When he stopped to draw breath he didn't bother screaming again, after all this was how he dropped down into the canal tunnels. It was just that he never had such an impression of speed before. Maybe if he shut his eyes…
He opened them hurriedly. That was too much, he had to match up what he was seeing with what his body felt. The red lights were now a solid smear he was going so fast. This was the freedom of the ge-eagles! A side tunnel flashed past, and In-gasped in shock. Before he could wonder where it led, another had come and gone. He managed a tentative laugh. No one had ever travelled like this. It was stupendous! This night crowned him king of the city, and Honious take Ranalee, Ivarl and all their kind. For they were the real ignorant ones.
There was only one truly frightening moment, when his body was twisted by whatever guided him and kept him clear of the tunnel walls, and he abruptly flipped out of the main tunnel into one of the junctions. He drew a sharp breath, but his worry soon faded. If the city wanted him dead he would have joined Akeem in Odin's Sea long time ago.
Eventually, his wayward flight ended as the tunnel shifted back to horizontal. Edeard wound up sliding for a long way on his arse until the tunnel floor was completely horizontal again. He looked up, and sent his farsight flowing through the bulk above. The top of the tunnel changed in that eerie and now thoroughly familiar way, and he fell up. Darkness engulfed him, and a minute later he popped up into the chill air and weak orange light of the Marble Canal tunnel.
The sight of it was immediately disheartening. Knowing he was going back up to the city streets brought his defeat into sharp focus. He couldn't tell anyone, couldn't turn to anyone. Worse, he didn't really know what to do next.
Maybe I should just leave. Ride away to Ufford, and Salrana and I will live happily out in the country where we belong.
It was so tempting. But if he didn't take a stand against the gangs, and the likes of Ranalee and her family, nothing would ever change. And ultimately the city's decay would bring the countryside down with it. The problem would belong to his children, and by then it would be even greater.
Edeard sighed, and started his trek home.
He spent the next day in his maisonette, longtalking Dinlay at the station, claiming he had a cold. Lian's trial was in its eighth day, but he'd already appeared in the witness stand. The prosecution didn't need him again. Dinlay wished him well.
One of his ge-monkeys was dispatched to the nearest doctor's house to fetch a soothing ointment, which he dabbed on his scorched skin. Then he apologized to Jessile and asked her not to come round for the evening, claiming he didn't want to pass on his cold. She commiserated, and got her family's cook to send round a hamper loaded with chicken soup and other treats.
What he wanted was to spend a couple of days resting up, thinking about his next move; certainly he needed to talk to Grand Master Finitan. Then at lunchtime on the second day Kanseen longtalked him.
The Cobara district had always delighted Edeard. It didn't have streets like the rest of the city. Instead, over a hundred great pillar towers rose out of the ground, all a uniform four storeys high, wide enough for each level to provide enough room for a family to live in. But it was above the towers where the architecture excelled. Each tower was the support column for a broad bridge spanning the gap to the next tower. Most towers provided the base for at least three such bridges, and many had more than that, webbing the district with an array of suspended polygon structures. That was where the district's true accommodation began, extending up to six storeys high from the low curve of each bridge platform. They formed triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons and, right in the centre of the district, the bridges made up the famous Rafael's Fountain dodecagon which housed the Artist, Botany, and Cartography Guilds. The fountain itself roared up from a big pool in the middle of the dodecagon, its foaming white tip rising higher than the arching crystal roofs.
Edeard walked past the fierce jet of water, his third hand sweeping away the stingingly cold spray that splattered round the edges of the pool. He was well wrapped up in his fur-lined cloak, with a black ear-flap hat pulled down over his hair, and a maroon scarf covering his mouth. Nobody recognized him through his seclusion haze, though he was very conscious of the ge-eagle slipping through the dull grey sky that was keeping pace with him.
After the fountain he took a left, heading towards the Millagal tower, with its red and blue striped walls, covered by a leafless network of gurkvine branches. Teams of ge-monkeys were out in force, clearing the last of the slush on the plaza which extended across the whole district beneath the thick shadows of the elevated buildings. Winter gave Cobara a strangely subterranean aspect, with only sallow slivers of sunlight reaching down through the elaborate structures above. In summer, the plaza was full of people and small markets and street artists and kids playing games. Today, they were all huddled next to their stoves in the rooms overhead, complaining about springs late appearance.
Edeard was glad there were few people about, his mood was still down. He arrived at the base of the Yolon tower, and went through the wide archway. A massive set of stairs spiralled up the central lightwell. He grunted at the sight of them, each curving ledge spaced just wrong for human legs. One day, he reflected as he made his calf-aching way upwards, he would just throw caution away and reshape every Lady-damned staircase in the city.
Three bridge cloisters radiated out from the top of the stairs. He took the Kimvula one, and was immediately heartened by the bustling atmosphere so high above the ground. The cloister was narrow in relation to the height of the walls on either side, five storeys of ogee arches and oriel windows. Nevertheless, it was wide enough for stalls to be set up along both sides. He unwrapped his scarf as he walked past them, it was warm inside the cloister, the winter sunlight shaded with a faint pink tinge by the crystal roof. People flocked round the various stalls, haggling with the owners. The air was scented with spices, and very dry. Someone, somewhere, was roasting honeyplumbs.
A third of the way down the cloister he turned into a narrow side corridor which led to yet another spiral stair. Sighing, he trudged up a further three storeys. The hallway on this floor was illuminated by the city's orange light radiating from the circles positioned above each doorway. He found the red door, with its ivy hinges painted purple, and knocked politely even though he could sense the minds behind the wall.
Dybal opened it. The old musician wasn't his usual self, he still wore a vibrantly coloured shirt, and his hair was immaculately braided, but the forceful good humour was subdued. 'Thank you for coming, he said. His eyes narrowed as he took in Edeard's blotchy pink face. 'Are you all right? You look like you've been burnt.
"I'm okay. I had an accident, that's all.
'Strange, that'll be the second accident I've heard of this week; there was a fire in the House of Blue Petals two nights ago. You shouldn't hang around that place, Edeard, it's been the ruin of many a poor boy.
'I'll remember, thanks.
Edeard was led into the parlour, which had a bulbous bay window looking out across the pentagonal space outside. Far below them, big nutpear trees grew in a series of troughs which curved out of the plaza floor. Their denuded branches shone bright white amid the shadows of the bridge buildings.
The rest of his squad were already there. Boyd and Dinlay standing close to a coal-burning iron stove, looking concerned and radiating worry. Kanseen was busying herself with a samovar of tea, her thoughts tightly shielded as always. Macsen knelt on the floor next to a chair where Bijulee was sitting, his arm on his mother's legs. She'd obviously been crying. Now she was dabbing at her face with a handkerchief, wearing a brave smile.