“Of course. I told them that the councilor didn’t use it for the entire time he’d leased it before. They wouldn’t give it for nothing, but they agreed on half-price. I thought that was fair.”
“More than fair,” said Obreduur from the rear seat. “They were paid for nine days we didn’t use, and they gave us five days at half-price. I’m glad you asked. It probably wouldn’t have been the best idea for me to do that in person. Not right now, anyway.”
“Where to?” asked Tybor.
“Back to the house. We’ll leave our cases there, and pick up the banner from the garage. Then Steffan can drive us all back to your house and drop you off. After that, we’ll be heading for the old market square.”
“You sure you don’t need me?”
“Getting the steamer for us and taking it back on Findi is a great help, and I don’t think you’d enjoy all the appearances we’ll be making.”
“I don’t see how you do it. Then, I don’t see how Ingrella does what she does, either.” With that, Tybor guided the Gresynt away from the old station.
Dekkard smiled wryly at Tybor’s comments. He and Avraal had reviewed the schedule for the time in Malek—four to six appearances a day for the next four days, with each two-to-three-bell block of time either greeting people in halls or squares or markets or going door to door counting as a single “appearance,” definitely meant that the next four days would be crowded indeed.
And that’s understating it.
97
DUADI’S schedule was every bit as crowded as Dekkard suspected, beginning with two bells of going through the old market square of Malek and stopping at every booth and stall, followed by another door-to-door canvass of an area in northwest Malek, prosperous enough that most of the women were home and happy to talk to Obreduur. After that came a visit to Lacemakers Lane, and then another shift-change meeting with workers from the old flour and furniture mills, where Dekkard set up the banner in the space between the two mills, which Dekkard recalled from the earlier visit to the Women’s Clerical Guild Summerend Social, held in the assembly hall nearby. Then came an early dinner at Lucynda’s, after which Obreduur met with everyone who worked at the restaurant. The last stop for the evening was at the Duadi Evening Club, a social group for older people.
Tridi, Furdi, and Quindi followed the same general pattern, beginning even earlier in the day, and not ending until well after the second night bell.
On Findi—election day—Dekkard and Avraal were at the breakfast table before Obreduur, sipping café and waiting for their eggs Malek, those tasty cooked eggs enclosed by a thin sweet cinnamon pastry crust glazed with honey. After Avraal had finished most of her first mug of café, Dekkard said, “It feels almost unnatural to know that we don’t have a day filled with seeing people we don’t know—”
“Quite a few of whom he remembers,” interjected Avraal.
“—and may never see again,” finished Dekkard. “Or at least for another year or election.”
“You never know who you will or won’t see again, Steffan,” said Obreduur as he entered the breakfast room and sat down. “Or under what circumstances.”
“You make an effort to meet people you don’t know,” said Dekkard.
“Some people I don’t know. You can’t neglect those who support you to gain new supporters, but you can’t just rely on past supporters, either. Like everything in politics, it’s a balancing act.” Obreduur took a long swallow of café.
“You said you were going to vote around third bell this morning. Are we coming back to the house after that?”
“No. Put your bags in the steamer. We’ll swing by Tybor’s house around fifth bell and pick him up. Then you’ll drive us to the station. We’re on the noon local back to Oersynt, and that will take a good three bells.”
“Where are you voting?”
“The meeting hall of the East Lake Trinitarian Chapel.”
Elgara appeared with a platter of eggs Malek. “I thought you should have something special on election day, sir.”
Obreduur smiled broadly. “Your eggs Malek make any morning special, Elgara.”
“That’s kind of you, sir.”
“You’re the one showing the kindness,” returned Obreduur.
“To all of us,” added Dekkard.
Delicious as the eggs Malek were, all too soon breakfast was over, and Dekkard hurried up to the small bedroom, finished getting ready for the long day, and completed packing his case. Then he carried it down and put it in the leased steamer, adding Avraal’s case, and then Obreduur’s.
Dekkard followed Obreduur’s directions to the Trinitarian meeting hall. Then he and Avraal accompanied the councilor to one of the voting registrars, where Obreduur obtained a ballot, which he carried to a curtained voting booth, marked the ballot, folded it in half, and left the booth and deposited it in the locked ballot box.
“Now all you have to do is wait, Councilor,” said one of the registrars cheerfully.
“And wait some more,” replied Obreduur. “Have you had many people so far?”
“According to the count, a good thirty more than we had by this time last election. That’s what I remember, anyway. A few more folks that I know, but never saw vote before.”
“I hope they remember my name,” replied Obreduur. “That’s if they like what I’ve done.”
Two of the three registrars smiled.
Dekkard would have wagered that the non-smiling one was the Commercer registrar.
After several minutes more of casual conversation, in between voters signing and certifying their presence and obtaining ballots, Obreduur said, “Much as I enjoy talking with you, I see more people coming, and it’s time for us to leave.”
Obreduur led the way out of the meeting hall, then stopped to greet an older couple. “Maervyn … Gladora … I’m glad to see you here early.”
“We always vote early, Axel. You know that,” replied the woman.
“That’s why I’m glad to see you.”
“I imagine you’ll check a few of the voting halls,” said Maervyn in a deep and rasping voice, “before you go to Oersynt?”
“A few, anyway, just to see the turnout.”
“Don’t let us keep you,” rumbled Maervyn.
“You’re not keeping me. I don’t see you two often enough.”
“We need you more in Machtarn than here, Axel,” said Gladora. “Especially if you become premier.”
“That’s up to the voters … and at least a few other councilors.”
“Hope there are a few less idiots voting today,” grumbled Maervyn, “and more who understand that the Commercers haven’t done right by the working men.”
“And women,” added Gladora. “Now … on your way, Axel. We’re perfectly fine.”
“I can see that. Until later.” Obreduur offered a warm smile.
Dekkard was amused to note that Obreduur still stopped to talk to two other couples and one older woman before they reached the steamer.
Then for the next two bells, Avraal and Dekkard accompanied him into ten more voting halls before he directed Dekkard to head back to pick up Tybor.
Before Dekkard reached Tybor’s house, he asked, “What did you learn from the visits?”
“You heard everything that they said. What do you think, Steffan?”
“More people are voting earlier. Since it’s not raining and doesn’t look like rain, I’d say that means they’re worried. But Commercers could be worried that Crafters will control the Council, just as Crafters are worried that another Commercer Council would hurt them.”
“I saw the same thing, but if you’d looked at the faces of the Commercer registrars, they didn’t look happy. Avraal … could you tell anything?”
“The Commercer registrars were anything but happy. The Landor registrars were resigned, and the Craft registrars were hopeful.”
“That suggests we did well in Malek, and probably in Oersynt, although we’ll know more when we reach the Guildha
ll there. Whether that’s happening elsewhere in Guldor, it’s far too soon to tell.”
Even before Dekkard came to a full stop in front of the house, Tybor was hurrying out and down the walk to the Gresynt. He opened the middle door and sat in the middle row. “How does it look, Axel?”
“Moderately favorable here in Malek, but it’s still early. Elsewhere … who can tell?”
Dekkard eased the steamer away from the house, heading south toward the river and the ironway station. In less than a third, he had turned the Gresynt back over to Tybor, and gotten a porter to wheel the cases onto the parlor carriage of the local, a definite step down from the various expresses, although Dekkard had the feeling that the faded and worn elegance of the carriage suggested it had once been an express parlor carriage. Less than a third of the seats were taken, hardly surprising, since it was close to midday, a Findi, and election day as well.
According to the schedule, after Obreduur reached Oersynt, Herrardo would meet them, take Obreduur, guarded by Avraal and Dekkard, on a tour of key voting halls, followed by a stop at the Oersynt Guildhall, where Obreduur would meet with Craft Party officials before leaving for the ironway station, where the three of them would take the Machtarn Night Express, arriving in Machtarn between fifth bell and noon on Unadi.
As he sat beside Avraal, while they studied two late-arriving passengers—two graying women—just before the carriage doors closed, Dekkard murmured, “I think we’re going to be two very tired security aides by this time tomorrow, and tomorrow afternoon will be long.”
“Very long … but longer if it looks like the Craft Party gets a definite plurality.”
“Much, much longer, if that happens,” said Obreduur, seated across from them. “If that occurs, I imagine that Hansaal Volkaar and Saandaar Vonauer will confer to see if they can form a coalition government. Those discussions will take a day or two before they fail.”
“You’re that sure we’ll win?” asked Dekkard.
Obreduur shook his head. “I’m not sure of that at all. Not yet. But if we get close to thirty seats, they’ll have great difficulty agreeing on terms, and enough Landors will balk at the conditions demanded by Volkaar and the Commercers. So … in the end—that is, if we get close to thirty seats—we’ll be offered the chance to form a government with the expectation that we’ll fail after a few weeks.”
“What are the chances of failure actually happening?” asked Dekkard.
“I have no idea,” replied Obreduur. “There hasn’t been a Craft government in over two hundred years, and that one only lasted a year and a half. I’d like to think we could do better, but speculating on that makes no sense unless we get the necessary seats, until the Commercers and Landors fail to agree, and until and unless we’re given the opportunity to form the government.”
“You make it sound rather improbable,” replied Dekkard.
“That’s because it is. It’s not impossible, and the odds are in our favor, but whether the Commercers will allow us into power, for even a brief time, remains to be seen. I’m thinking that they won’t make enough concessions to the Landors to form a coalition government, but they might. If they do … then events will get very, very interesting. But it’s all speculation until the votes are all counted. In the meantime, I’m going to try to take a nap.” With that he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Obreduur had to be tired to say that, because Dekkard had never heard those words before and the councilor seemed to work endless bells.
Dekkard turned to Avraal. “This time, it’s your turn to get some rest.”
She smiled. “I won’t argue.”
In moments, both the councilor and Avraal seemed to be asleep.
For the next three bells, Dekkard kept watch, although none of the other occupants of the parlor carriage seemed in the slightest interested in the councilor, while the local made two stops on its way to Oersynt. Dekkard had the feeling that Obreduur was guardedly optimistic, but worried that something unforeseen might occur.
Even before the local slowed to a stop at the Guldoran Ironway station in Oersynt, Avraal and Obreduur were awake, although neither spoke.
As before, Herrardo was waiting, if with a different Gresynt, this one a dark gray. “More people are voting, from what we’ve heard. We can stop at perhaps three voting halls before you meet with Chairman Foerrster and the others at the Guildhall. You’ll have to be back here by a third past fifth bell to catch the Night Express.”
“I’m in your hands, Jareld,” replied Obreduur.
“Yes, sir.” Herrardo accelerated away from the station.
Over the next bell, Obreduur visited four halls where voting was taking place, after which Herrardo took the four to the Oersynt Guildhall.
As Dekkard and Avraal flanked Obreduur on his way through the front doors, Dekkard realized, belatedly, that it was the first time that he’d entered from the front, and not from the kitchen. Obreduur’s destination wasn’t the main hall, but a smaller conference room, where Leon Foerrster and Karlena Koerr were seated with small stacks of paper in front of them and where a messenger hurried out just after the councilor entered.
“How does it look?” asked Obreduur.
“The early indications are good,” replied Koerr. “We’re seeing even more guild members voting than in the last election. There are a few more Commercers voting as well, but you had a very healthy margin in the last election. It’s looking good.”
“Have you heard anything about Gaarlak?”
“We just got a heliogram from Jens,” said Foerrster. “He thinks not as many Landors are voting, but more Commercers are. Usually, the Commercers come in third there, but it’s a cause for concern.”
“What about Chuive? Devoule was killed in the Summerend New Meritorist demonstration, and the Commercers were never that strong there.”
“Too early to even have an indication.”
“You can’t do any more here, Axel,” said Foerrster. “You might as well head for the station. If we do well, you’ll have more than enough to handle in Machtarn.” Then he looked to Dekkard and then Avraal. “Keep him safe. He’s the only Craft councilor capable of forming and holding together a government.”
“You’re overstating, Leon,” replied Obreduur gently.
“I don’t think so. Not this time. Why do you think they’ve sent so many assassins after you?”
“I’m not the only one.”
Foerrster offered an amused smile. “No, but you’re the only one where they kept trying. You might be safer now, since you’re more visible as the acting Premier. Also, with the elections in progress, they might prefer to form a coalition and keep you out that way, but I wouldn’t count on it. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little early to the ironway. Just be careful.”
“We will,” replied Obreduur.
Avraal led the way back to the front doors.
Herrardo was waiting within yards of the entrance and in minutes had the steamer headed back to the ironway station.
Although Avraal was especially careful while Dekkard arranged for a porter to wheel their cases to the Machtarn Night Express, neither of them discerned any signs of possible attackers. In fact, it appeared that the express wasn’t even fully booked, possibly because there were fewer reasons for influencers and corporacion directors or officials to go to the capital when nothing would be decided until after the elections.
Once the express headed out of the station and across the Rio Mal bridge, the three went to the dining carriage and had a leisurely dinner. Even before they sat down, Obreduur did say, “No talk about elections or politics tonight.”
“How about history?” asked Dekkard.
“If it’s history that took place before 1200, fine,” answered Obreduur.
“Do you think any of the political parties anticipated the Silent Revolution?”
“No. Ingrella’s studied that period. She believes that it took almost ten years to plan and set up. The history books treat it as if it all took
place in a year or so, but nearly thirty councilors died over two and a half years, including a premier and a premier-select. Some fifteen wives of councilors also died, mostly at the hands of their husbands. It’s the most hidden conspiracy in the history of the Imperium. To this day, no one knows for certain most of those involved, although many believe Princess Ilspieth had a role in it.” Obreduur waited until the server had delivered two Riverfall lagers and a Silverhills white for Avraal before continuing. “That, paradoxically, may be why very few women even attempted to run for Council in the decade following the Suffrage Amendment to the Great Charter.”
“That makes sense,” replied Avraal. “Any women eager to seek office immediately would have been viewed with suspicion. Then … they still are.”
Dekkard took a swallow of his lager, deciding he might as well enjoy the conversation and the dinner.
98
DESPITE the narrow compartment bunk, Dekkard was tired enough to sleep well, at least until the morning light seeped into his compartment. So he shaved and washed up as well as he could in the tiny sink, and then dressed in a relatively clean set of security grays. Then, after converting his bunk back into a couch, he opened his compartment door and waited for Avraal, wondering just how the election had turned out.
Roughly two-thirds of a bell passed before Avraal emerged from her compartment. “Good morning, early riser.”
“Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Fairly well … until I started dreaming about the election. The dream turned into a nightmare because the Commercers repealed the Suffrage Amendment, claiming that women were no better than susceptibles, and we lost six seats, and the Commercers had thirty.” She shook her head. “I suppose the sussie part was because of that susceptible assassin. I feel sorry for him, and I’d like to rip out the mind of whoever set him up.”
“It’s the sort of thing that Commercers like Minz would think up,” said Dekkard. “I don’t see the New Meritorists doing it.”
“Neither do I.”
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