“How in the Lady’s name did they …” His voice echoed off down the tunnel as he frowned at the shining junction. For a moment he thought he might have heard laughter whispering along the main tunnel. But by then he knew he was grasping at phantoms. “Honious!” he grunted, and asked the city to take him back to Bellis.

Grinal Street was a pleasant enough boulevard, winding its way across the south side of the Bellis district from the Emerald Canal to the top of Oak Canal. A mixture of buildings stood along it, from typanum-gabled mansions to bloated hemispheres with narrow arches that made perfect boutiques, leading onto a line of houses with blended triple-cylinder walls whose overhanging roofs made them resemble knobbly stone mushrooms. Sergeant Marcol had been dealing with an incident in Five Fountain Plaza close to Oak Canal. The plaza was enclosed by a terrace with a concave outer wall and an internal honeycomb configuration of small cell-rooms connected via short tubes without any apparent logic to the layout, as if the whole structure had been hollowed out by giant insects long ago. This hivelike topography made it ideal for merchants and traders dealing in small high-value items. Few people lived in it, but many thrived and bustled around inside.

Edeard arrived at a squat archway in one corner and automatically ducked his head as he went inside. There was a lot of hostility and bad temper radiating out from the gloomy interior. As he crossed the threshold, he was instantly aware of a strong farsight examining him. His inquisitor, somewhere over in Zelda, withdrew farsight as Edeard attempted to backtrack it.

He paused, pursing his lips with interest. That hadn’t happened for quite a few years, either. Whoever had taken such an interest in him before the Skylords returned had been ignoring him ever since. He didn’t think their reemergence today was a coincidence.

Marcol was waiting for him in the herbalist emporium, a room on the second floor reached by a spiraling tube and several interconnected cell-rooms. Its walls were completely covered in rugs woven with intricate geometric designs. Lanterns hung on long brass chains, burning jamolar oil to cast a thick yellow light. There were other scents in the air, a melange of spice and alcohol so potent that that Edeard half expected to see it as a vapor. The cell-room was fitted out with row upon row of small shelves lined with kestric pipes of various sizes and lengths. Several were lying broken on the floor. Hundreds of the narcotic plant’s long tapering leaves hung from racks, drying in the hot air. There were bundles of other stems, seed pods, and leaves that Edeard didn’t recognize. Again, many of them had been torn down and trampled underfoot.

As soon as he’d pushed aside the bead curtains, he immediately knew who the protagonists were: two men on opposite sides of the room, still glaring at each other, minds reeking of animosity. One was old and quite large, dressed in an expensive matching jacket and trousers colorfully embroidered with small birds in the same style as the hanging rugs. Edeard immediately tagged him as the herbal emporium’s owner.

The other man was considerably younger, under thirty, and Edeard knew his type only too well. Yet another Grand Family son a long way down the entitlement list, as arrogant as he was handsome and living well beyond his allowance thanks to extended merchants’ credit. Edeard immediately suspected the owner was one such creditor. The two constables under Marcol’s charge had gotten cuffs on him, rumpling up the sleeves of his dark red velvet jacket. Looking around, Edeard didn’t quite know why he was there. Then he studied the younger man’s face closely, taking in the high cheekbones, the dark floppy hair, the unbreakable defiance in those light brown eyes.

I’ve seen him before. But where? He was younger. Honious damn my memory.

“What’s the problem?” he asked lightly.

“Colfal called us,” Marcol said, indicating the owner. “Alleging psychic assault. When we turned up, Tathal resisted arrest.” His thumb jerked toward the youthful aristocrat, who responded with a dismissive smile. “He’s a difficult one.”

“I did no such thing,” Tathal said. It was a polite tone, and the accent wasn’t immediately indicative of Makkathran’s finest. Edeard thought he might be from the southern provinces.

Holding up a finger to Tathal for silence, Edeard turned to Colfal. “Why did Tathal assault you?”

Colfal’s anger finally faded away, replaced by a surly glower. He took a deep breath. “I apologize that your time has been wasted, Waterwalker. This has been a misunderstanding.”

“Huh?” Marcol’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “But you called us.”

Edeard’s gaze lingered on the damaged merchandise scattered over the floor as his farsight was studying the few of Marcol’s thoughts revealed through his shield. “Uh huh.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you, Tathal? What have you to say?”

“Also, my profound apologies. As your constables will testify, I have a strong third hand. In the heat of the moment my restraint isn’t all it should be.”

“You don’t wish to press charges?” Edeard asked Colfal.

“No.” The old herbalist shook his head, unable to meet Edeard’s stare.

“Very well.” Edeard told the constables to uncuff Tathal. “And you, learn to restrain your strength.”

“Of course, Waterwalker.”

“Where do you live?”

“Abad, Waterwalker, I have a residence on Boldar Avenue.”

“Really? Anywhere near Apricot Cottage?”

Tathal grinned eagerly and inclined his head. “Indeed, I am privileged to be a fellow.”

That would explain the stylish clothes along with a provincial accent, but Edeard still couldn’t place the face. “All right, you’re free to go. Consider this your only warning; stay out of trouble from now on.”

“Yes, Waterwalker.”

Edeard was sure that platitude was loaded with mockery, but there was no hint of anything from beneath Tathal’s mental shield. In fact, Edeard had never encountered such a perfectly protected mind before.

“Wasting a constable’s time is also an offense,” he told Colfal after Tathal had gone through the swirling bead curtain. “Especially mine.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” a flushed Colfal muttered.

– -

“What in Honious was that?” Edeard asked Marcol when they were back out in Five Fountain Plaza.

“I’m really sorry, Edeard. It all got out of hand so quickly. And Lady, he was so strong. I couldn’t handle him by myself. Even with my squadmates pitching in, it was touch and go. I just sort of instinctively called you.”

“Hmm.” Edeard gave the warrenlike terrace a suspicious look. “He really was that strong?”

“Yes.”

“What was the dispute about? If Tathal is an Apricot Cottage fellow, it could hardly be over payment.”

“I’m not sure. Colfal was making all sorts of allegations when we arrived. Extortion. Financial abuse. Physical threats. Psychic assault. You name it, he was shouting about it.”

“Interesting.” Edeard sent his perception into the walls of the herbal emporium, seeking to extract the city’s memory of the confrontation. But with the walls covered in rugs, the substance of the city could neither see nor hear what went on inside.

“I can’t believe Colfal backed down,” Marcol was saying. “He was as furious as a blooded drakken.”

“Domination,” Edeard said. “I recognized some of the patterns in his thoughts; they’re quite distinct after they’ve been forced to change-” He stopped. Now he remembered Tathal. “Oh, Lady, I might have guessed.”

The Chief Constable of Makkathran had a grand office at the back of the Orchard Palace, a circular room with a high conical ceiling that twisted upward as if it had been melted into shape. The floor was a polished ocher with dark red lines tracing out a pentagon, the walls a lighter brown but still glossy. Edeard didn’t go for much furniture; it was a place of work, after all. He had his muroak desk, which had been a gift from Kanseen the day after his election, and a long table for meetings with various captains and lawyers.