"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."