie to accept people for
guidance, which out in the provinces always led to a rush to build some kind of
homage tower in every town and city, to the detriment of the economy. His
repeated clarification that it didn’t need to be a tower, just a broad open
space for people to gather, was always blithely ignored (witness the tax revolt
following the Great Tower of Guidance fiasco).

For all the change he brought, it was only lives he affected; he couldn’t
change the weather or make the planets orbit any differently.
So why are there only two this time?

The only possible answer was one he simply couldn’t accept.

Dinlay arrived soon after Edeard started munching away on his second
slice of toast. The Chief Constable’s humor was as pleasant as always. Dinlay
had joined the unification almost unknowingly and certainly very willingly; the
acceptance of such a gentle universal communion was after all the thing his
subconscious had yearned for all these years. Even then, some things about
Dinlay had never altered.

Edeard watched closely for any sign of envy or jealousy from his old
friend regarding Hilitte (he’d made very sure that this time he was the first
to meet her as soon as she arrived in Makkathran armed with her mother’s lists
of contacts).
That old Ashwell optimism just never dies,
does it?
But no, Dinlay was unconcerned by Edeard’s latest girl; after
all, he’d just married Folopa, who was a lofty catch even by his standards.

Dinlay sat next to Edeard and placed his smart uniform hat on the table,
aligning it with the edge. His open mind revealed how satisfying that was, how
it fit in with the view that the world should be an ordered place.

“Help yourself,” Edeard said, gesturing to the sideboard. He couldn’t
help the wistful memories of when he and Dinlay had moved into the constable
tenement after they’d finished their probation. Nearly every morning until he’d
married they’d had breakfast together.
The best days. No!
The easiest
.

A ge-chimp brought Dinlay a cup of coffee and a croissant. “You need to
watch what you eat,” Dinlay said, eyeing the huge spread of food. “You’ll wind
up Macsen’s size if you’re not careful.”

“No, I won’t,” Edeard assured him softly. Dinlay and Macsen hadn’t spoken
for over a year now, which pained him.
Maybe I should go
right back to the beginning?
Except he knew that was the most pitiful
wishful thinking. This was the time when he’d gotten everything so close to
being right. All that was left for him now was to bring those remaining
provinces into the unification, along with a few recalcitrants left over in the
city. When that was done, he could truly, finally, relax.

“Some news came in last night that you’re going to enjoy,” Dinlay said.
“It would seem the Fandine militia is on the march.”

Edeard endured a nasty chill of déjà vu at the claim. The Fandine militia
had last marched when he was voyaging on the
Lady’s Light
,
but that was for another reason altogether. “Against Makkathran?” he asked
sharply.

Dinlay’s thoughts were happy at providing his friend with a surprise and
being able to reassure him. “Against Licshills. It would seem Devroul’s
expansionist ambitions were too great for Manel.”

“I see.” Edeard didn’t allow anyone to know his own dismay that this time
around Manel had fallen to the bad again and had set himself up as the Lord
President of Licshills. “When did this happen?”

“Five days ago. Larose’s fast scouts brought the news as quickly as they
could.” Dinlay sipped at his coffee, waiting for Edeard’s response.

“Five days. Which means they’ll be a fifth of the way there by now.”

“Are you going to try and stop them?”

“Oh, Edeard,” Hilitte exclaimed. “You have to stop them. There would be
so many people killed if you don’t. The Skylords would never come again.”

Edeard gave Dinlay a shrug. “She has a point.”

“Yes, but … who would the city’s militia regiments side with?”

“Neither. We oppose both, of course.” Edeard was trying to work out what
course of events they could play out. Clearly, the city forces would have to
stall the provincial regiments while domination was used against the individual
militiamen, pulling them into Makkathran’s unification. But ultimately there
would be a showdown with the strong psychics at the core of each independent
province. It was a situation he’d been avoiding for two years, hating the idea
of yet more confrontation. But the only alternative was traveling back for yet
another restart, making good the mistakes and problems before they emerged, and
that was something he simply could not contemplate.
Not
again. I can’t do it. Living those same years yet again would be a death for me
.

Dinlay nodded sagely. “Shall I tell Larose to prepare?”

People were going to die; Edeard knew that. The number would depend on
him. Riding the city militia into the conflict was the only way to keep the
number of deaths to a minimum. “Yes. I’ll ride with them myself.”

“Edeard—”

He held a hand up. “I have to. You know this.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“The Chief Constable has no business riding with the militia.”

“Nor does the Mayor.”

“I know. Nonetheless, it is my responsibility, so I will be there to do
what I can. But someone with authority must remain in the city.”

“The Grand Council …”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Dinlay admitted. “I do.”

“Besides, we don’t want to make Gealee a widow, now, do we?”

Dinlay glanced up from his croissant. “Gealee? Who’s Gealee?”

Edeard grimaced as he silently cursed his stupidity. “Sorry. My mind
wanders these days. I mean Folopa. You can’t take the risk. You’re barely back
from your honeymoon.”

“There’s an equal risk.”

“No, Dinlay, there isn’t. We both know that.” He pushed ever so slightly,
sending his longtalk whisper slithering into Dinlay’s thoughts to soothe the
agitated peaks of thought. Dinlay’s reluctance faded away.

“Aye, I suppose so.”

“Thank you,” Edeard said, hoping his guilt wasn’t showing. “I know this isn’t
easy for you.”

“You normally know what you’re doing.”

It was all he could do not to bark a bitter laugh. “One day I will. Now
come on.” He rose and gave Hilitte a quick kiss. “We have to get to the
sanctum. Argain and Marcol are the first meeting. They seem pleased with
themselves.”

“It’s nothing,” Dinlay said, finishing his coffee before getting to his
feet. “Information on the criminals resisting our city’s embrace. They have
some new names for you.”

“They’re not criminals.”
Not yet
, he added silently,
wondering where all his guilt was coming from this morning.
As if I don’t know: those Ladydamned Skylords
.

“They should be,” Dinlay muttered darkly.

———

It was the way of his days now, meeting with people who were at odds with
the city’s unity. Acting as moderator, smoothing the way for understanding
between everyone. A version of being Mayor he’d never quite envisioned during
the caravan trip to Makkathran too many decades ago. He’d always thought he’d
be elected in a free vote, arguing with his opponents and winning people over.
Instead, he’d been the only candidate in a city where everyone’s mind was
attuned to his.
Well, not everyone
, he admitted,
and that’s a big part of the problem
. Some people knew how
to resist or deflect dominance. But they still gave the appearance of sharing,
of unity with everybody else. Everything would be running along smoothly for
weeks, then one morning the constables would be called to premises that had
been smashed up or a gondolier yard where boats had been broken. More worrying
were the warehouses where fruit and meat had been ruined, chopped open or
doused in cartloads of genistar excrement. That was happening too often for his
liking, and it was always performed by genistars, leaving no trace of the
perpetrator even in the city’s memory.

So Argian and Marcol and Felax tracked down those resisting the
unification one by one, but their true numbers were unknown. Rumor had it in
the thousands. Edeard suspected a few hundred, which left him content that his
dedicated team would gradually wear down the resistance. It was almost like the
good old days of the Grand Council committee on organized crime. Except even
that was an illusion, a memory that when examined properly wasn’t so joyful. It
was just another achingly long time spent shuffling reports and dossiers.

If anything was becoming a true constant in his life, it was the
mountains of paperwork and those endless boring meetings.
Can
that really lead to my fulfillment? And if not, what?

The evening didn’t start well. One of the girls Hilitte brought to the
bedchamber wasn’t used to so much food being available and ate too much during
the meal beforehand, which led to her feeling sick when they all retired to the
master bedchamber. With unity came minds wide open to each other. That meant
the sensations of her nausea spread like a contagion.

After she’d hurried out, leaving those left behind to take deep breaths
and calm their queasy stomachs, Edeard decided a quiet night spent by himself
might be preferable to the usual frenetic physical performance. Sure enough,
his day had been long, uneventful, and ultimately thankless. His one attempt to
longtalk Jiska had resulted in the usual quick rebuff. His children had all
taken their mother’s side. It was probably the main reason he’d turned to
Hilitte and the others; their cheap adoration was an easy way of easing the
pain of loss, no matter how shallow and flimsy the act. His one genuine thread
of comfort amid the estrangement came from knowing that a unified world would
provide them with fulfillment. He hadn’t failed them even though they would
never acknowledge it.

He asked Hilitte and the remaining girl to leave him. Hilitte stomped out
in a wake of hurt feelings and sourness with just an undercurrent of worry that
her time as the favorite was drawing to a close. Such was his languor, he
couldn’t be bothered to reassure her. He wove a thick shield around his
feelings, cutting himself off from the mellow reassuring contentment of the
unified minds glowing around him, and fell asleep.

He was woken out of his outlandish dream by the strength of worry from
the approaching mind. For a second he had been back in the forest with the
other Ashwell apprentices on their galby hunt, beset with fear without knowing
why. But it was only Argian, breezing his way past staff with cool purpose,
ignoring any requests to wait for the sleeping Waterwalker to be formally woken
and informed of his presence.

“It’s all right,” Edeard longtalked through the bedchamber’s closed door.
“Come in.” His third hand hauled a robe over as Argian strode in. Now that
Edeard was shaking off the sleep, he became aware of just how deep the currents
of anxiety were running in the man’s mind. Bitter regret was like the burn of
bile. “What is it?” Edeard asked in trepidation.

“We caught them,” Argian said, but there wasn’t a trace of elation in the
tone. That morning he and Marcol had been excited at the new leads they’d
gathered, the information that that night there would be a raid on a shipyard
in the Port district, where two half-built trading schooners would be burned.

“And?” Edeard asked.

“They fought back.” There were tears glinting in Argian’s eyes now. “I’m
so sorry, Edeard. Her concealment was good; we didn’t even know she was there.”

Edeard became still, the hot blood pounding around his body suddenly
turning to ice as he perceived the picture forming amid Argian’s thoughts.
“No,” he moaned.

“We didn’t know. I swear on the Lady. Marcol hauled her out of the flames
as soon as we farsighted her.”

“Where is she?”

“The hospital on Half Bracelet Lane in Neph; it was the closest.”

Edeard flung his farsight into the district, pushing through the thick
walls of the hospital. As always, the sense revealed only gauzy radiant
shadows, but he could perceive the body that lay on a cot in the ground-floor
ward; he knew the signature anywhere. It was ablaze with pain. “Oh, great
Lady,” he groaned in horror.

The travel tunnels took him down to Neph in minutes. As he passed under
Abad, he sensed someone else flying along ahead of him. Two girls, holding
hands as they hurtled headfirst, radiated fear and concern as their long dark
skirts flapped wildly in the slipstream.

“Marilee? Analee?” he called. He had no idea they knew of the travel
tunnels. Their thoughts vanished behind an astonishingly strong shield. The
rejection was as shocking as it was absolute.

He rose up through the floor of the hospital a few seconds behind the
twins. They were already hurrying toward the ward, glimpsed as shadows in the
dark corridors, their heels clattering on the floor. He followed, every step
slower than the last. The farsight of his whole family was converging on the
hospital, their presence like malign souls.