Down below, the crowd was getting noisy. They’d been patient a long time, and some of them looked a little tired of being good-natured about it. Hawk moved a little to one side so that he could see the mirror opposite him more clearly. It was the last in a series of mirrors, all cleverly arranged so that he could see down into the ballroom without being seen himself. One of Medley’s better ideas.
It wasn’t a very big ballroom, as mansion ballrooms went, but the packed crowd made it seem larger. Massed lamps and candles supplied a blaze of light, though the air was starting to get a little thick. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors from the original owner’s family lined the walls, all of them looking highly respectable. Hawk’s mouth twitched. If they’d still been alive, they’d have probably had coronaries at what their house was being used for. Adamant’s supporters filled the ballroom from one end to the other, latecomers pushed tight against the closed doors, while the front of the crowd spilled over onto the first few steps of the stairs to the second storey. They seemed to blend together into a mass of shiny faces and eager eyes. A handful of stewards stopped them from getting any further up the stairs. A few more moved slowly through the crowd, keeping an eye out for unfamiliar faces and paid saboteurs. They looked very alone and very vulnerable in the crowd. Everyone there was supposed to be Adamant’s friend, but Hawk didn’t trust any crowd that large. They’d been well-behaved so far, but Hawk had seen enough crowds in his time to know that they could turn ugly in a moment. Should things get out of hand, there was precious little Adamant’s men would be able to do to restrain such a mob. They weren’t even wearing swords. Hawk sniffed. It took more to handle a crowd than good intentions.
Hawk looked round as Adamant stirred in his chair, but the candidate was just shifting his weight more comfortably. He still looked cool and calm and utterly at ease. He could have been waiting for his second cup of tea at breakfast, instead of his first real test of popularity and support. At first, Hawk had thought it was all just a pose, a mask to hide his nervousness behind, but there was none of the over-stillness that betrayed inner tension. He shot a glance at Fisher, who nodded slightly to show she’d noticed it too. Adamant might be new to politics, but it seemed he already knew the first rule: Politicians inspire fervour, but they don’t fall prey to it themselves. Or, to put it another way, Adamant was professional enough to be a coldhearted son of a bitch when he had to be. A point worth remembering.
Medley, on the other hand, looked as though he might explode at any moment. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat and his hands were shaking. His hair was a mess and he ran his fingers through it like a comb when he thought no one was looking. He kept glancing at the crowd’s image in the mirror as they grew increasingly noisy, and his running monologue became even more urgent as he ran through a list of things Adamant absolutely had to remember once he got out there in front of the crowd.
Medley began to repeat himself, and Dannielle shot him another dark look before going back to fussing over her appearance. Her dress was stylish, her makeup immaculate, but she couldn’t seem to assure herself of that without constant checking. Hawk smiled. Everyone had their own way of dealing with nerves. For the most part, Hawk dealt with them by keeping busy. He studied the scene in the mirror again, and stirred uneasily. The crowd was definitely getting restive. Some of them had started chanting Adamant’s name. The thin line of stewards at the foot of the stairs looked thinner than ever.
Hawk smiled briefly. It was one thing to wish for a little action to relieve the boredom, but quite another when it came to actually having to deal with it.
Medley made one comment too many, and Dannielle snapped at him. They locked gazes for a moment, and then Dannielle turned to Adamant for support. He smiled at both of them, and got up out of his chair. He traded a few quiet, reassuring words with each, taking just long enough for some of his calm to rub off on them. Down in the ballroom, the crowd was chanting
We want Adamant!
more or less in unison. He smiled at Hawk and Fisher.
“There’s an art to this, you know. The longer we make them wait, the greater their response will be when I finally appear. Of course, let it go on too long, and they’ll riot. It’s all in the timing.” He strode purposefully out onto the top of the stairs, and the crowd went mad.
They cheered and stamped and waved their banners, releasing their pent-up emotions in a single great roar of love and acclaim. The sound rose and rose, beating against the walls and echoing back from the ceiling. Adamant smiled and waved, and Dannielle and Medley moved out onto the top of the stairs to join him. The cheers grew even wilder, if that was possible. Dannielle smiled graciously at the crowd. Medley nodded briskly, his face grave and impassive.
Back in the hidden part of the landing, Hawk’s gaze darted across the viewing mirror, checking the crowd for trouble spots. Letting this much raw emotion loose in a confined space was a calculated risk; all it needed was one unfortunate incident and the whole thing could turn very nasty. The trick, according to Medley, was to concentrate all the emotion on Adamant, through a combination of speeches and theatrics, and then turn the people loose on the city while they were still boiling over with enthusiasm. A good trick, if you can pull it off. Adamant probably could. He was good with words. The right words at the right time can topple thrones and build empires. Or bring on rebellions and civil wars, and dead men lying in burning fields.
Fisher stirred uneasily at Hawk’s side, picking up some of his tension, and he made himself relax a little. Nothing was going to happen. Adamant and Medley had everything planned, right down to the last detail. Hardcastle’s people wouldn’t interfere here. They might not know about Mortice himself, but they had to know some magic-user was looking out for Adamant. Hawk gnawed at his lower lip, and looked across at Adamant. He was still smiling and waving, milking the moment for all it was worth. Dannielle stood serenely at his side, doing her best to be openly supportive without drawing any attention away from her husband. Medley looked uncomfortable in the spotlight, but no one expected him to be charismatic. It was enough that he was there, openly allied with Adamant.
Hawk looked back at the crowd in the mirror, which still showed no signs of cooling down. They all had flags or banners or placards, and they all wore the blue ribbon of the Reform Cause. They were a mixture of types and classes, with no obvious connections. There were a large number of poorly dressed, hard-worn characters whose reasons for supporting Reform seemed clear. But there were others whose clothes and bearing marked them clearly as tradesmen and merchants, and there were even some members of the Quality. Usually the only place you’d find such a combination gathered peacefully together was in the city morgue or the debtors’ prison. And yet here they were, standing happily shoulder to shoulder, united in friendship and purpose by the man they trusted and cheered for. Politics made for strange bedfellows. Adamant lifted his hands suddenly, and the crowd’s cheering died quickly away, replaced by an expectant hush.
Hawk watched closely from the shadows of the landing. There was something different about Adamant now. Something powerful. He seemed to have grown suddenly in stature and authority, as though the crowd’s belief in him had made him the hero they needed him to be. The man Hawk had met earlier had been pleasant enough, even charming. But this new Adamant had a power and charisma that set him ablaze like a beacon in the night. His presence filled the ballroom. For the first time, Hawk understood why Hardcastle was afraid of this man.
The room was totally silent now. All eyes were fixed on Adamant. There was a hungry, determined feel to the silence that Hawk didn’t like. It occurred to him that the relationship between Adamant and his followers wasn’t just a one-way street. These people worshipped him, they might even die for him, but in a way they owned him too. They defined what he was and what he might be.
Adamant’s speech lasted the better part of an hour, and the crowd lapped it up. He talked about the dark side of Haven, the sweatshops and the work gangs, the company shops that made sure their employees stayed poor, and the company bullies who dealt with anyone who dared speak out. He talked about rotten food and foul drinking water, about houses with holes in the roof and rats in the walls—and the crowd reacted with shock and outrage, as though they’d never known such things existed. Adamant made them see their world with fresh eyes, and see how bad it really was.
He told them about the powerful and privileged men who cared nothing for the poor because they were born into the wrong class and therefore were nothing more than animals, to be used and discarded as their betters saw fit. He told them of the titled men and women who gorged themselves on six-course meals in gorgeous banquet halls, while the children of the poor died in the streets from hunger and exposure—and the raw hatred from the crowd was a palpable presence in the ballroom.
And then he told them things didn’t have to be that way anymore.
He told them of the Cause. Of Reform, and how the evils of Haven would finally be done away with, not by violence and revolution, but by slow, continued change. By people working together, instead of against each other, regardless of class or wealth or position. It wasn’t going to be easy. There were those in Haven who would fight and die rather than see the system change. Reform would be a long fight and a hard fight, but in the end Reform would win, because working together the people were stronger by far than the privileged individuals who sought to keep them in their place, in the gutter. Adamant smiled proudly down at the men and women before him.
Let others call us trouble-makers and anarchists, he said quietly; We will show the people of Haven it isn’t true. We are just men and women who have had enough, and will see justice done. Whatever it takes.
They can’t kill us all.
Adamant finally stopped speaking, and for a moment there was silence. And then the crowd roared its agreement in a single, determined voice. Adamant had taken a crowd of individuals and forged them into an army, and they knew it. All they needed now was an enemy to fight, and they’d find that soon enough out on the streets. Hawk watched the crowd in the mirror, impressed but deeply disturbed. Raising violent emotions like these was dangerous for everyone involved. If Hardcastle could raise similar feelings in his followers, there would be blood and death in the streets when the two sides met.
Adamant raised his hands again, and the crowd grew still. He paused a moment, as though searching for just the right words, and then talked to them slowly and calmly about how they should deal with the enemy. Violence was Hardcastle’s way, not theirs. Let the voters see who needed to resort to violence first, and then they’d see who spoke the truth, and who dared not let it be heard. Adamant looked out over his people. It was inevitable that people were going to be hurt in the hours ahead, maybe even killed. But whatever happened, they were only ever to defend themselves, and then only as much as was needed. It was easy to fall into the trap of hatred and revenge, but that was the enemy’s way, not theirs. Reform fought to change, not destroy.
He paused again, to let the thought sink in, and then suddenly raised his voice in happiness and good cheer. He filled the audience’s hearts with hope and resolve, wished them all good fortune, bowed once, and then strode unhurriedly off into the shadows of the landing, followed by Dannielle and Medley. His audience cheered him till their hearts were raw, and then filed slowly out of the ballroom, laughing and chattering excitedly about the day ahead. Back in the concealing shadows of the landing, Adamant sank wearily into his chair and let his breath out in a long, slow sigh of relief.
“I think that went rather well,” he said finally. He put out a hand to Dannielle, and she took it firmly in both of hers.
“It should have,” said Medley. “We spent long enough rehearsing it.”
“Oh, never mind him,” said Dannielle, glaring at Medley. “You were wonderful, darling! Listen to them, James; they’re still cheering you!”
“It’s a hard life being a politician,” said Adamant solemnly. “All this power and adulation ... How will I ever stand the pressure?”
Medley snorted. “Wait till we get out on the streets, James. That’s when the real work starts. They do things differently out there.”
Half an hour later the faithful had all departed, but Adamant and company were back in the study again. Adamant had visitors. Garrett Walpole and Lucien Sykes were businessmen, so successful that even Hawk and Fisher had heard of them. Their families were as old as Haven, and if their money hadn’t come from trade, they could both have been leading members of the Quality. As it was, the lowest member of High Society wouldn’t have deigned to so much as sneer in their direction. Tradesmen used the back door, no matter how wealthy they were. Which was at least partly why Walpole and Sykes had come visiting. Not that they would ever have admitted it, of course. They shook hands formally with Adamant, and nodded generally around them as Adamant made the introductions.
“Your Advisor can stay,” said Sykes briskly, “but the others will have to leave. Our business here is confidential, Adamant.”
Hawk smiled, and shook his head. “We’re bodyguards. We stay with sir Adamant.”
Walpole looked at Hawk and Fisher amusedly. “Call off your dogs, will you, James? Perhaps your wife could take them to the kitchens for a cup of tea, or something, until our business is finished.”