The Dreaming Void (45 page)

Her smile faded as her thoughts grew sober. “Edeard, you won't forget me, will you?”

“Hey, of course not.”

“I mean it, Edeard. Promise. Promise we'll still talk each day, even if it's just a longtalk hello.”

He held up a hand, palm toward her. “I swear on the Lady that I won't forget you. Such a thing is just not possible.”

“Thank you.” Her impish smile returned. “Do you want to kiss me again before we both get locked up in separate dormitories each night?”

He groaned in dismay. “Maybe I should just leave with the caravan.”

It was Salrana's turn to take a swipe at him.

         

The Blue Tower was in the middle of the Tosella district, standing at least twice the height of the biggest mansion they had seen so far. For its walls, the city material had shaded down to a dark azure that seemed to soak up the sunlight, as if the facade possessed its own nimbus of shadow. Standing at the base between flying buttresses that resembled ancient tree roots, Edeard felt intimidated by the heartland of his guild. Surely such a structure never had been intended to house a profession that existed to lighten the load of people's lives. It was more like a fortress in which bandits would dwell.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Salrana asked uncertainly. She was just as daunted by the overpowering structure as he was.

“Er, yes. I'm sure.” He wished the vacillation in his thoughts wasn't quite so blatant.

They walked in through a wide door whose resemblance to a giant mouth was uncomfortably obvious. Inside, the walls and floor changed to the darkest red with a surface sheen to match polished wood. Strong beams of sunlight from the high lancet windows cut through the gloom of the broad entrance hall.

Edeard did not know where to go; there did not seem to be any kind of official to direct visitors to the appropriate room. His determination was fading fast, leaving him stalled in the middle of the wide-open space.

“I somehow don't think this is where the apprentices have their dormitories,” Salrana said from the side of her mouth. There were several groups of men in the hall, all talking quietly together. They wore fine clothes under flowing fur-lined gowns with the egg-in-a-twisted-circle crest of the guild embroidered in gold thread on the collars. Disapproving glances were cast at Salrana and Edeard, followed by a surprising number of people focusing their farsight on the youthful pair.

Edeard's farsight alerted him to three guards armed with revolvers marching across the entrance hall. They wore light drosilk jackets over their immaculate white cotton tunics. The guild crest was prominent on their helmets.

The sergeant glowered at Edeard but was marginally less hostile to Salrana when he saw she was in her full novice dress. “You two,” he grunted. “What's your business here?”

So much for the warm welcome to a fellow guild member from far away, Edeard thought dourly. Then he realized he was not at all intimidated by the guard; after bandits, the sergeant and his little squad seemed faintly ludicrous. “I am a journeyman of the guild,” Edeard said, surprising himself by how level and authoritative his voice was. “I've come from Rulan province to complete my training.”

The sergeant looked as if he had bitten into a rotten fruit. “You're very young to be calling yourself a journeyman. Where's your badge?”

“It's been a long journey,” Edeard said, suddenly not wanting to explain what had happened to his village to someone who would never understand life beyond the city. “I lost it.”

“I see. And your letter?”

“Letter?”

The sergeant spoke slowly, contempt coloring his thoughts. “Your letter of introduction to the guild from your Master?”

“I have none.”

“Are you trying to take the piss, sonny? Your pardon, miss,” he said grudgingly to Salrana. “Leave now before we take you to the courts of justice for trespass and theft.”

“I have committed no theft,” Edeard protested loudly. “My Master was Akeem; he died before writing a letter of introduction.”

“The only reason to trespass here is to thieve something from us, you little country shit,” the sergeant snapped. “Now you've gone fucked me off, and that's not good for you.” He reached for Edeard, then blinked in surprise as his hand slithered off an extremely strong telekinetic shield. “Oh, you asked for this.” His third hand tried to grab.

Edeard warded him off easily, then hoisted the sergeant off the ground. The man yelled in shock as his feet kicked about.

“Take the little shit down,” he cried at his men. Their third hands closed around Edeard to no avail. They went for their pistols, finding their arms moving slowly through impossibly thick air.

“Edeard!” Salrana squeaked.

Edeard could not quite comprehend how things had turned so crazy so fast.

“Enough,” a baritone voice commanded.

Edeard's farsight showed him an old man walking across the hall toward them. Long robes flowed behind him as he strode forward. He wore ocher trousers cut high so that his curving belly did not overhang and a baggy shirt to continue the discreet disguise, but his weight was obvious from the pudgy fingers to the rolling neck and heavy jowls. Yet he carried himself with the vitality of a man half his age. Even without sensing his regimented thoughts, he was obviously a man of considerable authority.

“Put him down,” he ordered Edeard.

“Yes, sir,” Edeard said meekly. He knew this was a Master equal to Akeem. “I apologize. I was left little cho—”

“Be quiet.” The man turned to the sergeant, who was straightening his clothes, not making eye contact with anyone. “And you, Sergeant, need to keep your temper in check. I am not prepared to have the Blue Tower guarded by petty-minded paranoia. You will learn a more rational attitude or you'll see your days out guarding a guild estate on the other side of the Donsori Mountains. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir.”

“Away with you while I determine how big a threat this boy presents.”

The sergeant led his men away, but not before managing a last look at Edeard that promised dire vengeance.

“Your name, boy?”

“Edeard, sir.”

“And I am Topar, a Master of the guild council and deputy to Grand Master Finitan. That should give you an idea of how deep you just dipped yourself in default crap. My Lady's novice, may I inquire your name?”

“Salrana.”

“I see. And I judge that both of you have only recently arrived in Makkathran. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Edeard said. “I'm really sorry about—”

Topar waved an irritated hand. “I should be annoyed, but the name Akeem hasn't been heard in our august tower for a considerable time. I am intrigued. Did I hear you say he is dead?”

“Yes, sir. I'm afraid he is.”

For a moment the gusto vanished from Topar's stance. “A shame. Yes, a very great shame.”

“Did you know him, sir?”

“Not I, no. But I will take you to someone who did. He will want the details, I'm sure. Follow me.”

He led them to an archway at the rear of the hall and began to climb the broad stairs beyond. As he ascended, Edeard knew he had been right about whoever created the city not being human. The stairs were cumbrous, more like a slope of solidified ripples. They curved enough to provide an unsure footing, and their spacing was awkward for human legs. Edeard soon found himself sweating as they continued to climb around and around; his calf muscles were not used to such strenuous exercise.

At one point, when they must have been four or five stories above the hall, Topar turned around to smirk at the two youngsters. He grunted as if satisfied by their tribulation. “Just imagine how much rounder I would be if I didn't have to negotiate these five times a day, eh.” He chuckled and carried on.

Edeard was panting heavily when they finally stopped in some kind of large anteroom. He had no idea how high they had climbed, but the top of the tower could surely be only a couple of feet above them. That altitude would explain how light-headed he had become.

“Wait here,” Topar said, and went through a wooden door bound with thick iron filigree.

The walls of the anteroom were still red but lighter than those of the lower floors. Overhead, the ceiling glowed a pale amber, turning Edeard's skin an unpleasant shade of gray. He dumped his shoulder bag on the floor and sank into a large chair of curving wooden ribs. Salrana sat on one next to him, looking thoroughly bewildered. “Are we in trouble or not?” she asked.

“I don't think I care anymore. That pig of a sergeant. He knew we were harmless.”

She smiled. “You're not.”

He was too tired to argue. His farsight was all but blocked by the tower walls, but he could sense two minds behind the wooden door. There was very little to discern about their emotional composition, but then, walking through the districts, he had noticed how adept city people were at guarding their feelings.

Topar opened the door. “You can come in now, Edeard. Novice Salrana, if you would be so kind as to indulge us for a moment longer. Someone will be here to take care of you momentarily.”

Even before he went into the room, Edeard guessed he was being taken to Grand Master Finitan. As he went in, he nearly faltered as a farsight swept through him like a gust of cold air. The hair on the back of his arms stood up in reaction. A little thought occurred to him that if anyone could see through a psychic concealment, it would be this man.

Grand Master Finitan sat in a high-back chair behind a large oak desk, facing the door. His office must have taken up nearly a quarter of the tower at that level. It was huge but almost empty; there was no furniture other than the desk and chair. Two of the walls were covered by bookshelves containing hundreds of leather-bound tomes. Behind him, the wall was mostly crystal window with thin lierne ribs, providing a view clear across Makkathran. Edeard's jaw fell open. He only just managed to stop himself from running over and gawping like a delighted child. From what he could see at this angle, the undulating rooftops swept away for miles, while the canals cut through them like blue-gray arteries. Looking at it like this, he knew for certain that the city was alive. Here, humans were nothing more than foreign bacteria living in a body they could never comprehend fully.

“Quite a sight, isn't it?” Grand Master Finitan said gently. In many respects he was the physical opposite of Topar: slim and tall, with thick hair down to his shoulders that was just beginning to gray. Yet his age was evident in the lines creasing his face. Despite that, his thoughts were tranquil; he was curious and affable rather than dismissive.

Edeard shifted his gaze back to the Grand Master. “Yes, sir. Er, I apologize again for what happened downstai—”

The Grand Master raised a finger to his lips, and Edeard fell silent. “No more of that,” Finitan said. “You've traveled a long way, yes?”

“From Rulan province, sir.”

Finitan and Topar exchanged a glance, smiling at some private joke. “A long way,” Finitan said sagely. “Some tea?” His mind sent out a fast longtalk instruction.

Edeard turned to see a door open at the base of one of the bookshelf walls; it was too small for a man, barely four feet high. Ge-chimps scampered out, bringing a pair of chairs and a tray. The chairs were positioned in front of the Grand Master's desk while the tray with its silver tea service was placed on the desk beside a cradle that held a genistar egg.

“Sit down, my boy,” Finitan said. “Now, I understand you claim our colleague Akeem is dead. When did this happen?”

“Almost a year ago, sir.”

“Those are some very dark thoughts in your mind accompanying that memory. Please tell me the story in its entirety. I believe I'm old enough to endure the full truth.”

Embarrassed that his mind was so transparent, Edeard took a deep breath and began.

Both the Grand Master and Topar were silent when he finished. Eventually Finitan rested his chin on steepled forefingers. “Ah, my poor dear Akeem; for his life to end like that is an unforgivable tragedy. An entire village slaughtered by bandits. I find that extraordinary.”

“It happened,” Edeard said with a flash of anger.

“I'm not questioning your tale, my boy. I find the whole concept deeply disturbing: that there is some kind of society out in the wilds different from our own and one which is so implacably hostile.”

“They're animals,” Edeard growled.

“No. That's your instinctive reaction, and a healthy one it is, too. But to organize such a raid is quite an accomplishment.” He sat back and drank some tea. “Could there really be a rival civilization somewhere out there beyond our maps? They have concealment techniques and fanciful weapons. I'd always believed such things were the province of this city alone.”

“You have the repeat-fire guns?” Edeard asked. In all his travels, no one had ever heard of such a thing. A year of constant dismissal had made him doubt his memories of that terrible night.

Finitan and Topar exchanged another glance. “No. And that is more worrying than knowing how to conceal yourself. But how lovely that Akeem knew the technique which is supposed to be practiced only by Guild Masters.”

“He was a Master, sir.”

“Of course. I mean those of us who sit on the council. Sadly, Akeem never achieved that. It was politics, of course. I'm afraid to say, young Edeard, that you are going to learn life here in the city is all about politics.”

“Yes, sir. Did you know Akeem, sir?”

Finitan smiled. “Have you not worked it out yet, my boy? Dear me, I thought you were quicker. We share a bond, you and I. For he was my Master when I was a lowly young apprentice here.”

“Oh.”

“Which means you present me with a very unpleasant problem.”

“I do?” Edeard said anxiously.