I know your names, and they have been written in blood on cooling flesh. I will break your bones and drink your blood, and I will see the life run out of
you.
The voice fell silent. The eye patches slowly widened, destroying the face, and the air was suddenly cool again.
Adamant turned his back on it. “Nasty,” he said curtly. “I thought Mortice’s wards were supposed to protect us from things like that?”
“It was just an illusion,” said Medley quickly. “Very low power. Probably sneaked in round the edges. Believe me, nothing dangerous can get to us here. They’re just trying to shake us up.”
“And doing a bloody good job of it, from the looks on your faces,” said Dannielle Adamant, sweeping into the study. Adamant got to his feet and greeted his wife warmly. Medley nodded politely, and looked away. Adamant took his wife’s hands in his.
“Hello, Danny; I didn’t expect you back for ages.”
“I had to give up on the shops, dear. The streets are simply impossible, even with those nice men you provided to make a way for me. Oh, by the way; one of them is sulking, just because he dropped a few parcels and I was rude to him. I didn’t know bodyguards were so sensitive. Anyway, the crowds got too much to bear, so I came home early. The Steppes must be bursting at the seams. I’ve never seen so many people out in daylight before.”
“I know you don’t like the area,” said Adamant. “But it’s politically necessary for us to live in the area I intend to represent.”
“Oh, I quite understand, dear. Really.”
She sank into the most comfortable chair, and nodded pleasantly to Medley. Away from Adamant, they didn’t really get on. It was hardly surprising, considering the only thing they had in common was James Adamant.
Dannielle came from a long-established Society family, and until she met Adamant, she’d never even thought about politics. She voted Conservative because Daddy always had. Adamant had opened her eyes to a great many injustices, but like Medley she was more interested in the man than his politics. Still, her strong competitive streak made her just as enthusiastic a campaigner as her husband. Even though most of her family were no longer talking to her.
Dannielle was just twenty-one years old, with a neat figure, a straight back, and a long neck that made her look taller. She was dressed in the very latest fashion and wore it with style, though she had strong reservations about the bustle. She looked very lovely in ankle-length midnight-blue, and she knew it. She particularly liked the way it set off her powdered white shoulders and short curly black hair.
Her face was well-known throughout Haven, having been immortalized by several major portrait painters. She had a delicate, heart-shaped face, with high cheekbones and dark eyes you could drown in. When she smiled, you knew it was for you, and you alone. James Adamant thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he wasn’t alone in that. The younger aristocracy had marked Dannielle as their own from the moment she entered High Society. After she married Adamant several young blades from among the Quality declared a vendetta against him for stealing her away from them. They tended to be rather quiet about it after Adamant killed three of them in duels.
“So,” said Dannielle, smiling brightly, “how are things going, darling? Are you and Stefan finished talking business?”
“For the moment,” said Adamant, sinking back into his chair. “I haven’t had much time for you lately, have I, my dear? I’m sorry, Danny, but it’s been a madhouse round here these last few weeks. Still, there’s a good hour or so before the big speech. Better get some rest while you can, love. After the speech we have to go out into the streets to shake hands and kiss babies. Or possibly vice versa.”
“That can wait,” said Dannielle. “Right now, your friend Mortice wants a word with you.”
Adamant looked at Medley. “Have you ever noticed that whenever Mortice does something aggravating, he’s always my friend?”
Medley nodded solemnly.
Market Faire had a bad reputation, even for the Northside, which took some doing. You could buy anything at the Faire, if you had the price; anything from a curse to a killing. You could place a bet or buy a rare drug, choose a partner for the evening or arrange an unfortunate fire for a bothersome competitor. Judges lived in the Faire, and high-ranking members of the Guard, along with criminals and necromancers and anarchists. The Faire was a meeting ground; a place to make deals. Hawk couldn’t help wondering if that was why Adamant had chosen to place his campaign headquarters in Market Faire.
He and Fisher made their way unhurriedly down the main street, and the crowds made way before them. The two Guards nodded politely to familiar faces, but their hands never moved far from their weapons. Market Faire was an old, rather shabby area, for all its brightly painted façade. The stone walls were weathered and discolored, there were cracks in the pavements, and from the smell of it the drains had backed up again. Still, all things were relative. At least the Faire had drains. Bravos swaggered through the bustling crowds, thumbs tucked into their sword belts, eyes alert for anything they could take as an insult. None of them were stupid enough to lock stares with Hawk and Fisher.
Adamant’s house was planted square in the middle of the main street, tucked away behind high stone walls and tall iron gates. There were jagged spikes on the gates and broken glass on top of the walls. Two armed men in full chain mail stood guard before the gates. The younger of the two stepped forward to block Hawk and Fisher’s way as they approached the gates. Hawk smiled at him easily.
“Captains Hawk and Fisher, city Guard, to see James Adamant. We’re expected.”
The young guard didn’t smile back. “Anyone can claim to be a Guard Captain. You got any identification?”
“You’re new in town, aren’t you?” said Fisher.
Hawk lifted his left hand, to show the Captain’s silver torc at his wrist. “The man’s just doing his job, Isobel.”
“Things have been a little unsettled around here recently,” said the older of the two guards. “I know you, Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher. I’m glad you’re here. Adamant’s going to need some real protection before this election’s over.”
The younger guard sniffed loudly. Hawk looked at him. “Anything the matter?”
The young guard looked insolently at him. “You’re a lot older than I thought you’d be. Are you really as good as they say?”
Fisher’s sword leapt into her hand, and a split second later the point of her sword was hovering directly before the young guard’s left eyeball. “No,” she said calmly. “We’re better.”
She stepped back and sheathed her sword in a single fluid movement. The young guard swallowed loudly. The older guard smiled, unlocked the heavy gates, and pushed them open. Hawk nodded politely, and he and Fisher entered the grounds of Adamant’s house.
“Show-off,” said Hawk quietly. Fisher grinned.
The gates swung shut behind them with a dull, emphatic thud. The house at the end of the gravel pathway was a traditional two-storey mansion, with gable windows and a front porch large enough to shelter a small army. Anywhere else in the Steppes, a place like this would have had a whole family living in each room. Ivy sprawled across most of the front wall, its thickness suggesting that it alone was holding the aged brickwork together. There were four squat chimney pots at one end of the roof, all of them smoking. Hawk looked unhappily around him as he and Fisher made their way through the grounds towards the house. The wide grass lawns were faded and withered, and there were no flowers. The air smelled rank and oppressive. The single tree was dark and twisted, its branches bare. It looked as though it had been poisoned and then struck by lightning.
“This,” said Fisher positively, “is a dump. Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Hawk sniffed the air cautiously. “Nothing’s grown here for years. Still, not everyone likes gardening.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Hawk strained his ears for some sound apart from their own boots on the gravel drive, but the grounds were unnaturally quiet. By the time they got to the massive front door, Hawk had managed to thoroughly unsettle himself. At the very least there should have been the bustling sounds of the heavy crowds outside, the everyday clamour of a city at work and at play. Instead, Adamant’s house and grounds stood stark and still in their own little pool of silence.
There was a large and blocky brass knocker on the door, shaped like a lion’s head with a brass ring in its jaws. Hawk knocked twice, raising loud echoes, and then quickly let go of the brass ring. He had an uneasy feeling the lion’s head was looking at him.
“Yeah,” said Fisher quietly. “I feel it too. This place gives me the creeps, Hawk.”
“We’ve seen worse. Anyway, you can’t judge a man by where he happens to be living. Even if he has got a graveyard for a garden.”
They fell silent as the massive door swung silently open on its counterweights. The man standing in the doorway was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed immaculately in the slightly out-of-date formal wear that identified him immediately as a butler. He looked to be in his early fifties, with a supercilious expression, a bald head, and ridiculous tufts of white hair above his ears. He held himself very correctly, and his gaze said that he had seen it all before, and hadn’t been impressed then, either. He bowed very politely to Hawk, and, after a moment’s hesitation, to Fisher.
“Good morning, sir and madam. I am Villiers, Master Adamant’s butler. If you’ll follow me, Master Adamant is expecting you.”
He stepped back a careful two paces, and then stood at attention while Hawk and Fisher entered. He closed the door quietly, and Hawk and Fisher seized the opportunity for a quick look around the hall. It was comfortably spacious without seeming overbearing, and the wood-panelled walls glowed warmly in the lamplight. Hawk approved of the lamps. Too many halls were oversized and underlit, as though there was something fashionable about eyestrain. He realised Villiers was standing politely at his side, and turned unhurriedly to face him.
“Villiers, you’re standing on my shadow. I don’t normally like people that close to me.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just wondering if you and your... partner would care to remove your cloaks. It is customary.”
“I don’t think so,” said Hawk. “Maybe later.”
Villiers bowed slightly, his impassive face somehow managing to convey that of course they knew best, even when they were wrong. He led the way down the hall, without looking to see if they were following, and ushered them into a large, comfortably appointed library. All four walls were lined with bookshelves, and leather-bound book spines gleamed dully from every direction. There was one comfortable chair by the fireplace, which Fisher immediately appropriated, stretching her legs out before her. Villiers cleared his throat politely.
“If you would be so kind as to wait here, I will inform Master Adamant of your arrival.”
He bowed again, to just the right degree, and left the library, closing the door quietly but firmly behind him.
“I never did like butlers,” said Fisher. “They’re always such terrible snobs. Worse than their employers, usually.” She looked at the empty fireplace, and shivered. “Is it just me, or is it freezing cold in here?”
“Probably just feels that way, coming in from the warmth outside. These big places hold the cold.”
Fisher nodded, looking absently around her. “Do you suppose he’s really read all these books?”
“Shouldn’t think so,” said Hawk. “Probably bought them by the yard. Having your own library is quite fashionable, at the moment.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask me. I’ve never understood fashion.”
Fisher looked at him sharply. There had been something in his voice.... “This isn’t what you’d expected, is it?”
“No,” said Hawk. “It isn’t. James Adamant is supposed to be a man of the people, representing the poor and the downtrodden. This kind of lifestyle is the very thing he’s always campaigned against A big house, a butler, books he’s never read. Dammit, he can’t even be bothered to look after the place properly.”
“Don’t blame me,” said Adamant. “I didn’t choose this monstrosity.”
Hawk turned round quickly, and Fisher rose elegantly to her feet as James Adamant entered the library, followed by Dannielle and Medley.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” said Adamant. “Captains Hawk and Fisher, may I present my wife, Dannielle, and my Advisor, Stefan Medley.”
There was a quick flurry of bows and handshakes. Dannielle extended a hand for Hawk to kiss. He shot a quick glance at Fisher, and shook the hand instead.
“I think we’d all be much more comfortable in my study,” said Adamant easily. “This way.”
He led them back down the hall and ushered them into the study, chatting amiably all the way. “My superiors insisted we take on this draught-ridden folly as Reform Headquarters, and in a moment of weakness, I agreed. It’s quite unsuitable, of course, but the current thinking is that we have to put on as good a show as the Conservatives or the voters won’t take us seriously. Personally, I think it’s that kind of half-baked nonsense that’s undermined Reform’s credibility with the electorate these past few years. But since I’m only a very junior candidate, I don’t get much say in these matters.”