Authors: Scott Lynch
“First Magistrate Sedelkis,” said Sabetha. “Arbiter of the Change. Come election season,
she’s like a temporary fourteenth god.”
“No representative from the magi?” said Locke. “They don’t even send a plate of fruit
and a kind note?”
“I understand they vouchsafe this ceremony,” said Sabetha, “so gods help anyone who
tries to adjust the tallies. But they’ll never let themselves be seen.”
“Not unless they’re somewhere private with a target for abuse,” said Locke.
On the platform below, some attendants unlocked the chests, while others took positions
near the slate boards.
“Fellow citizens,” boomed First Magistrate Sedelkis, “honorable Konseil members, and
officers of the republic, welcome. I have the honor of closing the seventy-ninth season
of elections in the Republic of Karthain by reading the results into the public record.
The returns by district, commencing with Isas Thedra.”
An attendant took an envelope from one of the chests. Sedelkis tore it open and pulled
out a parchment embossed with seals and ribbons.
“By the count of one hundred and fifteen to sixty, Firstson Epitalus of the Deep Roots
party.”
Loud applause erupted from half the population of the Grand Salon. One attendant chalked
the official numbers on a board, while others lit a green-glowing candle and used
a long pole to place it beneath the first frosted glass globe.
“Do you wish to concede, madam?” said Locke.
“I think that one was one of the foregone conclusions,” said Sabetha.
“Damn,” said Locke. “She’s too clever for us.”
“For the Isle of Hammers, by the count of two hundred and thirty-five to one hundred,”
announced Sedelkis, “Fourthdaughter Du-Lerian, for the Black Iris party.”
The attendants lit and placed another candle, one that gave off a purple-blue light
so dark it was a fair approximation of black.
“Well, how now?” said Sabetha, pouring a fresh round of drinks. “Nothing pithy to
say?”
“I would never dream of pithing in front of you,” said Locke.
Seven green lights and four black lights blazed by the time Sedelkis announced, “For
the Bursadi District, by the count of one hundred and forty-six to one hundred and
twenty-two, Secondson Lovaris of the Black Iris party.”
Jean sighed theatrically.
“That poor man,” said Sabetha. “So nearly victimized by unscrupulous relic thieves.”
“We rejoice at his deliverance,” said Locke.
“For the Plaza Gandolo,” boomed Sedelkis, “by the count of eighty-one to sixty-five,
Seconddaughter Viracois of the Black Iris party.”
“Oh, Perelandro’s balls, we
filled her house
with stolen goods!” said Jean. “She was charged with eleven counts of housebreak
or receiving! What possible grease could you apply to that?”
“I came up with a story that Viracois was secretly sheltering a distant cousin,” said
Sabetha. “And that this cousin was severely touched in the head. Had a real mania
for stealing things. Even hired an actress to play the role for a few days. I had
Viracois circulate to apologize personally for the fact that her ‘cousin’ had managed
to slip away from supervision, and once all the stolen goods were identified and returned,
all those sympathetic people quietly rescinded their charges. And discreetly talked
to their friends and neighbors, of course.”
“Rescinded charges.” Locke shook his head. “No bloody wonder paying off the magistrate
didn’t get us anything.”
“For the Isas Mellia,” announced Sedelkis, “by the count of seventy-five to thirty-one,
Damned Superstition Dexa of the Deep Roots party.”
“Didn’t even bother much with that one,” said Sabetha.
“Well, you did try to bribe her cook,” said Locke. “And her doorman. And her footmen.
And her solicitor. And her carriage driver. And her tobacconist.”
“I
succeeded
in bribing the doorman,” said Sabetha. “I just couldn’t find anything constructive
to do with him.”
“At least I won’t have to eat a hat,” Locke whispered to Jean.
“For the Silverchase,” announced Sedelkis, “by the count of one hundred and eight
to sixty-seven, Light-of-the-Amathel Azalon of the Deep Roots party.”
That was the last green candle to be lit for a long time, however. The next three
blazed black, bringing the total to nine and nine.
“It’s all theater in the end, isn’t it?” said Sabetha. The brandy had brought color
to her cheeks. “All our running around in costumes,
saying our lines. Now the chorus comes out onstage to recite the moral and send the
audience home.”
“Half of them are about to wish they had some fruit to throw,” said Jean.
“Shhh, here it comes,” said Sabetha.
“The final report,” announced Sedelkis, opening the envelope with a flourish. “For
the Palanta District, by the count of one hundred and seventy to one hundred and fifty-two,
Thirdson Jovindus of the Black Iris party!”
The last lamp flared with dark light.
CONSTERNATION ERUPTED
on the floor, shouts of joy mingling with accusations, cries of disbelief, and insults.
Sabetha folded her arms, leaned back in her chair, and adopted a wide, genuine smile.
“You boys gave me a closer run than I expected,” she said. “And I did have the advantage
of getting here first.”
“That’s a gracious admission,” said Jean.
“Your gimmick with Lovaris would have been magnificent fun to watch,” said Sabetha.
“I’m almost sad I had to put my foot down on it.”
“I’m not,” said Locke.
“ORDER,” cried First Magistrate Sedelkis. “ORDER!” The cloaked bluecoats surrounding
the stage drove their staves rhythmically against the ground until the crowd heeded
Sedelkis.
“All districts having reported, I hereby declare these results rightful and valid.
Karthain has a Konseil. Gods bless the Presence. Gods bless the Republic of Karthain!”
“First Magistrate,” came a voice from the crowd, “I beg a moment of stage time to
amend the record in one small respect.”
“Oh, what in all the hells …” said Sabetha.
The speaker was Lovaris, who separated himself from a group of happy Black Iris notables,
pushed through the cordon of bluecoats around the stage, and took a place beside Sedelkis
at a speaking trumpet.
“Dear friends and fellow citizens,” he said, while beckoning for one of the glass
globe attendants to approach him. “I am Secondson Lovaris,
often called Perspicacity, an honor I cherish. For twenty years I have represented
the Bursadi District as an enthusiastic member of the Black Iris party. However, of
late, I must confess that enthusiasm has been dimmed by circumstances beyond my control.
I grieve that I must discuss this in public. I grieve that I must take corrective
action
in public.”
“Is anyone else at this table hallucinating right now?” said Sabetha.
“If we are, we’re sharing a lovely fever dream,” said Locke. “Let’s see how it ends!”
“I grieve, most of all,” continued Lovaris, “that I must announce my reluctant but
immediate withdrawal from the Black Iris party. I will no longer wear their symbols
or attend their party functions.”
“Gods above, are you actually resigning from the Konseil?” shouted someone in the
crowd.
“Of course not,” shouted Lovaris. “I said nothing about resigning my Konseil seat!
I am the Bursadi Konseillor, validly and rightfully elected, as the First Magistrate
just announced.”
“Turncoat!” shouted a man that Locke recognized as Thirdson Jovindus. “You ran under
false pretenses! Your election must be nullified in favor of your second!”
“We elect
men and women
in Karthain,” said Lovaris, and it was clear from his voice that he was speaking
through a smirk that would have injured a lesser man with its intensity. “Those men
and women declare party affiliations only as a matter of their own convenience. I
am not bound to surrender
anything
. My honorable associate should more closely examine the relevant laws. Now, allow
me to finish describing the new situation!”
Lovaris took a pole from the attendant he’d beckoned, then used it to extinguish and
dislodge the candle from the middle-most black globe. One blank white glass was left
in the midst of nine black and nine green.
“Simply because I have left the Black Iris does not mean that I have necessarily embraced
any of the positions of the Deep Roots. I am declaring myself a party of one, fully
independent, a neutral balance between Karthain’s traditional ideologies. I am fully
willing to be convinced to any reasonable course of action in the Konseil. Indeed,
I remind my esteemed colleagues that my door is ever open for your
approaches and entreaties. I shall very much look forward to receiving them. Good
evening!”
What followed could only be described as the crescendoing clusterfuck of the Karthani
social season, as half the Konseillors of the Black Iris party, technically immune
to constabulary restraint, attempted to storm the stage through a wall of bluecoats
who could neither hurt them nor allow them to hurt Lovaris. First Magistrate Sedelkis
demonstrated the co-equality of the Karthani judiciary by kicking a Black Iris Konseillor
in the teeth, which brought even Deep Roots Konseillors into the fray to uphold the
privileges of their station. Bluecoat messengers raced off to find reinforcements,
while most of the noncombatant spectators refilled their goblets of punch and settled
in to watch their government in action.
“I don’t believe it,” said Sabetha. “How the hell … I’ve got no more succinct way
to put it.
How the hell
?”
“You warned Lovaris we were coming to try and convince him to change the color of
his lapel ribbon,” said Locke. “And you know he didn’t buy that offer for an instant.
He chewed on my self-respect for a while, then wiped me away like a turd.”
“But we’d already prepared a second line of attack,” said Jean, pouring himself a
fresh finger of brandy. “Ego-fodder. Something designed to appeal to his sense that
he ought to be the hinge around which the rest of the world turned.”
“Catnip for an asshole,” continued Locke. “Jean offered the second approach, on the
theory that Lovaris might be more willing to parley seriously with an envoy he hadn’t
just pissed all over. Turned out to be a good guess.”
“And now Lovaris is the most important man in Karthain,” whispered Sabetha. “Now any
deadlock in Konseil is going to have to be resolved by his vote!”
“A possibility he found quite stimulating. The other Konseillors might detest his
guts,” said Locke, “but they
will
be at his door, hats in hand, for the next five years, or until he’s assassinated.
Hardly our problem either way.”
“And that’s all it took? A friendly suggestion?”
“Well, obviously, he agreed to go through with it only if the numbers added up,” said
Locke. “If you’d had a wider margin of victory, he
would have stayed silent. And there was one hell of a bribe to sweeten the deal.”
“He settled for twenty-five thousand ducats,” said Jean.
“How does he expect to hide it?” said Sabetha. “The Black Iris are going to rake him
over the coals! His countinghouse will be watched, his business dealings will be dissected,
any fresh property that turns up will be beaten like a dusty carpet for clues!”
“Hiding it’s not the issue,” said Locke, “since you already safely delivered it to
him for us.”
Sabetha stared at him for a moment, then whispered, “The reliquary boxes!”
“I quietly boiled twenty-five thousand ducats down to precious stones, mostly emeralds
and Spider’s Eye Pearls,” said Jean. “A lightweight cargo to stash in the bottom of
the drawers. Your constables were much more squeamish about digging through the dust
and bones of Lovaris’ forebears than he was.”
“I’d thought you’d taken them to hold hostage for his cooperation,” said Sabetha.
“It was the sensible conclusion,” said Locke. “We didn’t feel comfortable hauling
a fat bribe to his manor ourselves; too much of a chance someone in your pay would
notice us. Maybe even someone working for his household.”
“Try about half his household,” said Sabetha. “So you needed that treasure delivered
to Lovaris, and you fed me its location on that boat … gods! How long had you known
I had Nikoros under my thumb?”
“We found out nearly too late,” said Locke. “Just about everything he gave you before
the boat was legitimately at our expense.”
“Hmmm. To give him the word on the boat …” She rubbed her temples. “Ah! That alchemical
store I relieved you of in the Vel Vespala—that tip came from Nikoros. You … you must
have given everyone you suspected word of some different juicy target!”
“And the target you stepped on told us who the leak was,” said Locke, grinning. “You
have it exactly.”
“You impossible assholes!” Sabetha leapt up, moved around the table, pulled Locke
and Jean from their chairs, and threw an arm around each of them, laughing. “Oh, you
two are such insufferable weaselly shits, it’s marvelous!”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” said Jean. “But for the grace of the gods, we might
still be cruising the Amathel.”
“So what have we done?” said Sabetha, her voice full of honest wonderment. “What have
we
done
? I suppose I won the election, but … I’m not sure if winning it for about thirty
seconds is winning it at all.”
“Just as I’m not sure that nudging a victory into a tie is really the same as winning
for our side,” said Locke. “Nor is it quite losing. A pretty mess, isn’t it? One for
the drunkards and philosophers.”
“I wonder what the magi are going to say.”
“I hope they argue about it from now until the sun grows cold,” said Locke. “We did
our bit, we fought sincerely, we perverted the final results just enough to eternally
confuse anyone watching—what more could they possibly want?”
“I suppose we find out now,” said Jean.
“Did … Patience give you any instructions or hints about what to do once the ballots
were counted?” said Sabetha. “Not a word,” said Locke.