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.

“Aunt!” the Mayor exclaimed happily. “How lovely of you to come.”

“He’s the one,” Mistress Florell declared in her scratchy voice. “The young hooligan who nearly knocked me to the ground.”

“Now, Aunt.”

“Take his epaulets away,” she snapped imperiously. “He’s not fit to serve this city. Time was we used to have men of good character in the constables, the sons of noblemen.”

The Mayor gave Edeard a half-apologetic look. “What happened, Constable?”

“I was pursuing some thieves, sir. Mistress Florell came out of a building. I went around—”

“Ha! Tried to run over me, more like.”

“Come, come, Aunt. The lad was obviously just doing his job. A conscientious chap like this is just what we need. Suppose the thieves had snatched your bag; wouldn’t you want him to give chase?”

“Nobody would steal my bag,” she snapped.

“I am sorry for any distress,” Edeard said desperately. The horrible old woman just wouldn’t listen.

The Mayor shuffled around to stand between Mistress Florell and Edeard, flicking his fingers in a “go away” motion. Edeard did a kind of half bow and backed away fast, accompanied by Salrana and Finitan.

“Aunt, you know it’s bad for you to dwell on such trivia. Now some of these Mindalla Estate fortified wines are really quite lovely. You must try—” There was a note of tired desperation in his voice.

Finitan smiled broadly as they hurried off. “Thank you, Edeard. These reception parties are normally quite tedious.”

“Er…yes, sir.”

“Oh, come now. This is your graduation day. Don’t let that daft old bat spoil it for you. She’s embarrassingly well connected, as you would be if you clung to life for so long. Wouldn’t surprise me if she did drink the blood of virgins, after all. Your pardon, Novice.”

“I’ve heard of Mistress Florell, sir,” Salrana said.

“Everyone in the city has,” Finitan said. “That’s why she thinks she’s so important instead of just old and obnoxious.” He put his hand on Edeard’s shoulder. “And I say that as her great-great-nephew, myself. Twice removed, thankfully.”

“Thank you, sir,” Edeard said.

“Now, off you go and enjoy yourselves. And Edeard, when the time comes for you to apply for promotion to officer rank, come and see me again. I’ll be happy to sign the letter.”

“Sir?” Edeard asked incredulously.

“You heard. Now be off with the pair of you. It’s a bold bad city out there. Have fun!”

Edeard did not need telling again. He and Salrana made for the hall’s big archway, which led out to the antechambers.

“Hey, Edeard,” Macsen called, hurrying to intercept him. “Where are you off to?”

“Just out,” Edeard said. He didn’t even want to glance over his shoulder in case Mistress Florell was looking his way.

Macsen reached them and skidded to a halt. “Mother and Dybal are taking me to the Rakas restaurant to celebrate. It’s an open invitation to my squadmates as well.” Macsen stopped, and smiled at Salrana. “Novice, I had no idea Edeard kept such pleasant company.” He gave Edeard an expectant look, ever the injured party.

“This is Novice Salrana from my home village,” Edeard said sulkily.

“That is one village I am definitely going to have to visit.” Macsen bowed deeply.

“Why is that, Constable?” she asked.

“To see if all the girls there are as beautiful as yourself.”

She laughed. Edeard groaned, glaring in warning at Macsen.

“The invitation to Rakas is of course extended to the friends of my squadmates, Novice.”

“The friends accept with thanks,” she said primly. “But only if you stop calling me ‘Novice.’”

“It will be my delight, Salrana. And I will also beg you to tell of Edeard’s early life. It would seem he’s been keeping secrets from us. Those who entrust our lives to him, no less.”

“Shocking,” she agreed. “I will entertain such a request if correctly made.”

“Salrana!” a horrified Edeard exclaimed.

“Excellent,” Macsen said. “I’ll arrange another gondola for our party. Now, Edeard, where is Kanseen?”

Edeard glowered at his so-called friend.

“Edeard?” Salrana prompted with a jab to his ribs.

“Over there.” Edeard said it without having to concentrate; through his farsight he was automatically aware of all his squadmates, a trait Chae always tried to emphasize. He pointed to where Kanseen was chatting with a heavily pregnant woman and a man in a smart tunic with the crest of the Shipwright’s Guild. “Her sister came to the ceremony. They’re catching up.”

“No sign of her mother, then, poor thing,” Macsen said sadly. “Ah, well, I’ll go and ask her.”

“Boyd’s family are all here,” Edeard said.

“And we’ll yet sink under the weight of Dinlay’s relatives,” Macsen concluded. “So it’s just us precious few left. See you at the Outer Circle Canal mooring in ten minutes.”

“What did you say that for?” Edeard asked as Macsen walked over to Kanseen.

Salrana cocked her head to one side and gave him a very haughty look. “It was a gesture of honest friendship. Why should I not accept?”

“He was flirting with you.”

She grinned. “Wasn’t he just.”

“You’re a novice!”

“We are not professional virgins, Edeard. I seem to remember us kissing. And more, wasn’t there a discussion about my age and when you would be ready to bed me?”

Edeard turned bright red. His farsight tried to sense sparks of interest in those standing closest; either they could shield too well or they had not overheard. One thing was sure: She wouldn’t back down. She never has. Her voice would only grow louder if he persisted. “I don’t wish to recall that day too closely if you don’t mind. However, if I’ve offended you, I apologize. I still think of you as my charge, especially after all we have been through. Which is why I overreacted with Macsen. Truly, Salrana, he’s had more girls than I have socks.”

Her smile was forgiving. “I’ve seen your wardrobe. You only have two pairs of socks.”

“I do not!”

“And they have holes in them. So you just concentrate on worrying about yourself, Edeard. I know and understand all about Macsen and boys like him. That’s why he’s perfectly harmless.”

“He’s perfectly charming.”

“It’s not a crime, you know. Perhaps if you showed a little more charm, then you could boast of more conquests.”

“Charm, eh?” He bent his arm, and extended it toward her. “May I escort you to the mooring, Novice Salrana?”

“Why, thank you, Constable Edeard; you may indeed.” She linked her arm through his and allowed him to lead her out of the hall.

 

The Rakas restaurant was in the Abad district, which meant a gondola ride down the Great Major Canal. It was the first time Edeard had been in one of the elegant black boats. He didn’t have the coinage to travel in them ordinarily. Money clearly was not an issue with Dybal.

The errant musician was everything Edeard had expected: wild black hair reaching halfway down his back, barely contained by red leather bands that gave it a peculiar ropy appearance, a long face had weather-beaten creases and sunken cheeks above a narrow jaw; but with brown-gold eyes that always seemed to be seeing the funny side of life as they peeped over narrow blue-lens glasses. His whole mental aura was agreeable, akin to that of a carefree adolescent rather than a man well over a hundred. Just being able to say hello and shake hands was enough to banish Edeard’s lingering dismay over Mistress Florell. As their little group assembled at the moorings, Dybal made them all feel welcome even though they’d never met him before. He instinctively knew the right note to take with each of them.

“Come on, then,” he said loudly once they were all present, and led them down the steps. His clothes were large, even though he was improbably slender for his age. Edeard imagined they needed to be that big to contain his ebullience; he certainly achieved the whole larger-than-life image effortlessly enough: strident voice, big arm gestures, fur-lined velvet jacket, paisley shirt, and leather trousers, their colors mimicking those of the Musician’s Guild or, more likely, a deliberate mockery of them. Edeard was only slightly disappointed that the musician wasn’t carrying his guitar; he wanted to hear the songs of rebellion that stoked up Makkathran’s youth.

Dybal took the first gondola along with Macsen and Bijulee, Macsen’s mother. Edeard watched him talk to the gondolier, holding the man’s hand between his two palms, squeezing intently. Both men laughed, the kind of low merriment that usually came from a dirty joke. Dybal took his seat beside Bijulee while the still-smiling gondolier pushed off.

“That is Macsen’s mother?” Kanseen asked as they settled on the middle bench in their own gondola.

“Yeah,” Edeard said. And to think, a few minutes earlier he had believed the Pythia was an attractive older woman. “Macsen introduced me just before you arrived.” That had gone a long way to making his world a better place.

“Can’t be,” Kanseen declared as their gondola slipped out onto the Great Major Canal. “That would mean she had him when she was what…ten? She looks like she’s my age, for the Lady’s sake.”

Edeard sat back on the bench, smiling. He was so content, he came this close to putting his arm around Salrana, who was sitting next to him. “Do I hear the little voice of envy there, Constable?”

“You hear the little voice of disbelief,” Kanseen muttered.

“Perhaps it’s his sister and I misheard.”

“How does she keep her skin so fresh? It’s got to be some ointment only available to the rich.”

“Maybe she imports it direct from Nikran.”

Kanseen pulled a face.

“You two.” Salrana laughed. “You’re like an old married couple.”

Edeard and Kanseen carefully avoided each other’s gaze. The gondola already had reached Birmingham Pool, the big junction at the top of the Grand Central Canal. From Edeard’s position, the entire circle of water seemed to be full of gondolas dodging one another as they slipped in and out of the various canals emptying into the pool. He did his best not to flinch. None of the gondoliers were slowing down; they seemed to know instinctively where to go. Craft slipped past them close enough to touch if he had been brave enough to stretch out an arm. Then they arrived at the head of the Grand Central Canal, and their gondolier gave a hard push on his punt.

The first thing Edeard looked at was the mooring on his right where the thieves had escaped. He caught Kanseen looking at it, too. She gave him a tiny shrug. Then he forgot all about it and enjoyed the view. At the top end of the city, along the Silvarum, Haxpen, and Padua districts, the canal was lined with some of the grandest buildings in Makkathran: palaces up to ten stories high with huge windows, their facades a swirl of color in weird patterns. Turrets, belvederes, and spires produced a serrated skyline. Ge-eagles bigger than any Edeard had ever sculpted flew in lazy circles around the pinnacles, keeping watch on the approaches to each magnificent family seat. Kanseen pointed out some of them: the palace that was home to the Mayor’s family and the ziggurat where Rah and the Lady were supposed to have lived, now home to the Culverit family, who claimed direct lineage. She whispered about one red-tinged facade where Macsen’s father had lived. When Edeard glanced at the gondola in front, both Macsen and Bijulee were looking in the opposite direction.

All the stately buildings had low water-level archways leading into the warren of cellars underneath, guarded by thick iron gates that the families maintained in excellent order. The walls of the Purdard family’s palace were at an angle, actually overhanging the water. When Edeard looked up, he saw a glassed-in mirador running the length of the upper story, with several youngsters standing there watching the gondolas. A fabulously rich trading family, Kanseen said, with a fleet of thirty ships.

They passed through the High Pool, which provided a junction with Flight Canal and Market Canal. There was a bridge on either side of the pool. The first one was the city’s, a simple high white arch to which carpenters had attached a broad rail along both sides. Famously, the apex was a ten-yard stretch of crystal, providing a view directly past any pedestrian’s shoes down onto the water and the gondolas thirty yards below. Not everyone could walk across it. The sight was too much for some, as many as one in twenty, the Doctor’s Guild claimed. At Chae’s insistence, Edeard and the rest of the squad had used it several times on patrol. Edeard had had to gird himself to walk those few invisible yards; the vertigo wasn’t strong enough to stop him, though it was unpleasant. All the squadmates had forced themselves across it; surprisingly, Dinlay had been the least affected. The bridge on the other side of High Pool was constructed out of iron and wood, a bulky creaking thing in comparison to its cousin, yet with far more traffic. Past the pool, the towers of Eyrie stabbed up into the clean azure sky as if ready to impale any passing Skylord. Fiacre district’s clifflike frontage swarmed with vine plants, with long strands of flowers bubbling out of the emerald and russet leaves. Only the windows remained clear of foliage, producing deep-set black holes in the lush living carpet.

The gondolas pulled up at a mooring just beyond Forest Pool, and everyone climbed out. Dybal paid the gondoliers, and they all set off to the round tower that housed the Rakas restaurant on its third floor. Hansalt, the owner and chief chef, had reserved for Dybal a table beside a long window overlooking one of the district’s colorful plazas.

“An auspicious day for us,” Dybal announced as a waitress brought over a tray with chilled white wine. “First, a toast to your squad, Macsen. May you rid the city of crime.”

They drank to that. Edeard gave the glass a suspicious glance. He’d never seen wine with bubbles in it before, but when he sipped it, the taste was surprisingly light and fruity. He rather liked it.

“Secondly,” Dybal said. “To Edeard, for being appointed squad leader.”

Edeard blushed.

“Speech!” Macsen demanded.

“Not a chance.” Edeard grunted.

They laughed and drank to that.

“Thirdly.” His voice softened, and he looked down at Bijulee. “I am very proud to announce that my beloved has agreed to marry me.”

The cheer that went up made all the other customers look over at them. Everyone saw that it was Dybal and smiled knowingly. Macsen was hugging his mother. Edeard and Salrana were astonished but clinked glasses anyway and downed some more of the bubbling wine. Another two chilled bottles arrived and were poured out quickly.

Afterward, Edeard always thought back to that meal as the first time he had been truly happy since Ashwell. The food was like nothing he’d ever eaten before. It arrived on big white plates arranged with such artistry that he almost did not want to eat it, but when he did tuck in, the combination of tastes was marvelous. And Dybal had gossip about the city’s elite that was downright scandalous. That all started because of Salrana, who was answering Macsen’s question about what novices did all day long.

“I mean no disrespect to the Lady,” he said. “But surely it must be boring just reading Her scriptures and singing in Her church.”

“Hey,” Dybal objected. “Less mockery about singing if you don’t mind.”

“I’ve been assigned to Millical House,” Salrana said. “I love looking after the children. They’re so sweet.”

“What’s Millical House?” Edeard asked. “A school?”

“You don’t know?” Bijulee asked. She was uncertain if Edeard was making a joke.

“I told you, Mother,” Macsen said. “He really is from a village on the edge of the wilds.”

“Millical is an orphanage,” Salrana said solemnly. “I cannot understand why any mother would give up her baby, especially the ones as gorgeous as we get in the nursery. But they do, so the Lady takes care of them. It’s a fantastic place, Edeard. The children lack for nothing. Makkathran really cares.”

Dybal gave a certain cough. “Actually, that’s a rather exceptional orphanage.”

“What do you mean?” Salrana asked.

“You sure you want to hear this?”

Salrana twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, giving Dybal a level gaze. “We do take in anyone.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But it helps that you’re in the Lillylight district. Consider who your neighbors are. You see, Edeard, Millical House is where the noble families deliver those little unwanted embarrassments which happen when the younger sons are out enjoying themselves with the lower-order girls at the more disreputable entertainment theaters that grace our fine city.”

“The kind you play at?” Bijulee asked mildly.

“Yes, my love, the kind I play at.” He eyed the three young constables. “Been to any yet?”

“Not yet,” Kanseen said. Macsen kept quiet.

“Just a matter of time. Anyway, the reason Millical is so well funded is the tradition that the family concerned makes a donation—anonymous, of course—each time a babe is left on the house’s charity step for the novices to take in.”

“Any money for children is distributed equally among all the Lady’s orphanages,” Salrana said.

“I’m sure a great deal of the bequests filter down to the other orphanage houses. And the Lady performs invaluable work caring for such unfortunates, as I do know. But if you ever get to work in any of the other houses, you’ll notice the difference.”

“And how do you know for sure?” Bijulee asked teasingly.

Dybal turned to face her with a sad smile. “Because I grew up in one.”

“Really?” Macsen asked.

“That’s right. Which is why I’m so impressed with you four youngsters. You came from nothing, especially Edeard and Salrana here, and you’re all making a life for yourselves. I admire that. I truly do. You’re not dependent on anyone, let alone a decadent family. I know I’m the first to complain about the city’s hierarchy, the way democracy has been expropriated by the rich, but there are some institutions which are still worthwhile. People need the constables for the security you bring to the streets and canals and the Lady for hope.”

“I thought that was what your music brought,” Salrana said with a cheeky gleam in her eye.

“It depends which class you belong to. If you’re rich, I’m a delicious wicked rebel, hot and dripping with sarcasm and irony. They have to pay me to perform, which I’m glad to do for them. But for the rest of the city, the people who toil their whole life to make things work, I’m a focal point for resentment. I articulate their feelings. For them, I sing for free. I don’t want their coinage. I want them to spend it on themselves so they don’t have to give away their children.”

“So you compete with the Lady?” Salrana said.

“I offer a mild alternative, that’s all. Hopefully an enjoyable one.”

“I must try and get to one of your performances.”

“I’ll be happy to escort you,” Macsen said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she retorted before Edeard could intervene. He did not say anything, not there and then, that would spoil the meal.

“Do you know all the Grand Council?” Edeard asked Dybal.

“Oh, yes. They think that by associating with me they gain credibility. What they’re actually doing by inviting me to their homes is contributing generously to lyrics of irony and hypocrisy. Why do you ask, Edeard? Do you need to know about their mistresses? Their strange shared interest in taxing cotton production in Fondral province? The scandal over funds for the militia? The money wasted on official functions? The disease of corruption which infects the staff of the Orchard Palace who are supposed to be impartial? How our dear Mayor, Owain, is already buying votes for the next election—the one time he needs public support?”

“Actually, no. I was wondering about Mistress Florell.”

“Edeard has met her,” Macsen said with a chortle.

“We all did, while we were on duty,” Edeard countered.

“She hit him with her umbrella,” Kanseen added drily.

Dybal and Bijulee laughed at that.

“The old witch tried to get Edeard thrown out of the constables,” Salrana said, hot-cheeked. “At the ceremony today, she told the Mayor to take his epaulets back.”

“How typical,” Dybal said. “Don’t worry, Edeard; she has no real power, not anymore. She’s a figurehead for the noble families, that’s all. They like to make out she’s a much loved grandmother to the whole city. Total crap, of course. She was a scheming little bitch when she was younger, which admittedly is history to all of us now. But she had three husbands before her fiftieth birthday, all first sons of District Masters, which is just about unheard of even today. She gave each of them two sons, and some say there was witchery in that. And by strange coincidence, all three second children went on to marry noble daughters in families where the male lineage had faltered in favor of the girls. By the next generation she’d spread her brood through eleven District Master families. With that kind of power bloc in the Upper Council, she controlled the vote for decades. Our last so-called golden age, which saw the rise of the militia at the expense of all other arms of government. You see, she believes there’s an actual physical difference between the nobility and those without their obscene wealth. In other words, her offspring are born to rule and bring order to the uncivilized masses such as thee and me. Needless to say, she doesn’t believe that we should have anything to do with the city’s government. That sort of thing is best left to those whom destiny has blessed with good blood.”

“No wonder she didn’t like you, Edeard.” Macsen grinned. “You’re not even city-born. She could probably smell the countryside on you.”

“Not everyone in the Upper Council believes in that, do they?” Edeard asked, thinking of Finitan. A nephew, he had said.

“Hopefully not. There are still a few decent noblemen around today. And of course, District Masters’ seats on the Upper Council are checked by the Guild Masters. And the Lower Council itself is still directly elected, not that you’d know it in some districts. That makes for a lot of genuine debate in the Grand Council. Rah knew what he was doing when he crafted our constitution.”

“But your songs are still popular.”

“They are. Dissatisfaction with those who rule is always attractive to the majority; it’s an obsession which humans brought with them on the ships which fell to Querencia. As a species we find it as easy as breathing. And it’s never helped by old men like me who reminisce on how things were always better in our lost youth.”

“You’re a rabble-rouser, you mean,” Bijulee said fondly as she ran her hand through his ragged braids of hair.

“And proud of it.” Dybal raised his glass again. “To making our masters’ lives a misery.”

The whole table drank to that.

 

“So what’s the story with you and Salrana?” Kanseen asked. It was late at night. The celebratory lunch had lasted all afternoon. Edeard had not wanted it to end. He was perfectly relaxed thanks to that lovely wine with bubbles, the company of friends, eating fine food, and making happy intelligent conversation. No, this was a day that if the Lady were kind should last and last.

But as was the way of all things, they finished the final bottle of wine, ate the last morsel of cheese, and bade one another farewell. Dybal winced theatrically when the bill arrived. The sun had set outside, leaving the city’s cold orange lighting to bathe the streets along with the faint haze of the nebulae overhead. Edeard announced that he would walk Salrana back to Millical House in the Lillylight district. As it was directly between Abad and Jeavons, Kanseen offered to walk with them.

The orphanage house was a nice one, close to the Victoria Canal, with its own garden and play yard. Yet he could not help noticing that it was the smallest building on the street. Salrana had given him a light peck on the cheek before scooting off through the imposing doors that filled the entrance arch.

Edeard and Kanseen continued together, using a bridge over Castoff Canal to put them in the Drupe district, where the palaces matched anything along the Great Major Canal. It was quiet on those district’s narrow streets and broad squares. Bodyguards stood imposingly outside the iron gates of the palaces. Edeard tried not to stare as they passed the alert figures in dark uniforms; he was sure that staying a constable was better than such monotonous duty night after night. That disapproval must have escaped his shielding.

“That’s not what I’ll be doing,” Kanseen said quietly as their footfalls echoed around them in a narrow street high enough to block out all the night sky except for the slim violet thread of Buluku’s meandering tail. “None of them are ex-constables—they’re estate workers and farm boys who’ve come to the city in search of a better life. They only last a couple of years before they make their way back home—that or migrate into Sampalok.”

“Could have been me, then,” Edeard said.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

They walked over the third bridge across the Marble Canal and back into the familiar territory of Jeavons. Gondolas slid past quietly underneath them, small white lanterns glowing on the front. Their passengers snuggled under the canopy, enjoying the romance of the ride. By then Edeard could recognize the wind rising from the sea, the moisture it carried. Clouds were scudding overhead, starting to veil the nebulae. It would rain tonight, in another hour, he decided as he smelled the air.

The constables’ tenement was two streets away from the Jeavons station, a big ugly building from the outside but wrapped around a central oval courtyard boasting a pool of warmish water large enough to swim in and overlooked by four levels of walkways. It contained the maisonettes reserved for the constables. Those with families had taken over one end, with the bachelors at the other. Not that it was a fixed divide. Edeard along with the rest of the squad had moved in a couple of days earlier. Each morning he had been woken by children shouting outside his door as they raced along the walkway, playing some exciting game of chase.

Now the children were in bed as he and Kanseen walked up a set of awkward rounded stairs to the third level, where they both had maisonettes.

“No real story,” he told her. “You know Salrana and I traveled here together. I’m sort of like her older brother.”

“She’s in love with you.”

“What?”

“I was watching her this afternoon. It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain. Even Macsen fathomed it. Didn’t you notice he’d stopped trying to flirt with her by the time the fish course arrived? There’s no point. She’s only interested in you.”

“She’s smart enough to realize how shallow he is. That’s all. If they don’t fall at his feet in the first five minutes, he moves on. You know what he’s like.”

“I never thought I’d see you in denial.”

“It’s not denial. You asked a question, and I answered it.”

They stopped at the top of the stairs and looked out over the extensive courtyard. The rim of the pool was a thin intense line of pale orange. It made the water look very inviting. Edeard knew that a lot of the constables went for a nighttime dip. His stomach was too heavy from a whole afternoon of bingeing, he decided reluctantly.

“Actually, you didn’t answer,” Kanseen said. “All you admitted to was knowing her, which doesn’t shed any light on your relationship at all.”

“Lady save me, you really did take in all of Master Solarin’s lectures, didn’t you?”

“My grades were almost as high as yours, yes. So on that long trip through the mountains and across swamps filled with monsters, did you sleep with her?”

“No!”

“Why not? She’s very pretty. And slim. I’ve seen what your eye lingers on when we’re out on patrol.”

“She’s far too young, for a start. And she’s getting pretty. Doctors in Makkathran have better ointments than we had on the caravan.”

“Edeard!” Kanseen gave a small shocked laugh. “I think that’s the most evil thing I’ve ever heard you say about anyone, let alone your little sister.”

“Lady, you’re cruel. I don’t answer a question to your satisfaction and you say I’m in denial; then I give an honest answer and you brand me evil.”

She sucked contritely on her lower lip. “Sorry, but you can understand why.”

“Not really.” Edeard was looking at her profile in the coppery shimmer thrown off by the surface of the pool. In such a light she looked almost aristocratic, with her strong chin and slight nose, skin painted enticingly dark. She turned to face him, cocking her head slightly to one side in that questioning way he enjoyed.

He leaned forward and kissed her. She pressed in against him, hands sliding over his back. For once he dropped his mental guard, showing her how much he delighted in the touch of her, the closeness. After a long time they ended the kiss. Her nose rubbed against his cheek, and she let him sense how much that meant to her.

“Come to bed with me,” he murmured. His tongue darted out to lick the lobe of her ear. She shivered from the contact. Hot lines of pleasure flickered across her mind. He was delightfully aware of her breasts against his chest and hugged her closer. This is going to be the best ever.

“No,” she said. Her shoulders dropped, and she rested her hands against his shoulders, moving them apart to end the embrace. “I’m sorry, Edeard. I feel a lot for you, I really do; you know that. That’s the trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could work, you and me. I really think we could. Lovers, then marriage, children. Everything. I’m not afraid of that. It’s just the timing. It’s wrong.”

“Timing?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for a long-term commitment yet. And I certainly don’t need another fling, not with someone I care about.”

“It wouldn’t have to be a fling. I’m ready to settle down with someone as important to me as you are.”

“Oh, Lady, you’re so sweet.” She sighed. “No, Edeard. I can’t compete against the ideal of Salrana. You’re closer to her than you know or will admit. How could you not be after all the two of you shared? I’m not jealous, well, not exactly. But she’s always going to be there between us until you sort your feelings out.”

“She’s just a kid from the same village, that’s all.”

“Open your feelings to me. Show me your naked mind and say you don’t want to bed her, you don’t want to know the feel of her against you.”

“I…No, this is stupid. You’re accusing me of—I don’t know: having dreams. This world is full of opportunities. Some we grasp; others we pass by. It’s not me who’s scared of what might be. You need to look at your own feelings.”

They were standing apart now, voices not raised but firm.

“I know my own feelings,” she said. “And I want yours to match mine. That means I can wait. You’re worth waiting for, Edeard, however long it takes. You mean that much to me.”

“Well, that’s got to be the craziest way of showing it. Ever,” he said, trying not to let the hurt affect his voice. His mind hardened against releasing any emotion, which was difficult given the turmoil she had kindled.

“Tell her,” Kanseen said simply. She reached out to stroke his cheek, but he dodged back. “Be true to yourself, Edeard. That’s the you I want.”

“Good night,” he said stiffly.

Kanseen nodded, then turned away. Edeard was sure he saw a tear on her cheek. He refused to use his farsight to check. Instead he went into his maisonette and threw himself on the too-high bed. Anger warred with frustration in his mind. He imagined Salrana and Kanseen fighting, an image that quickly took on a life outside his control. His fist thumped the pillow. He turned over and sent his farsight swirling out across the city, observing the vast clutter of minds as they wrestled with their own demons. It felt good not to be suffering alone.

He took a long time to fall asleep.

“Rumor has it the Pythia uses her concealment ability to twist her features. She is over a hundred and fifty, after all; she could give Mistress Florell a run for her money in the withered crone stakes. There has to be some kind of devilment involved to make her look the way she does.” Boyd put a lot of emphasis on that last sentence, dipping his head knowingly.

“Can you do that?” a startled Edeard asked.

“I don’t know.” Boyd lowered his voice. “They say the Grand Masters can completely conceal themselves from view. I’ve never seen it myself.”

Edeard paused on the threshold of pointing out the slight logical flaw in that admission. “Right.” They were on patrol in Jeavons, walking alongside the Brotherhood Canal, which bordered the southern side of the district. Beyond the water was Tycho, not strictly a district but a wide strip of meadow between the canal and the crystal wall. Wooden stables used by the militia squatted on the grass, the only buildings permitted on the common land. He could see stable boys cantering horses and ge-horses along sandy tracks, the morning exercise they and their predecessors had performed for centuries. Several horses had ge-wolves running alongside.

It was their sixth patrol since graduation, six days during which he and Kanseen barely had exchanged a word. They’d been perfectly civil to each other, but that was all. He did not want that; he wanted them at least to go back to how it was before that messed-up evening. How they might arrive back at that comfortable old association was a complete mystery, one he definitely was not going to consult the others on. He got the impression they already guessed that something had happened. Knowing them, they’d royally screw up that speculation.

For some reason he’d also held off saying anything to Salrana. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that Kanseen did have a small point there. He really was going to have to face up to the whole friends become lovers issue simmering between him and Salrana. It wasn’t fair to her. She was growing up into a beautiful adolescent, so much more vivacious than any of the city girls he encountered. All he had to do was get over his notion of protectiveness. That was stupid, too. She was old enough to look out for herself and make her own choices. The only person who had appointed him her guardian was himself, something he had done out of obligation and friendship. To do anything different, especially now, could be considered taking advantage.

Sometimes you have to do what’s wrong to do what’s right.

And physically he knew they would be fantastic together. That body, and as for those legs… Altogether too much time of late was spent thinking about how her legs would feel wrapped around him, long athletic muscles flexing relentlessly. It would end with them both screaming in pleasure. We wouldn’t even get out of bed for the first year.

Then, after that, after the passion, they’d still enjoy each other’s company. Salrana was the only person he could ever really talk to. They understood each other. Two hick kids against the city: future Mayor, future Pythia.

He smiled warmly.

“Of course, I could just talk to myself instead,” an irritated Macsen said.

“Sorry, what?” Edeard asked, banishing the smile.

Macsen glanced over at Kanseen, who was standing beside Dinlay, the pair of them looking down on a gondola full of crates, calling something to the gondolier. “Boy, she really worked you over, didn’t she?”

“Who? Oh, no. There’s nothing wrong. Kanseen and I are fine.”

“I’d hate to see you unfine.”

“Really, I’m good. What did you want?”

“The shopkeepers in Boltan Street keep saying strangers are walking along, checking out the buildings with strong farsight. They’re obviously a gang taking a scouting trip. So if we go up there in these uniforms, we’ll scare them off and they’ll just come back in a week or a month, whenever we move on. But if we were to loiter around in ordinary clothes, they wouldn’t know we were there, and we could catch them at it red-handed.”

“I don’t know. You know what Ronark is like about wearing the uniform on duty.” As they were starting their third patrol, the captain had appeared unexpectedly and performed a snap inspection. Edeard almost had been demoted for the “disgraceful lack of standards.” Since then, he had made sure his squadmates were properly dressed before leaving the station.

“Exactly,” Macsen said. “If you’re a constable in Jeavons, you have to be in a uniform; everyone knows that. So they won’t be expecting us out of uniform.”

“Hmm, maybe. Let me talk to Chae first, see what he thinks.”

“He’ll say no,” Boyd told them. “You know procedure. If a crime is suspected, then you use ge-eagles to observe the area while the squad waits out of farsight range.”

“We don’t know how long we’ll have to wait,” Macsen said. “And Edeard only has one ge-eagle.”

“You can sculpt more, can’t you?” Boyd said. “You told us you used to be an Eggshaper apprentice.”

“He can’t sculpt without a guild licence, not in Makkathran,” Macsen said. “It’s the law; we’d wind up having to arrest him. You know how keen they are on maintaining their monopoly. In any case, this is going to happen soon. We don’t have time to sculpt ge-eagles. That’s why we have to go patrolling in disguise.”

“Ordinary clothes aren’t a disguise,” Boyd protested.

“It doesn’t matter what clothes we wear as long as it’s not the uniform,” Macsen said, his temper rising. “Dress how you want. Maybe in a dress; you’re certainly acting like an old woman.”

“Good one, smart-ass. If this gang’s as clever as you say, they’ll know all our faces, anyway.”

“Enough,” Edeard said, holding up his hands. “I will speak to Chae as soon as we get in. Until then I’ll keep my ge-eagle close to Boltan Street. I can’t do anything more in the middle of a patrol, so drop it for now, please.”

“Just a suggestion,” Macsen grumbled as he started to walk away.

“Are you deliberately bugging him?” Edeard asked Boyd.

The lanky boy gave a sly grin. “I don’t have to answer that; I’m not under oath.”

Edeard laughed. The Boyd of six months ago would never have dared any mischief at another’s expense, let alone a friend.

The squad set off along the canal again, following the gentle curve northward. Edeard’s plan was to stay on the side path until they reached its junction with the Outer Circle Canal, then turn back in to Jeavons. He sent his ge-eagle swooping low over the roof and towers of the district, guiding it toward Boltan Street. It was a damp gray morning with the last of the night’s rain clouds still clotting the sky as they slid slowly westward. Every surface was slick with rain. However, the indomitable citizens of Makkathran were out in force as usual, thronging the streets and narrow alleyways.

Edeard’s ge-eagle flashed silently above them, ignored by most. Then he caught a movement that was out of kilter. Halfway along Sonral Street, someone in a hooded jacket turned away from the eagle and adjusted his hood, pulling it fully over his head.

It could have been nothing, the ge-eagle was still over fifty yards away. And it was damp, the air chilly. It was perfectly legitimate for someone to pull his hood up in such circumstances. A lot of people in the same zigzagging street were sporting hats that morning. The man wasn’t even alone in wearing a hooded jacket.

It’s wrong, though. I know it.

“Wait,” he told the squad. He swept the street with his farsight, searching for the one suspicious figure. The man’s mind was shielded, though the tinge of uncertainty seeped out. Again, perfectly legitimate; he could be worrying about anything from a bad quarrel with his wife to debts.

Edeard observed the direction he was taking and ordered the ge-eagle around in a long curve. It settled on the eaves of a three-story house at the end of Sonral Street out of sight of its target. As he waited, Edeard realized the man in the hooded jacket was not alone; he was walking with two others. Then the ge-eagle caught sight of him on the street as he came around one of the shallow turns. By then, the hood had slipped back slightly.

“Oh, yes, Lady, thank you,” Edeard said.

“What’s happening?” Dinlay demanded.

“He’s back,” Edeard growled. “The thief from the Silvarum market, the one who was holding the box.”

“Where!” Kanseen demanded.

“Sonral Street. Top third.”

The squad registered annoyance. “We can’t farsight that far,” Boyd complained.

“Okay, here you go.” Edeard gifted them the ge-eagle’s sight.

“Are you sure?” Macsen asked.

“He’s right,” Kanseen said. “It is him, the bastard. I can just farsight him.”

“There are two others with him,” Edeard told them. “And he’s nervous about the ge-eagle, so they’re not here for anything legitimate. Let’s spread out and surround them. Keep a street between yourself and them the whole time. I’ll track them with farsight. I don’t want to risk him seeing the ge-eagle again; that’ll scare them off.”

They all smiled at one another, edgy with nerves and excitement.

“Go!” Macsen cried.

After five minutes of steady jogging, Edeard wished he had paid more attention to keeping fit. As before, Makkathran’s citizens were reluctant to give ground to anyone in a hurry, least of all a red-faced, sweating, panting young constable. He dodged and shoved and wiggled his way along streets and through alleys, glaring at anyone who voiced a complaint. His uniform made it worse with its hot, heavy fabric restricting his movements.

Eventually he got into position a street to the west of the trio. His farsight showed him his squadmates taking up positions all around them.

“Got them,” Dinlay’s longtalk announced as he slowed to a walk.

“Me, too,” Boyd reported.

“What do you think they’re here to steal?” Macsen asked.

“Small enough to carry easily, valuable enough to be worth the risk,” Dinlay replied.

“Another one been paying attention during our lectures. But unfortunately that covers about ninety percent of the shops around here.”

“Could be something in one of the storerooms, too,” Boyd suggested.

“Or a house,” Kanseen added.

“Let’s just keep watch on them,” Edeard told them. “When they go into a building, we close in. Remember to wait until the crime has been committed before arresting them.”

“Hey, never thought of that,” Macsen said.

Edeard let his farsight sweep through the buildings around the trio, trying to guess what they might be interested in. Hopeless task.

The suspects turned off Sonral Street into an alley so narrow that one person could barely fit. Edeard hesitated. They were heading towards his street, but it was a blind alley, blocked by a house wall twenty feet high. His farsight probed, revealing a series of underground storerooms beneath one of the jewelry shops on Sonral Street. There was a passage leading up to a thick metal door in the alley.

“At least they’re consistent,” he remarked. “That’s a jeweler’s shop on top.”

“On top of what?” Boyd asked.

“There’s some kind of passage leading off the alley,” Kanseen told him. “It leads downward somewhere. Edeard, can you actually sense what’s there?”

“A little bit,” he admitted reluctantly. “Just some kind of open chamber, I think.” For a moment he wished everyone had his ability; life would be a lot easier.

“So now what do we do?” Macsen asked. “We can’t rush them, not down that alley.”

“Wait at the end,” Dinlay said. “They can hardly escape.”

Edeard’s farsight was showing him a whole network of interconnecting passages and rooms running under the row of shops. The passages all had locked doors, but once the thieves were inside, there was a chance they could elude his squad within the little underground maze.

“The rest of you get into Sonral Street,” he ordered. “I’m going around the back to see if I can find another way down there.”

“You’re going in alone?” Kanseen asked. “Edeard, there’s three of them, and we know they carry blades.”

“I’m just going to make sure they don’t have an escape route, that’s all. Come on, move.”

He was faintly aware of his squadmates hurrying to the broad street beyond the alley. One of the thieves had bent down beside the small door, doing something to the first of its five locks. From what he could sense of the locks, Edeard knew he would not like to try to pick them open. He concentrated hard, pushing his farsight through the city’s fabric to map the buried labyrinth of rooms and passages. In truth, there were only three exits in addition to the one the trio currently was trying to break through.

Below that level, though, Edeard sensed the web of fissures that wove the city structures together. Several twisted their way up past the storerooms, branching into smaller clefts that laced the walls of the buildings above. He tracked back, finding a convoluted route that led to the street in which he was standing. His third hand reached out, probing the fabric of the wall at the back of a tapering alcove between two shops. Nothing; it was as solid as granite.

Please, his longtalk whispered to the mind of the slumbering city. Let me in.

Something intangible stirred beneath him. A flock of ruugulls took flight from the roofs above.

Here. His mind pressed into the rear of the alcove. Something pushed back. Colorful shapes rose into his thoughts, swirling much faster than the birds overhead. In his dazed state he thought they resembled numbers and mathematical symbols but much larger and more complex than any of the arithmetic Akeem had taught him. With these equations the universe surely could be explained. They danced like sprites, rearranging themselves into a new order before twirling away.

Edeard gasped, struggling to stand up as his legs shook weakly. His heart was pounding far harder than it had been from his earlier run through the streets. He felt the structure of the wall change. When he peered forward, it looked exactly the same as before, a dark purple surface with flecks of gray stretching all the way up to where the curving roofs intersected three stories above him. But it gave when his third hand touched it.

There were people on the street around him, strolling along. Edeard waited until a relatively clear moment and stepped into the little alcove. Nobody could see him now. His hand touched the section of wall at the back and slipped right through. The skin on his fingers tingled, as if he were immersing them in fine sand. He walked into the wall. It was a sensation his brain interpreted as a wave of dry water washing across him. Then he was inside. He opened his eyes to complete darkness. His farsight cast around and showed him that he was suspended in a vertical tube. Even without visual sight, Edeard instinctively looked down. Farsight confirmed that his feet were standing on nothing.

“Oh, Lady!”

He started to descend. It was as though a very powerful third hand were lowering him gently to the bottom of the fissure that snaked away horizontally under the buildings. Yet he was convinced it wasn’t a telekinetic hold. He could not sense anything like that; some other force was manipulating him. Oddly, his stomach felt as though he were plummeting even though he was moving relatively slowly.

His feet touched the ground. That was when whatever force had gripped him withdrew, leaving him free to sink into a crouch. When he touched the wall of the fissure, he felt a slick of water coating it. A rivulet was trickling over the toe of his boots; he could hear it gurgling softly.

“It’s a drain,” he said out loud, astonished that anything so fantastical could exist to serve such a mundane purpose.

Despite perfectly clear farsight, he patted around with his hands. The drain fissure was slightly too small for him to walk along it upright. Its side walls were about five feet apart. He took a breath, none too happy at the claustrophobic feeling niggling at the back of his mind, and started to move forward in a stoop.

The thieves had gotten through the locked door at the top of the passage, an impressive feat in such a short space of time. Two of them were descending the curving stairs to the door that sealed off the bottom while the third stood guard outside. Edeard moved faster, navigating several forks along the drain fissure. He observed the thieves manipulate the locks on the second door and go through. Then he was directly underneath the storeroom they were ransacking. The layout was distinct, the wooden racks laid out in parallel. Small boxes were piled on the shelves. A large iron box stood in one corner, with a very complicated locking mechanism. They were ignoring that.

Edeard looked up as his farsight pervaded the city’s substance above him, a solid mass of rocklike material five yards thick. He concentrated. Closed his eyes—stupid, but, well—and applied his mind. Again the equations rose from nowhere to pirouette breezily around his thoughts. He began to rise, slipping though the once-solid substance like some piece of cork bobbing to the surface of the sea. Once again his stomach was convinced he was falling to a degree that brought on a lot of queasiness. He had almost reached the floor when he realized the thieves would sense him the second he popped up. Quickly, he threw a concealment around himself. Then he was emerging into the storeroom with a weak orange light shining all around. The floor hardened beneath his boots.

“What was that?” a voice asked.

Edeard was standing behind the rack at the back of the storeroom, out of direct sight. He held his breath.

“Nothing. Fucking stop panicking, will you. There are only two doors, and the other one is locked. Now help me find the crap we came here for before someone senses us down here.”

Edeard slowly walked around the end of the rack. He could see the pair of them moving along a rack, taking boxes off the shelf and prizing them open with some kind of tool. A quick look inside, and the box would be tossed aside. Most of them seemed to contain little bottles. Dozens of them were clinking as they rolled about on the floor.

“Here we go,” the one in the hooded jacket announced. He’d just forced open a box full of tiny packets. One was opened to reveal a coil of metal thread. Edeard wasn’t sure in the storeroom’s low orange light, but it might be gold.

“I’ll check out the rest,” the other one said.

The one with the hooded jacked began stuffing the packets into an inside pocket.

Edeard dropped his concealment.

“What the fuck—” Both thieves swung around to face him.

“Hello again,” Edeard said. “Remember me?”

“Edeard!” Kanseen’s panicky longtalk reverberated in his skull. “Sweet Lady, where’ve you been? We’ve been going frantic. How did you get in there?”

“It’s the little shit from the market,” the thief in the hooded jacket spit. “I fucking knew that ge-eagle was on the prowl.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long blade. At the same time his third hand tried to push into Edeard’s chest for a heartsqueeze.

Edeard laughed as he deflected the attack. Then his third hand slipped out and crushed the blade the thief was holding. The metal rippled, then warped into a slim bent spike. Edeard twisted the tip into a U shape. “You’re under arrest for theft and attempted assault on a constable.”

“Fuck!” the other one yelled as he raced for the door.

“One coming out,” Edeard’s longtalk told his squadmates.

“Are you all right?” Dinlay demanded.

“Never better.” He had not taken his eyes off the hooded thief. The man held up the ruined knife and gave it an admiring grin. “Tough guy, huh. Are you smart along with it? There’s enough precious metal in here to make everyone happy.”

“You want attempted bribery added to the charges?”

“Idiot.” The thief turned his back on Edeard and walked casually toward the doorway out to the passage.

“Stop right there,” Edeard ordered.

The thief’s third hand lifted one of the small bottles into the air behind him. Edeard frowned uncertainly. Another bottle rose, accelerating to crash into the first. Glass shattered.

A fireball spewed out, dazzling white in the gloomy storeroom. Edeard twisted away instinctively, his shield hardening. Flaming globules spattered against it.

“Edeard!” the squad longtalked in unison.

“I’m all right.” He was blinking his eyes furiously, trying to get rid of the long purple glare blotches. An acrid smell was growing strong, yet his farsight revealed just a few flickers of flame on the racks closest to the fireball. His third hand swatted them, snuffing the flames before they posed any danger. Then he noticed the black holes in the boxes scattered across the floor, as if flames had burned through them very quickly. The raw edges still were smoldering. When he looked closer, he saw they were coated in some kind of tar that was bubbling away. He shook his head in bewilderment.

“Got them,” Macsen announced victoriously. “Lady, that last one’s an arrogant bastard. You sure you’re okay, Edeard?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He started to walk out of the storeroom. Some deep instinct made him tread carefully around the patches of hot liquid glistening on the floor. Thin wisps of vapor were layering the air close to the ceiling, producing a stench that made his eyes water. When he passed the bulky metal door, he trod on some of the packets containing metal thread. The thief had thrown them all away. Edeard picked one up, frowning.

Why did he do that?

Mystified he hurried up the passage and out into the alley where his squad was waiting with the subdued prisoners. Now that he had time to think about what he had done and what the squad had achieved, his elation was rising with the potency of a dawn sun.

The court was convened in Makkathran’s Parliament House, which dominated the Majate district. Technically it was one building, but its component structures had amalgamated into a village of huge halls, assembly rooms, auditoriums, and offices, with cloisters instead of streets. Right at the center was the elaborate Democracy Chamber where the Grand Council met to debate policy and laws. Wrapped protectively around that were tiers of offices for the Guild of Clerks, which worked to administer the city’s regulations and collect taxes. A whole wing contained well-appointed offices for all the district representatives where they could be lobbied by their constituents about every perceived and actual injustice. Somewhere inside—underground it was rumored—were the treasury vaults, containing mountains of gold and silver, where the coins were minted. The Chief Constable also was based in one of the five conical towers, along with a modest staff. For centuries, the outermost tower, closest to the City Gate, used to house the militia barracks, but they had long departed, the serving soldiers to several barracks within the city, while the general and senior officers had taken up residence in the Orchard Palace next door. The vacated barracks had been taken over eagerly by the ever-expanding Lawyer’s Guild.

Although it was democratically open to anyone, it was the interconnecting domes that ran alongside the Center Circle Canal with which the average Makkathran citizen was most likely to be familiar. They housed the courts of justice as well as the constabulary’s main holding cells. Edeard and the rest of the squad had been shown around by Master Solarin, who had explained the history of every corridor and room at inordinate and boring length. Part of their training was to attend trials so they could accustom themselves to the procedures and listen to the verbal sparring of the lawyers. Edeard had been looking forward to that part, but in all the trials they had watched, the lawyers had confined themselves to simple questions to those in the witness stand. There had been an obscure argument about interpreting a precedent established four hundred years earlier to settle a dispute between two fishmongers and their supplier about who got priority on the catch based on the length of the contract. Edeard barely understood the words they used, let alone followed the logic involved. The only criminal trial they’d seen had been one in which the constables had arrested a bunch of minor family sons during an altercation in a theater late one night. The young men had all been sheepish, never challenged the senior squad sergeant’s account, pleaded guilty to all charges, and accepted the fine without question.

As far as preparation and experience went, Edeard was beginning to realize how useless it had all been.

Two middle court judges and a Mayor’s Council judge had been appointed to preside over the case against the trio of thieves they had arrested. They sat together behind a raised wooden podium that ran along the back of the oval courtroom, clad in flowing scarlet-and-black robes, with fur-lined hoods hanging over their right shoulders. The Mayor’s Counsel also wore a golden chain, signifying his high status.

Arrayed in the dock on their left, the thieves stood with two court constables in dress uniform standing guard. They finally had given their names. Arminel was what the hooded leader called himself. He was no more than forty, with a drawn pale face and thick sandy hair that he wore long to cover large ears. At no time did he look worried; if anything, his expression indicated ennui. His accomplices were Omasis and Harri. Harri, still in his teens, was the one they had told to stand guard in the alley. He’d been charged only with complicity to steal. Arminel and Omasis both were charged with theft and aggravated trespass, while Arminel had to face the additional charge of assaulting a constable. The jewelry shop owner had swiftly identified the contents of the two bottles Arminel had smashed together as a highly volatile spirit-based cleaning fluid and acid. Edeard had shivered at the thought of what could have happened if his shield had not been strong enough to ward off the fireball. He had wanted Arminel to be charged with the attack on Kavine in the Silvarum market, but Master Vosbol, the lawyer Captain Ronark had retained to prosecute the case, had said no. It was too long ago for witnesses to be considered reliable.

“But I recognized him immediately,” Edeard had cried.

“You saw someone behaving suspiciously,” Master Vosbol had said. “You believed him to be the participant in the previous crime.”

“Kavine will identify him.”

“Kavine was stabbed, quite badly. The defense will argue that that makes him unreliable. Let’s just go with these charges, shall we.”

Edeard had sighed and shook his head.

It really should have served a warning about the methodology of Makkathran’s legal affairs. Instead, the first inkling that their case was not as watertight as they imagined came when the defendants all entered a plea of not guilty.

“They can’t be serious,” Edeard hissed as Master Cherix, the defense lawyer, stood before the judges and entered the plea. The squad was sitting along the rear wall, all in their dress uniforms, waiting to be called by the prosecution. Captain Ronark sat on one side of them, with Sergeant Chae on the other.

Almost all of the seats were empty. Edeard didn’t know if he was pleased about that. He wanted the city’s citizens to see that his squad had helped bring a small part of their troubles to justice, show them that the law had not deserted them.

Master Cherix raised a surprised eyebrow at Edeard’s exclamation and turned to look at the squad. Master Vosbol shot them a furious look. “Be silent,” his longtalk ordered.

It was, Master Cherix explained, a terrible misunderstanding. His clients were honest citizens going about their business when they perceived the blast in the alley. It had blown open a small door, and, full of the concern for human life, they had ventured into a storeroom filled with smoke and flames—at great personal risk—to make sure there were no injured people inside. At that point the constables had stumbled upon them and received a totally false impression.

One by one the three accused took the stand and swore under oath that they had been acting selflessly. As they did so, their unshielded minds radiated sincerity, along with a modicum of injured innocence that their good deed had been misinterpreted. Master Cherix shook his head in sympathy, woebegone that the constables had acted so wrongly. “A sign of the times,” he told the judges. “These constables are well-meaning young folk, rushed through their training by a city desperate to reach staffing targets for the sake of politics. But in truth they were far out of their depth on that sad day. They, too, need to make arrests to prove themselves to their notoriously harsh station captain. In such circumstances it is only understandable why they chose to interpret events in the way they did.”

Edeard met Arminel’s stare. He tried to kill me, and his lawyer’s making out it was all a misunderstanding? That we’re in the wrong. It was so outrageous, he almost laughed. Then Arminel’s expression twitched just for an instant. That condescending sneer burned itself into Edeard’s memory. He knew then that this was not the end, nowhere near.

After two hours of listening to the defendants, Edeard finally was called to the stand. About time, I can soon set this straight.

“Constable Edeard.” Cherix smiled warmly. He was nothing like Master Solarin but a young man dressed like the son of a trading family. “You’re not from the city, are you?”

“What’s that got to do with this?”

Master Cherix put on a pained expression and turned to the judges. “My lords?”

“Answer the questions directly,” the Mayor’s Counsel instructed.

“Sir.” Edeard reddened. “No. I was born in the Rulan province.”

“And you’ve been here for what? Half a year?”

“A little over that, yes.”

“So it would be fair to say that you’re not entirely familiar with the city.”

“I know my way around.”

“I was thinking more in terms of the way our citizens behave. So why don’t you tell me what you believe happened?”

Edeard launched into his rehearsed explanation: how Arminel tried to avoid the ge-eagle, the squad tracking them along Sonral Street, arranging themselves in an encircling formation while standing back and observing through farsight, sensing Arminel picking the locks.

“At which point we closed in, and I witnessed the accused stealing gold wire from the storeroom.”

“I’m curious about this aspect,” Master Cherix said. “You told your squad to wait in Sonral Street by the entrance to the alley. Yet you went down into the storeroom. But I thought you said Harri had been left ‘on guard duty’ in the alley. How did you get past him?”

“I was lucky. I found another entrance through the shop which backed onto the jeweler’s.”

Master Cherix nodded in admiration. “So it was hardly a secure storeroom, then? If you could just walk in.”

“It was difficult,” Edeard admitted, praying to the Lady to help him rein in his guilt. But this was not a lie, just a slight rearrangement of his true route into the storeroom. “I just managed to get there in time.”

“In time for what?”

“To see Arminel stealing the gold wire. He was doing that before he flung flaming acid at me.”

“Indeed. I’d like you to clarify another point, Constable. When you emerged after this alleged event to join up with your squad, did Arminel have any of this supposed ‘gold wire’ on him?”

“Well, no. He dumped it when I challenged him.”

“I see. And your squadmates can confirm that, can they?”

“They know…yes.”

“Yes what? Constable.”

“We caught them doing it. I saw him!”

“By your own statement, you were deep underground in the poorly illuminated storeroom at the time of the alleged theft. Which of your squadmates can farsight through fifteen yards of solid city fabric?”

“Kanseen. She knew I was there.”

“Thank you, Constable. Defense would like to call Constable Kanseen.”

Kanseen passed Edeard on her way to the stand. They both had meticulously blank expressions, but he could tell how worried she was. When he sat down next to Dinlay the others all smiled sympathetically. “Good job,” Chae whispered, but Edeard was not convinced.

“You have a farsight almost as good as your squad leader’s?” Master Cherix asked.

“We came out about equal in our tests.”

“So you could sense what went on in the storeroom from your position in Sonral Street?”

“Yes.”

Edeard winced. She sounded so uncertain.

“How much gold wire was in there?”

“I…er, I’m not sure.”

“An ounce? A ton?”

“A few boxes.”

“Constable Kanseen.” Master Cherix smiled winningly. “Was that a guess?”

“Not enough gold to be obvious to a casual farsight sweep.”

“I’ll let that go for the moment. Constable Edeard claims you perceived him in there.”

“I did,” she replied confidently. “I sensed him appear in the back. We’d been worried when we lost track of him.”

“You sensed his mind. There’s a big difference between a radiant source of thoughts and inert material, is there not?”

“Yes, of course.”

Master Cherix patted the jacket he wore under his black robe. “In one pocket I have a length of gold wire. In another pocket I have an equal length of steel wire. Which is which, Constable?”

Edeard concentrated his farsight on the lawyer. Sure enough, there was some kind of dense line of matter in each pocket, but there was no way to tell the nature of either one.

Kanseen looked straight ahead. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Yet there is only five feet of clear air between us. So can you really say with certainty you perceived my client picking up gold wire when he was on the other side of fifteen yards of solid mass?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Constable. No more questions.”

It came down to an argument between two lawyers. Edeard found himself grinding his teeth as it was presented as his word against Arminel’s.

“Acting suspiciously,” Master Vosbol ticked off on his fingers. “Gaining entry to a storeroom behind two locked doors. Seen by a constable of impeccable character stealing gold wire. Attacking that same constable. My lords, the evidence is overwhelming. They came to the storeroom with the express intent of theft, a theft which was valiantly thwarted by these fine constables at great personal danger to themselves.”

“Circumstantial evidence only,” Master Cherix pronounced. “Facts twisted by the prosecution to support a speculated sequence of events. A country boy alone in an underground city storeroom full of smoke and flame. Confused by the strange environment and regrettably unreliable, his claims unsupported by his own squadmates and friends. My clients do not deny being in the storeroom, responding to the fire as any responsible citizen would. The prosecution has offered no proof whatsoever that they ever touched the gold wire. I would draw my lords’ attention to the precedent of Makkathran versus Leaney; hearsay is inadmissible.”

“Objection,” Master Vosbol barked. “This is testimony by a city official, not hearsay.”

“Unsubstantiated testimony,” Master Cherix countered, “must be accepted as having equal weight to my clients’ account of events.”

The judges deliberated for eight minutes. “Insufficient evidence,” the Mayor’s Counsel announced. “Case dismissed.” He banged his gavel on the bench.

Edeard’s head dropped into his hands. He absolutely could not believe what he’d just heard. “Lady, no,” he gasped.

The defendants were cheering, slapping each other jubilantly. Edeard was disgusted to see Masters Vosbol and Cherix shake hands.

“It happens,” Captain Ronark said gravely. “You did a perfect job; nobody could do better. I’m proud of you. But this is the way it is in Makkathran these days.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dinlay and Macsen murmured sullenly.

Ronark flashed them all an anxious expression, debating with himself whether he should say more. “This will be useful to you,” he said. “I can imagine what you think of it right now, but next time you’ll know what to do, how to be extra careful in gathering evidence, and we’ll nail that little bastard good and proper.” He nodded at Chae and walked down to talk with Master Vosbol.

“Buy you all a drink,” Chae said. “I know how bad this hurts, believe me. I’ve had smart-ass lawyers get scum off on worse charges than this.”

“A double of something illegally strong,” Macsen said. The others nodded in grudging agreement. They looked at Edeard.

“Sure,” he said.

Arminel saluted him with two fingers to his forehead. His smile was gloating.

Edeard quashed his impulse to dive across the court and smash his fist into the man’s face. Instead he winked back. “Be seeing you,” he whispered.