“I must admit I am a little surprised to find him here,” Carnelia said.
“And I reserved this room for a private chat with you! I didn’t know she was coming.”
“Well, I reserved it yesterday morning!”
Bunny stretched out her hands and cracked her knuckles. “I’m glad both of you are here. We have a few things to discuss.”
Both campaign managers were sitting hunched over in their chairs like chastened schoolchildren by the time Bunny had finished with them.
“. . . Then there’s the general negative campaigning. Carnelia. It has come to my attention that you have been planting fake posters of Emo that say insulting things to people as they pass by.”
“Yes!” Orlow said, pointing at her. “One of them told his mother she was ugly. Unconscionable!”
“And you!” Bunny said, turning to him. “Handing out gray wigs to Emo’s supporters in the crowd. That’s so insulting I’m surprised you even considered it.”
“It’s not exactly against the rules . . .”
“It’s unsportsmanlike. I thought we were going to have an election that was above all that pettiness and bad behavior.”
Orlow pouted. “Well, by the sound of it, you’re no stranger to bad behavior. You ought to embrace some good, clean fun!”
“You can’t believe what you read!” I said. “I told you the papers were stepping up their smear campaign. It’s a ploy.”
“An effective one! Everyone believes those stories. I mean, I don’t. But it’s making us look bad to have you working for us. It’s tough on Emo. He’s very sensitive.”
“I understand that,” Bunny said, relenting. “But we’re so close now. You’ve been campaigning for five years. A couple of weeks is all that is left.”
“Too little,” Carnelia said abruptly. “Wilmer wants more time now. He has to separate himself from the downright corruption that is coming to the fore. You know what I mean.”
“I certainly don’t,” Bunny said coldly.
“Oh, not that trash about Mr. Skeeve. It was in the Evening Screed. Wilmer learned that Emo’s candidacy is based on fraud! He doesn’t own the house he lives in as he claimed! He lives out of town!”
“Well, Emo wants the vote moved up!” Orlow exclaimed. “We’re tired of waiting around. No sense postponing it. We want it sooner! We read the report in the Tipp Sheet. Wilmer is running on fraudulent terms, not Emo. Who fudged his birth date so as not to seem ancient and out of touch? We’d better have it sooner, or Wilmer might die on you! Who knows if he’s physically fit to run?”
“We’re not afraid of a little delay! That’s why we want a postponement!”
“And we want the election at the end of this week!”
“You signed a contract setting the date!”
Both of them looked at us. “So what?” they asked in unison.
Bunny shook her head. “You’re challenging your opponents’ legitimacy after all this time? But didn’t you check everything before?”
“I stand by my assertion,” Orlow said. “It’s a matter of public record that Wilmer filed false documents.”
“Me, too,” Carnelia said. “This is my last word on the subject. We refuse to go through with it if Emo is the candidate.”
“But aren’t you both saying the same thing?”
“He lies!”
“She prevaricates!”
“The Syndication is behind this,” I said. “Look, since both challenge one another’s candidate, then you both have to bring out your proof that you are legitimate candidates. Do not show them to anyone else, but we will have a public rally instead of a debate. Everyone will be satisfied. You can have legal counsel standing by to verify your birth certificates, proof of residence, nominating petitions, donation accounting, and whatever else you used to put yourself up as a candidate for governor. It will be a completely public process, and everyone will be satisfied. All right?”
“I hate to cede anything to that scoundrel,” Carnelia said. Her rodents chirped agreement.
“You don’t have to,” Bunny said. “We are going to take it directly to the people without the interference of a middleman, and it will be fair. I will personally go over every single document you present, and I will certify whether any fakes have been presented. From now on, we won’t have any more surprises.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“This will go on your permanent record.”
—M. SUPERIOR
The next debate was scheduled in the middle of the field where it had been before. Gleep and I were there early to make sure that neither side altered the stage in any way. The Echoes were perched on their poles all the way to the back of what looked like the entire population of the island. I spotted a number of non-Tipps. Like Deva, Tipicanoo welcomed denizens of other dimensions. I had seen Deveel merchants, Imp tailors, Troll construction workers, and a host of other immigrants I couldn’t identify who had set up shop in the towns. They had not shown a lot of interest in the election to date. It didn’t surprise me, since little new had happened in five long years, but we were going to bring this one to a close within two weeks, or die trying. I was so tired of the endless seesawing that I was going to take a vacation when it was all over. Bunny needed to take one, too. She looked tired, and it wasn’t just this situation that was weighing on her mind. When we returned to Deva each evening I offered to talk, but she put me off, insisting it was nothing. But we had been seeing a lot more of her cousin Sylvia. Something was going on in her Family. I just didn’t know what.
The press corps had been bottled up inside a cordon guarded by Guido and Nunzio. The quiet air of authority they wielded, not to mention the miniature crossbows that I knew Guido had allowed to be seen just once, had put them on reasonably good behavior. I had no faith that the peace would last beyond the beginning of the rally, but at least we’d start well. Ecstra, in the midst of the band, had shot me a couple of rueful looks. I felt bad about that, but whether she had intended it or not, she had been the conduit to the Syndication of a lot of our plans. Her attempt to make up for it had failed. It wasn’t her fault, but I couldn’t let her get close again.
“Skeeve . . . worried?” Gleep asked. I wiped the frown off my face.
“Not this time,” I said. “I think we have everything under control. At least I hope so. Bunny and I have gone over everything we can think of that might go wrong. All the paperwork is in order. Copies have been made of everything and hidden in six different dimensions so they can’t be altered without detection. Once the—”
“Gleep!” my pet said. He reared up and planted an affectionate, if disgustingly slimy, kiss on my face.
The campaign workers made their way through the crowd, offering pennants and buttons to the supporters. Children cheered and laughed at the acrobats and fire eaters that each side had hired for the day. I had the word of both candidates and their managers that they had made no mention of the actual character of the event to anyone else, even though it had meant doing a lot of paperwork on their own.
As moderator, Bunny sat alone at the little table, glass of water and silver bell at hand. Gleep and I stood ready to intervene if she needed us, but I doubted she would. Bunny was much better at handling a crowd than I was.
The mayor of Bokromi came forward, his tall hat perched on the back of his head. “My friends, welcome to the next in the series of debates between our great candidates, your friends and neighbors, you know them, you love them: Wilmer Weavil-Scuttil and Emo Weavil!”
The crowd screamed and yelled. The mayor lifted his hands. The shouting died away. “I want to welcome the contenders! Come on out, boys! Let’s hear it for them!”
On either side of the stage erupted clouds of smoke, green on the right and purple on the left.
BAMF! BAMF!
Emo and Wilmer emerged from the puffs, hands up to acknowledge the joyful acclaim of their public. They went to their respective lecterns. Aides in purple or green jackets followed, carrying bri
efcases that had been bespelled so they could not put them down and sealed with magikal locks. The need for security was at an end. Under the curious gaze of the crowd, Emo and Wilmer unlocked the boxes. Each took therefrom a stack of official papers bristling with ribbons and seals.
Bunny smiled out at them. “Friends and voters, by popular demand, we are deviating just a little bit from the usual format.”
The reporters in the audience murmured loudly among themselves. They loved anything new, and for once, they had no advance notice of our intention. I hoped the Syndication had not done anything to interfere.
“What’s the scoop?” Ecstra shouted.
“There has been some question lately, I won’t say from whom, that one or the other of the good gentlemen up here does not have the qualifications to serve as governor of this island. So, today we are going to go down the list of every requirement from the written statutes concerning candidacy.” She held up a large, flat lens attached to a black handle. “I have here an Inspector-Detector that will tell me whether a document is real or forged. Is everyone ready?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Emo said, winking and pointing at the reporters in the front row.
“I most certainly am!” Wilmer added.
The reporters beamed. Every paper in town had run competing features on the subject. They were eager to get the follow-up.
“First, gentlemen, where were you born?”
Emo scrabbled through his collection of papers, but Wilmer had his in order. He held up a yellowed rectangle of parchment and waved it in the air.
“Right here, on the island of Bokromi!” he said. “I have been here all my life!”
Emo came up with his within a few seconds. “Me, too! And my mother is here if you need to ask her. Hi, Mom!” He waved to Mrs. Weavil, who was seated on a flowered armchair at the side of the stage. Smiling indulgently, she waved back. The reporters scribbled down notes. I predicted that a picture of Mrs. Weavil would appear in the next edition of every paper in town. I had confiscated her handbag so she couldn’t throw anything at Wilmer.
Bunny took the documents and looked them over with the Detector. I had borrowed it from the treasury in Possiltum, where it had been used to prove the worth of letters of credit for two centuries. Queen Hemlock had exacted the promise of a favor for its use, as well as vowing that I would be sorry if I didn’t return it intact. I couldn’t see any problem with getting it back to her within a couple of hours. Bunny nodded and set down the two birth certificates. She looked up at the candidates.
“The next item on the list concerns residency. Are you presently residents of this island? Where do you live?”
With a bow, Wilmer handed Bunny a rolled parchment and several envelopes. “This is the deed to my house in town, plus recently delivered mail. I can produce the Snail Carrier as a witness.” Bunny took the envelopes, then had to wipe viscous threads of slime off her hands with her handkerchief. Emo presented his deed and an album of pictures of his home with his family posing in the garden.
Bunny looked them over carefully. “These pass the test, too.”
The audience broke into applause.
“I told you before, there was nothing underhanded about my campaign!” Wilmer said to Emo over Bunny’s head.
Emo looked at him wide-eyed. “I never said there was! I said you were an unfit, out-of-touch sack of fur. I never said you were underhanded!”
“Next,” Bunny said, raising her voice. The Echoes repeated her peeved tones for the assembly. “Your nominating petitions. You have to have two thousand signatures each of voters who are registered with the Bokromi government.”
“I have ten thousand,” Wilmer declared.
“I have twelve thousand!”
“Well, you can’t count the eight thousand that were just you practicing your penmanship,” Wilmer said, with a humorous wink at the audience. His supporters guffawed. “They have to be real people.”
Emo opened up large eyes at him. “Are you maligning the voters of this great island?” he asked. “Because they all signed my petitions in good faith.”
“Ooooh,” the audience crooned. One point for Emo. They had been scoring off one another since the beginning. That put the green team one point ahead.
Bunny went over each page with the glass lens. On almost every page, the lens burst into blue light, indicating that the name it was magnifying was a phony. Bunny marked it off. Emo and Wilmer got more and more nervous as she proceeded. I lost count of how many she disqualified. The audience was on tiptoe with excitement.
At last, Bunny came to the final page of each petition and smacked them down on the table. “Each candidate has exactly eight thousand, two hundred and four legal signatures,” she said. “The last thing on the list is a proper accounting of campaign donations with donor names and relationship to the candidate.”
“Can we get copies of those documents?” a male reporter called.
“I believe these are public records,” Bunny said. Orlow and Carnelia, on their respective sides of the stage, mimed No! “According to advice given to me by the Government Records Office, they are supposed to be.”
“Very well,” Carnelia said. Even her stole furs looked depressed. “They will be put on display.”
“Yay!” shouted the reporters.
Very slowly, Wilmer and Emo brought out ledgers. They didn’t set them down. Instead, they held on to them, while taking a long, careful look at the opposition.
“Sometime today,” Bunny said, impatiently. “These good people have other places to be, and so do I.” She patted the desk. Reluctantly, the two candidates put their books down at opposite edges of the table and backed away, each never letting the other one out of his sight. Wilmer took a step toward Bunny with his finger raised to say something. In a flash, Emo closed the distance.
“I was only going to say I will answer any questions you have, Miss Bunny,” Wilmer said.
Another point for Wilmer. They were tied again.
Bunny put on a blue eyeshade that went well with her red hair and began to page through the ledgers. For this task she did not need magik or anyone else’s aid. She had a university degree in accounting and plenty of experience handling the Mob’s books. Her pencil ticked off entries. The two candidates couldn’t help but notice that her lips were pressed tightly together.
“Mm-hm,” she murmured to herself. “Mm-mm. Mm-hm.”
The campaign managers came out to bolster their candidates. Orlow kept his arm over Emo’s shoulders as Emo bit his nails. Wilmer paced up and back at his end of the stage. Carnelia stopped him every so often to mop his brow with a handkerchief. I wondered what they all had to hide. Bunny was not going to be hurried by any of them or the audience. At last, she put down her pencil and took off her eyeshade.
“According to my calculations, all donations are accounted for to date. I’ll be going over the books weekly until the election.”
“Does that mean you didn’t find any irregularities?” Ecstra called out.
Bunny smiled at her, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, there are a lot of entries near the end that look like they were entered in a big hurry, but it all balanced out.” Everyone laughed except the campaign managers.
“Well, Miss Bunny?” Orlow asked.
“I’m getting to it!” she said. “There’s a procedure to follow in the laws. So, therefore, I am pleased to declare these two Tipps the sole and well-qualified candidates for the high office of gov—”
“Not so fast!”
A squeaky voice burst out from the center of the audience. The crowd parted suddenly to allow the passage of a creature who would have stood no higher than my breastbone. She—I believed the newcomer was female—had large, round dark eyes; a small, black, upturned nose; plushy gray-and-white fur; round white ears; and mean little claws on her hands and feet. She wore a long, lightweight, very colorful silk robe with big shoulders and wide sleeves belted around her waist with a wide sash. The little creature
bustled straight for the stage.
Gleep broke away from my side and glided to confront the intruder. He hunkered down and let out a fearsome growl. His eyes, normally bright blue like Bunny’s, glowed fearsome red. Everyone in the audience recoiled. Except the newcomer. She reached over and rapped Gleep on the nose. He was so astonished that he backed up. The female shook a finger at him.
“Don’t interfere!” she said in a high, harsh voice. “I’m not here to hurt anyone, except the chances of those two losers up there!” She pointed at the stage.
Bunny was on her feet. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Who are you?”
“The meaning, missy, is that you are wrong! There are more than two sole and well-qualified candidates for governor! You can’t certify them without inspecting the documents of my client!”
“And who is your client?” Bunny asked.
“I am.”
Five steps behind the little gray-furred female walked a figure in black tunic and trousers edged with wavy lines. His eyes were bright yellow, his skin covered in rough green scales. He had ears like bat wings. When he smiled, two rows of gleaming, four-inch pointed teeth showed.
It was Aahz.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Give the people a third choice, and they’ll always go for it.”
—H. R. PEROT
The outcry over Aahz’s appearance was immediate. Both candidates and their entire campaign staff converged on Bunny, shouting and waving their arms.
“He’s a Pervert! He can’t run for governor!”
“He’s an outsider—he works for you!”
“This is a conflict of interest!”
“We don’t want a Pervert in this race!”
“Stand aside, all of you,” the little female said, pushing her way into their midst. Aahz and I followed her onto the stage. “My client has a right to present his credentials for certification.”
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