'I state the simple truth.
'You don't seriously believe he can ward off the reception I have arranged for him? Buate asked. 'The whole point of ambushing him outside the crystal wall is to rob him of the advantage which the city gives him.
'The outcome is almost irrelevant, Owain said. 'Even if he does survive there will be nothing for him to return to. We must be absolute in that. Our supporters are ready.
'There will be resistance, Buate warned.
'Lady take them, Tannarl said. 'I say we don't wait any—
The Waterwalker rose smoothly through the floor of the records chamber, his black cloak enveloping him like an extinguished nebula. He studied each one of the conspirators sitting around the table. Several had risen to their feet, hands reaching for their pistols. A motion which died as he gave them a lofty dismissive smile.
'The election has given us a Mayor and a full Council, the Waterwalker said. 'There will be no change, no revolution. We are not One Nation until we choose to be so.
'What are you proposing? Owain asked.
'I am proposing nothing. Your time is over.
'This time, maybe, Bise snarled. 'But there will be other opportunities.
'No, there won't, the Waterwalker told him. 'I've already seen what happens if you win.
Owain frowned at the strange claim. Uneasy thoughts were stirring beneath his normally resolute shield.
'You cannot arrest us, Mistress Florrel said. 'Our kind are not accountable in common law courts. And we have many allies in the Upper Council where you would need to enact judgement.
'Quite right, the Waterwalker agreed. 'It would be pointless.
Tannarl strode across the chamber, his third hand reaching out. The big lock on the inner door turned sharply, its intricate combination bands spinning round until the bolts were freed. They withdrew, and the door swung open. There were several sharp breaths. The door opened on to a smooth section of grey wall. There was no way out of the chamber.
'I have heard many times from your followers that I am weak, the Waterwalker said. 'That I lack resolution. If you believe that, you don't know me at all. This revolution will end here, now. Without you, it cannot happen. Without the rapid-fire guns it cannot be attempted ever again. Makkathran will remain a democracy. His cloak parted, and he held an arm out, palm down. A rapid-fire gun slipped up through the floor and rose into his hand. He closed his fingers around it.
'No, Owain said. 'This is against everything you stand for.
'You really shouldn't believe everything a heartbroken teenage girl tells you.
Owain grimaced as his fear began to manifest.
'You wouldn't dare, Mistress Florrel said. 'My family will not permit this.
'It is my family now, Edeard told her calmly.
Eleven third hands pushed and hammered against the Water-walker's shield, trying to find a weakness, a way though. Long-shouts for help were hurled at the impermeable chamber walls.
'For all of my life I have known that sometimes to do what's right, you first have to do what's wrong, the Waterwalker told them. 'Now I realize the truth of it. That is what I am. His finger squeezed down on the trigger. He held it there until the magazine was empty.
Storage vault five contained over three hundred rapid-fire guns. They were wrapped in oiled cloth, sitting on racks that formed neat ranks across the floor.
Edeard replaced the one he'd used on its rack. He asked the city to dispose of them all. The floor beneath the racks changed, becoming porous, and the dreadful weapons sank down to oblivion.
His farsight swept out, examining the other vaults. Storage vault eight contained the bullets used by the rapid-fire guns. The city quietly absorbed the crates. Vault two had the long barrelled pistols. Seventeen housed some huge guns, their barrels as big as his legs, mounted on little wheeled trolleys. Iron balls larger than his fist were stacked in pyramids beside them — the bullets, he realized. He shuddered as he imagined the damage they could cause. All sank away. Finally, the shelving cabinets in the chamber of records slid beneath the solid floor.
The secret power of the Weapons Guild was no more. There would never be an internal threat to Makkathran's Grand Council and Mayor again.
Apart from the elections. And the Guild quarrels. And the merchants manoeuvring and bribing for gain. And the Grand Families struggling for advantage.
He grinned at the thought of it all. That crazy, wondrous life lived by Makkathran's citizens. It's all Finitan's problem now.
The warm afternoon light lit up the white pillars that lined Golden Park. Even the last bloom on the bushes and vines glowed with an exotic splendour in celebration of what had been an exceptionally pleasant summer. Edeard walked for some way across its elegant paths, drawing his thoughts together. Resolving to do what he must.
It was hard for his farsight to search out the frail souls of his parents. He stood beside one of the pillars along the Champ Canal side of Golden Park, bathed in the rich light reflected off the metal, extending his ability to its utmost.
They were there. A few feet away, watching him as always. 'Thank you, he told them.
'You can see us? his mother asked in surprise.
'Yes, Mother. I can see you now.
'My son.
'Father. You've taken such care of me, more than I ever deserved.
'What were we supposed to do? You are all that remains of us.
'Not any more. I have a wife now. We will have children. They will have more. Everything you are will go on through them.
'We should watch for them, his mother said, she sounded uncertain.
'No, Edeard said. 'It is time for you to let go. I can take care of myself now, more than you know. The price you have paid for watching me is too high. You cannot do this any more. You must go to the Heart. There is still time. There is always time.
'Oh Edeard.
'Here. He held out a hand. His mother reached out, touching his fingertips. He fought against wincing as the debilitating cold burned him. Instead, he smiled in reverence as she took substance before him. 'Goodbye, Mother, he said, and brushed his lips to hers. 'We will be together in the Heart one day, I promise.
Her sorrow and regret were dreadfully poignant. But she smiled as she withdrew from his touch. His father held her closely.
'Journey well, Edeard told them. He watched them fade up into the warm clear blue sky, refusing to acknowledge any remorse.
A lot of people were using Golden Park that afternoon, taking advantage of the lingering summer. Children raced over the grassy areas, playing elaborate games of catch. Apprentices bunking off duties gathered in the shade of the park's huge martoz trees, sharing bottles of beer and gossip about their Masters.
Salrana walked along one of the crushed slate paths, enjoying the activity. Lads eyed her wishfully, although her crisp blue and white Novice robes proved too great a barrier for any casual attempt to attract her attention. She crossed the ginger sandstone bridge into Ysidro. Right ahead of her was the Blue Fox tavern, a circular three-storey building with a strange hexagonal rustication pattern embossed on the coppery wall. Its slim lancet windows made it seem taller than it actually was. She hesitated for a moment before slipping in through one of the smaller side doors, something swirled on the periphery of her farsight, as if a pillar of fog had gusted down the alleyway. She frowned, but it didn't resolve in her senses, so she scurried up the stairs to the third floor.
The Blue Fox was favoured by Grand Family members as a place to conduct their liaisons; the exceptionally thick walls of the rooms eliminated the need to maintain a seclusion haze. Privacy was guaranteed against all but the most exceptional psychics. Salrana used the key she'd been given to unlock the door of a reserved room.