2

A Gathering of FORCES

High Steppes wasn’t the worst area in Haven. That dubious honour went to the Devil’s Hook; a square mile of festering slums and alleyways bordering on the docks. The Hook was held together by abject poverty on the one hand, and greed and exploitation on the other. Some said it was the place plague rats went to die, because they felt at home there. Those who lived in the High Steppes thought about the Hook a lot. It comforted them to know there was at least one place in Haven where the people were worse off than themselves.

There was a time when the High Steppes had been a fairly respectable area, but that was a long time ago. The only reminders of that time were a few weathered statues, a public baths closed down for health reasons, and some of the fancier street names. The old family mansions had long since been converted into separate rooms and apartments, and the long, terraced streets were falling apart from a general lack of care and repair. Predators walked the streets day and night, in all their many guises. A few minor merchant houses had moved into the fringes, attracted by the relatively cheap property prices, but so far their efforts to improve the area had met with little success. As with so many other things in Haven, there were too many vested interests who liked things they way they were. Politically, the Steppes had always been neutral. Not to mention disinterested. The Conservatives won the elections because they paid out the most in bribes, and because it was dangerous to vote against them.

James Adamant might just be the one to change all that.

He’d been born into a minor aristocratic line, and seen it collapse as a child when the money ran out. The Adamants eventually made it all back through trade, only to find themselves snubbed by the Quality, because they’d lowered themselves to become merchants. Adamant’s father died young. Some said as the result of a weak heart; some said through shame. All of this, plus first-hand experience of what it was really like to be poor, had given James Adamant a series of insights not common to those of his standing. On coming of age he discovered politics and, more particularly, Reform. They’d done well by each other.

Now he was standing for the High Steppes Seat: his first election as a candidate. He had no intention of losing.

James Adamant was a tall, powerful man in his late twenties. He dressed well, but not flamboyantly, and favoured sober colors. His dark hair was long enough to be fashionable but short enough that it didn’t get in his eyes. Most of the time it looked as though it could use a good combing, even after it had just had one. He had strong patrician features, and a wide easy smile that made him a lot of friends. You had to know him some time before you could see past the smile to recognise the cool, steady gaze and the stubborn chin. He was a romantic and an idealist, despite being a politician, but deep within him he kept a carefully cultivated streak of ruthlessness. It had stood him well in the past, and no doubt would do so again in the future. Adamant valued his dreams too much to risk losing them through weakness or compromise.

His political Advisor, Stefan Medley, was his opposite in practically every way there was. Medley was average height and weight, with bland, forgettable features saved by bright red hair and piercing green eyes that missed nothing. He burned with nervous energy from morning till night, and even standing still he looked as though he were about to leap on an enemy and rip his throat out. He was several years older than Adamant, and had seen a great deal more of political life. Perhaps too much. He’d spent all his adult life in politics, for one master or another. He’d never stood as a candidate, and never wanted to. He was strictly a back-stage man. He worked in politics because he was good at it; no other reason. He had no Cause, no dreams, and no illusions. He’d fought elections on both sides of the political fence, and as a result was respected by both sides and trusted by neither.

And then he met Adamant, and discovered he believed in the man, even if he didn’t believe in his Cause. They became friends, and eventually allies, each finding in the other what they lacked in themselves. Working together, they’d proved unstoppable. Which was why Reform had given them the toughest Seat to fight. Adamant trusted Medley, in spite of his past. Medley trusted Adamant because of it. Everyone needs something to believe in. Particularly if they don’t believe in themselves.

Adamant sat at his desk in his study, and Medley sat opposite him, perched on the edge of a straight-back chair. The study was a large, comfortable room with well-polished furniture and well-padded chairs. Superbly crafted portraits and tapestries added a touch of color to the dark-panelled walls. Thick rugs covered the floor, from a variety of beasts, few of them from the Low Kingdoms. There were wine and brandy decanters on the sideboard, and a selection of cold food on silver platters. Adamant liked his comforts. Probably because he’d had to do without so many as a child. He looked at the bank draft before him—the latest of a long line—sighed quietly, and signed it. He didn’t like paying out money for bribes.

He shuffled the money orders together and handed them to Medley, who tucked them into his wallet without looking at them.

“Anything else you need, Stefan?” said Adamant, stretching slowly. “If not, I’m going to take a break. I’ve done nothing but deal with paperwork all morning.”

“I think we’ve covered everything,” said Medley. “You really should develop a more positive attitude to paperwork, James. It’s attention to details that wins elections.”

“Perhaps. But I’ll still feel better when we’re out on the streets campaigning. You do your best work with paper; I do my best with people. And besides, all the time I’m sitting here I can’t escape the feeling that Hardcastle is hard at work setting up traps and pitfalls for us to fall into.”

“I’ve told you before, James; let me worry about things like that. You’re fully protected; Mortice and I have seen to that.”

Adamant nodded thoughtfully, not really listening. “How long have we got before my people start arriving?”

“About an hour.”

“Perhaps I should polish my speech some more.”

“You leave that speech alone. It doesn’t need polishing. We’ve already rewntten it within an inch of its life, and rehearsed the damn thing till it’s coming out of our ears. Just say the words, wave your arms around in the right places, and flash the big smile every second line. The speech will do the rest for you. It’s a good speech, James; one of our best. It’ll do the job.”

Adamant laced his fingers together, and stared at them pensively for a long moment before turning his gaze to Medley. “I’m still concerned about the amount of money we’re spending on bribes and ... gratuities, Stefan. I can’t believe it’s really necessary. Hardcastle is an animal and a thug, and everyone knows it. No one in their right mind would vote for him.”

“It’s not that simple, James. Hardcastle’s always been very good at maintaining the status quo, and that’s what Conservatism is all about. They’re very pleased with him. And most Conservatives will vote the way their superiors tell them to, no matter whose name is on the ticket. Hardcastle’s also very strong on law and order, and violently opposed to the Trade Guilds, both of which have made him a lot of friends in the merchant classes. And there are always those who prefer the devil they know to the devil they don’t. That still leaves a hell of a lot of people unaccounted for, but if we’re going to persuade them to vote for us, we’ve got to be able to operate freely. Which means greasing the right palms.”

“But seven and a half thousand ducats! I could raise a small army for not much more.”

“You might have to, if I didn’t approach the right people. There are sorcerers to be paid off, so they won’t interfere. There are Guard officers to sweeten, to ensure we get the protection we’re entitled to. Then there’s donations to the Street of Gods, to the Trade Guilds; do I really need to go on? I know what I’m doing, James. You worry about the ideals, and leave the politics to me.”

Adamant fixed him with a steady gaze. “If something’s being done in my name I want to know about it. All about it. For example, hiring mercenaries for protection. Apparently we have thirty-seven men working for us. Is that really the best we can do? At the last election, Hardcastle had over four hundred mercenaries working for him.”

“Yeah, well; mercenaries are rather scarce on the ground this year. It seems there’s a major war shaping up in the Northern countries. And wars pay better than politicians. Most of those who stayed behind had long-term contracts with the Conservatives. We were lucky to get thirty-seven men.”

Adamant gave Medley a hard look. “I have a strong feeling I already know the answer to this—but why weren’t these thirty-seven men already signed up?”

Medley shrugged unhappily. “Nobody else would take them....”

Adamant sighed, and pushed his chair back from the desk. “That’s wonderful. Just wonderful. What else can go wrong?”

Medley tugged at his collar. “Is it me, or is it getting warm in here?”

Adamant started to reply, and then stopped as his Advisor suddenly stared right past him. Adamant spun round, and found that the great study window was completely steamed over, the glass panes running with condensation. As he watched, the lines of condensation traced a ragged face in the steam, with staring eyes and a crooked smile. A thick, choking voice eased through their minds like a worm through wet mud.

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.”

Medley brought in some more chairs, and Dannielle bustled around making sure that everyone was comfortably seated and had a brimming glass of wine in their hand.

“How do you feel about this place?” Hawk asked her politely.

“Ghastly old heap. Smells of damp, and half the time the toilets don’t work properly.”

“Your garden’s not up to much, either,” said Fisher. Hawk winced.

Dannielle and Adamant shared a look, their faces suddenly grim.

“We have enemies, Captain Fisher,” said Adamant evenly. “Enemies not averse to using sorcery, when they can get away with it. Three days ago we had a splendid garden. Fine lawns, well-tended flower beds, and a magnificent old apple tree. And now it’s all gone. Nothing will grow there. It’s not safe even to walk far from the path. There are things moving in the dead earth. I think they come out at night, sometimes. No one’s ever seen them, but come the morning there are scratches on the door and shutters that weren’t there the night before.”

There was a cold silence for a moment.

“It’s illegal for political candidates to use sorcery in any form,” said Hawk finally. “Directly or indirectly. If you can prove Hardcastle was responsible ...”

“There’s no proof,” said Dannielle. “He’s too clever for that.”

There was another silence.

“You made good time in getting here,” said Medley brightly. “I only put in my request for you this morning.”

Hawk looked at him. “You asked for us specifically?”

“Well, yes. James has many enemies. I wanted the best people I could get as his bodyguards. You and your partner have an excellent reputation, Captain Hawk.”

“That isn’t always enough,” said Fisher. “The last time we got involved with guarding a politician, the man died.”

“We know about Councillor Blackstone,” said Medley. “It wasn’t your fault he died; you’d done everything you reasonably could to protect him. And you found his murderer, long after any other Guards would have given up.”

Hawk looked at Adamant. “Are you happy with this arrangement, sir Adamant? It’s not too late for you to find somebody else.”

“I trust my Advisor,” said Adamant. “When it comes to picking the right people for a job, his judgement is impeccable. Stefan knows about such things. Now then, if you and your partner are going to be spending some time with us, I’d better bring you up to date on what’s happening in the election. What kind of things do you need to know, Captain Hawk?”

“Everything,” said Hawk flatly. “Who your enemies are, what kind of opposition you’ll be facing. Anything that might give us an edge.”

Dannielle got to her feet. “If you’re going to get all technical, I think I’ll go and see how dinner’s coming along.”

“Now, Danny, you promised you wouldn’t bother the cook anymore,” said Adamant. “You know she hates people looking over her shoulder.”

“For what we’re paying her, she can put up with a little criticism,” said Dannielle calmly. She smiled graciously at Hawk and Fisher, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Now then,” said Adamant, leaning comfortably back in his chair. “When you get right down to it, there are only two main parties: Conservative and Reform. But there’s also a handful of fringe parties, and a few well-supported independents, just to complicate things. There’s Free Trade, the Brotherhood of Steel, No Tax on Liquor (also known as the Who’s for a Party Party), and various pressure groups, such as the Trade Guilds and some of the better organised militant religions.”

“The Conservatives are the main threat,” said Medley. “They’ve got the most money. Free Trade is mainly a merchants‘ party. They make a lot of speeches, but they’re short on popular support. Mostly they end up throwing their weight behind the Conservatives. No Tax on Liquor is the Lord Sinclair’s personal party. He funds it and runs it, practically single-handed. There are always people willing to go along with him, if only for the free booze he dishes out. He’s harmless, apart from this one bee in his bonnet. The Trade Guilds mean well, but they’re too disor ganised to mount any real threat to the Conservatives, and they know it. Usually they end up working hand-in-hand with Reform. That’s where a lot of our funding comes from.”

“What about the Brotherhood of Steel?” said Fisher. “I always thought they were more mystical than political.”

“The two are pretty much the same in Haven,” said Adamant. “Power and religion have always gone hand-in-hand here. Luckily most of the Beings on the Street of Gods are more interested in feuding with each other than getting involved in the day-to-day politics of running Haven. The Beings have always been great ones for feuds. But, over the past few years the Brotherhood of Steel has changed its ways. They’re nowhere near as insular as they used to be; they’re much better organised, and just lately a militant branch has started flexing its political muscle. They’ve even got a candidate standing in this election. He won’t win; they’re not that strong yet. But they could be a deciding factor in who does win.”

Hawk frowned. “Who would they be most likely to side with?”

“Good question,” said Medley. “I can think of any number of political fixers who’d pay good money for the answer. I don’t know, Captain Hawk. Ordinarily I’d have said the Conservatives, but the Brotherhood’s mystical bent confuses the hell out of me. I don’t trust fanatics. There’s no telling which way they’ll jump when the pressure’s on.”

“All right,” said Hawk. “Now that we’re clear on that ...”

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Fisher.

“... perhaps you could explain exactly what’s at stake in this election. A lot of people have been saying Reform could end up dominating the Council, even if the Conservatives still hold most of the Seats. I don’t get that.”

“It’s really very simple,” said Adamant, and Hawk’s heart sank. Whenever people said that, it always meant things were about to become very, very complicated. Adamant steepled his fingers, and studied them thoughtfully. “There are twenty-one Seats on the Council, representing the various districts of Haven. After the last election, Reform held four Seats, the Conservatives held eleven, and there were six unaffiliated Seats. Which meant in practice that the Conservatives ran the Council to suit themselves. But this time there are at least three Seats that could go either way. All Reform has to do is win one extra Seat, and together with the six independents we could take control of the Council away from the Conservatives. Which is why this particular election is all set for some of the dirtiest and most vicious political infighting Haven has ever seen.”

“Great,” said Fisher. “Just what the people need. Another excuse to go crazy, riot in the streets, and set fire to things. How long is this madness going to go on for?”

“Not long,” said Medley, smiling. “After the result has been announced this evening, there will be general fighting and dancing in the streets, followed by the traditional fireworks display and the paying off of old scores by the victorious party. After that, Haven will go deathly quiet, as everyone disappears to bind their wounds, get some sleep, and nurse their hangovers. Not necessarily in that order. Everything clear now?”

“Almost,” said Hawk. “What are we doing here?”

Adamant looked at Medley, and then back at Hawk. “I understood you’d been told. You and your partner are here to act as my bodyguards until the election is over.”

“You don’t need us for that,” said Hawk flatly. “You’ve got armed men at your gates, and probably quite a few more scattered around the house. And if you’d still felt the need for a professional bodyguard, there are any number of agencies in Haven that could have provided you with one. But you asked for us, specifically, despite our record. Why us, Adamant? What can we do for you that your own men can’t?”

Adamant leaned back in his chair, and some of his strength seemed to go out of him for a moment, only to return again as he lifted his eyes and met Hawk’s gaze squarely. “Two main reasons, Captain Hawk. Firstly, there have been death threats made against me and my wife. Quite nasty threats. Normally I wouldn’t worry too much. Elections always bring out the cranks. But I have reason to believe that these threats may be genuine. There have been three separate attempts on my life already, all of them quite professional. Stefan tells me there are whispers that the attacks were sanctioned by Councillor Hardcastle himself.

“Secondly, it seems I have a traitor among my people. Someone has been leaking information, important information, about my comings and goings, and my security arrangements. That person has also been embezzling money from my campaign funds. According to Stefan’s investigations, it’s been going on for some months; small amounts at first, but growing larger all the time. What evidence we have been able to piece together suggests that traitor has to be someone fairly close to me; my friends, my servants, my fellow campaign workers. Someone I trusted has betrayed me. I want you two to act as my bodyguard, and identify the traitor.”

Out in the hall, a woman screamed. Hawk and Fisher surged to their feet, reaching for their weapons. The scream came again, and was suddenly cut short.

“Danny!” Adamant jumped up from his chair and ran for the door. Hawk got there first, and yanked the door open. Out in the hall it was raining blood. Thick crimson gobbets materialised near the ceiling and poured down with unrelenting ferocity. The walls ran with blood, and the rugs were already soaked. The stench was sickening.

Dannielle had been caught halfway up the stairs. She was drenched in blood. Her dress was ruined, and thick rivulets of gore ran out of her matted hair and down her face. She ran down the stairs to Adamant, and he held her in his arms, glaring about him through the pouring blood. Hawk and Fisher stood back to back in the middle of the hall, weapons at the ready, but there was only the blood, streaming down around them, thick and heavy. Medley flailed about him with his arms, as though trying to swat the falling drops of blood like flies.

“Get your wife out of here!” Hawk yelled to Adamant. “This is sorcerer’s work!”

Adamant started to hurry Dannielle towards the front door, and then stopped short as a dark shape began to materialise between them and the door. The falling blood ran together, drop joining with drop, to form the beginnings of a body. In the space of a few moments it grew arms, and legs and a hunched misshapen body. It stood something like a man, but the proportions were all wrong. It had huge teeth and claws, and swirling dark clots of blood where its eyes should have been. It moved slowly towards its prey, its body heaving and swelling with every movement.

Hawk stepped forward and cut at it with his axe. The heavy steel blade sliced through the creature’s neck and out again without slowing, sending a wave of blood splashing against the wall. The creature stood its ground, unaffected. It was only blood, nothing more. Its substance ran away onto the floor, but more blood continued falling from the ceiling to replenish it.

Hawk and Fisher both cut at the figure, and it laughed silently at them. It lashed out at Hawk with a dripping arm. Hawk braced himself and met the blow with his axe, but even so, the impact sent him staggering backwards. The creature had weight and substance, when it chose to. It started towards Hawk, ignoring Fisher’s attempts to draw its attention to her. It struck at Hawk again, and he ducked under the blow at the last moment. Its claws dug ragged furrows in the wall panelling. Hawk scuttled away from the creature, snarling curses at the thing as it turned to follow him.

“Right,” he said breathlessly, “that’s it. We’re no match for this kind of magic. Adamant, get your people together and then herd them out the back door. We’ll try and buy you some time. Most sendings can’t travel far from where they materialise. Maybe we can outrun the bloody thing.”

Adamant nodded quickly, and urged his wife down the hall away from the creature. The rain of blood suddenly increased, pouring down even more thickly than before. Through the crimson haze, Hawk could just make out a second shape beginning to form between them and the other exit. Hawk wiped blood from his face, and took a firmer grip on his axe.

He heard Fisher’s warning scream behind him, and had just started to turn when the first blood-creature swept over him like a wave and all the world went red. As the creature enveloped him, he staggered back a pace, scrabbling frantically at the blood that covered his face, cutting off his air. Fisher was quickly at his side, trying to wipe the blood away from his nose and mouth, but it resisted her efforts and clung to his face like taffy. Hawk fell forward onto his hands and knees, shaking his head frantically as his lungs screamed for air. He caught a glimpse of Adamant hovering before him, and gestured weakly for him to make a run for the front door while he had the chance. Adamant hesitated; then lifting his head, he raised his voice in a carrying shout:

“Mortice! Help us!”

A blast of freezing air suddenly swept through the hall, a bitter icy wind that froze the falling blood into shimmering scarlet crystals. The creature enveloping Hawk cracked apart around him and fell away in hundreds of crimson slivers. He stayed hunched on his knees for a moment, gratefully drawing the icy air into his lungs, then rose slowly to his feet and looked around him. The bloody rain had stopped, and the hall was covered in a sheen of crimson ice. Fisher was standing nearby, beating scarlet ice from her cloak. Adamant, Medley, and Dannielle looked shocked but otherwise unhurt. Beyond them stood the second blood-creature, caught half-formed by the icy wind. It stood, crouching and incomplete, like an insane sculpture carved from blood-stained ice. Hawk walked over to it and hit it once with his axe. It fell apart and littered the hall floor with jagged shards of crimson ice. Hawk kicked a few of them around, just to be sure, and then turned to face Adamant.

“All right, sir Adamant; I think there are a few questions that need answering. Like, what was all that about, and who or what is Mortice?”

Adamant sighed quietly. “Yes. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to know about him, but ... I think you had better meet him.”

“May I suggest we get out of these clothes first?” said Dannielle. “I’m soaked and half-frozen, and this dress is ruined.”

“She has a point,” said Fisher. “I look like I’ve been skinny-dipping in an abattoir.”

“I’m sure we can find you and your partner some fresh clothes,” said Dannielle. “Come with me, Captain Fisher, and I’ll see what I can dig out for you. James, you look after Captain Hawk.”

Fisher and Dannielle disappeared up the stairs together. Hawk looked at Adamant. “All right, first a change of clothes, but then I want to meet Mortice. No more delays; is that clear?”

“Of course, Captain,” said Adamant. “But ... do try and make allowances for Mortice’s temper. He’s been dead for some five months now, and it hasn’t done a thing for his disposition.”

 

Hawk walked up to the full-length mirror, and studied himself for some time. It didn’t help. He still looked like a poor relation down on his luck. He and Adamant were roughly the same height, but Adamant had a much larger frame. As a result, the clothes Adamant had lent Hawk hung around him like he’d shrunk in the wash overnight. It wasn’t even a particularly fetching outfit. Grey tights, salmon-pink knickerbockers, and a frilly white shirt; whatever the current fashion was, Hawk was pretty damn sure this wasn’t it. The frilly shirt in particular worried him. The last time he’d seen a shirt this frilly a barmaid had been wearing it. And no matter what Adamant said, he was damned if he was going to wear that bloody silly three-cornered hat.

He looked at himself in the mirror one last time, and sighed deeply. He’d worn worse, in .his time. At least he still had his Guardsman’s cloak. He picked it up off the bed and put it on, pulling the heavy cloak around him so that it hid the clothes beneath. Luckily all Guards’ cloaks came with a built-in spell that kept them clean and immaculate no matter what indignities they were subjected to. It was part of the Guard’s image, and along with the occasional healing spell, was one of the few good perks of the job.

He ought really to be rejoining the others, but it wouldn’t do them any harm to wait a while. He had several things he wanted to think through, while he had the chance. He looked around Adamant’s spare bedchamber. It was clean, tidy, and very comfortably appointed. The bed itself was a huge four-poster, with hanging curtains. Very elegant, and even more expensive. What was a champion of Reform doing, living like a king? All right; no one expected him to live like a pauper just to make a point, but this ostentatious display of wealth worried Hawk. According to Adamant, the house had been provided by Reform higher-ups. So where were they getting the money from? Who funded the Reform Cause? The Trade Guilds, obviously, and donations from the faithful. Wealthy patrons like Adamant. But that wouldn’t be enough to pay for houses like this. Hawk frowned. This wasn’t really any of his business. He was just here to protect Adamant from harm.

Not that he was doing such a great job so far. The blood-creatures had caught him off guard. If Mortice hadn’t saved their hides with his sorcery, the election would have been over before it had even begun. More mysteries. Mortice had to be a sorcerer of some kind. And Adamant had to know that associating with a sorcerer was grounds for disqualification. So why was he willing to let Hawk and Fisher meet him? And what was that crack about him being dead for five months? What was he? A ghost? Hawk sighed. He’d only been on the case an hour and already he had more questions than he could shake a stick at. This was going to be just like the Blackstone case all over again, he could tell. He settled his axe comfortably on his right hip, and made his way out onto the landing and down the stairs.

The hall was sparkling clean, with no trace of blood or ice. Mortice again, presumably. Fisher was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in her Guard’s cloak. One look at the thunderclouds in her face was enough to tell Hawk that she’d been no luckier in her choice of new clothes than he. He went down to join her, looked ostentatiously round to make sure they were alone, and then whispered “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

Fisher snorted a quick laugh, and smiled in spite of herself. “You first.”

Hawk opened his cloak with a flourish and stood posed in the traditional flasher’s stance. Fisher shook her head. “Hawk, you look like a Charcoal Street ponce. And it’s still not as bad as mine.”

She opened her cloak, and Hawk had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Apparently they hadn’t been able to find any of Dannielle’s clothing that would fit Fisher, and had compromised by lending her men’s clothing. Very old and very battered men’s clothing. The shirt and trousers had probably started out white, but had degenerated over the years into an uneven grey. The cuffs were frayed, there were patches of different colors on the elbows and knees, and there were several important buttons missing.

“Apparently they originally belonged to the gardener,” said Fisher through gritted teeth. “We can’t go out looking like this, Hawk; people will laugh themselves to death.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep our cloaks shut and save what’s underneath as a weapon of last resort,” said Hawk solemnly.

“Ah, Captain Hawk,” said Medley, poking his head out of the study door. “I thought I heard voices. Everything all right?”

“Fine,” said Hawk. “Just fine.”

Medley stepped out into the corridor, followed by Adamant and Dannielle. They were all in fresh clothes and looked very smart.

“If you’re quite ready, could we please get a move on?” said Medley. “Mortice knows we’re coming, and he hates to be kept waiting. The last time he got impatient, he called down a plague of frogs. It took us hours to get those nasty little creatures out of the house.”

“If he’s your friend,” said Fisher dryly, “your enemies must really be something.”

“They are,” said Adamant. “If you’d care to follow me ...”

He led them down the hall and through a series of corridors that opened eventually onto a simple stone-walled laundry room. There were tables and towels and a freshly scrubbed stone floor. Hawk looked expectantly around him, and wondered if he was supposed to make a comment of some sort. As he hesitated, Medley moved over to the middle of the floor and bent down. He took hold of a large steel ring set into the floor, and for the first time Hawk spotted the outlines of a trapdoor. Fisher looked at Adamant.

“You keep your sorcerer in the cellar?”

“He chose it,” said Medley. “He finds the dark a comfort.”

Hawk looked at Adamant. “You said Mortice was dead. Perhaps you’d care to explain that.”

Adamant gestured for Medley to move away from the trapdoor, and he did. Adamant frowned unhappily. When he spoke, his voice was low and even, and he chose his words with care. “Mortice is my oldest friend. We’ve faced many troubles together. I trust him implicitly. He’s a first-class sorcerer; one of the most powerful in the city. He died just over five months ago. I even went to his funeral.”

“But if he’s dead,” said Fisher, “what have you got in your cellar?”

“A lich,” said Medley. “A dead body, animated by a sorcerer’s will. We don’t know exactly what happened, but Mortice was defending us from a sorcerous attack when something went wrong. Terribly wrong. The spell killed him, but somehow Mortice managed to trap his spirit within his dead body. In a sense he’s both living and dead now. Unfortunately his body is still slowly decaying, despite everything he can do to prevent it. The pain and rot of corruption are always with him. It makes him rather ... short-tempered.”

“He’s haunting his own body,” said Adamant. “Trapped in a prison of decaying flesh, because he wouldn’t leave me unprotected.”

“His name was Masque, but he calls himself Mortice, these days,” said Dannielle, a faint moue of distaste pulling at her mouth. “Igor Mortice. It’s a joke. Sort of.”

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “All right,” said Hawk. “Let’s go meet the corpse.”

“I can see you and he are going to get on like a house on fire,” said Medley.

He reached down and took a firm hold of the steel ring set into the trapdoor. He braced himself and pulled steadily. The trapdoor swung open on whispering hinges, and a rush of freezing air billowed out into the laundry room. Hawk shivered suddenly, gooseflesh rising on his arms. Adamant lit a lamp, and then started down the narrow wooden stairway that led into the darkness of the cellar. Dannielle lifted her dress up around her knees and followed him down. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. Hawk shrugged uneasily, and followed Dannielle, his hand resting on the axe at his side. Fisher followed him, and Medley brought up the rear, slamming the trapdoor shut behind him.

It was very dark and bitterly cold in the cellar. Hawk wrapped his cloak tightly around him, his breathing steaming on the still air. The stairs seemed to go a long way down before they finally came to an end. Adamant’s lamp revealed a large square box of a room, packed from wall to bare wall with great slabs of ice. A layer of glistening frost covered everything, and a faint pearly haze softened the lamplight. In the middle of the room, in a small space surrounded by ice, sat a small mummified form wrapped in a white cloak, slumped and motionless on a bare wooden chair. There was no way of approaching it, so Hawk studied the still figure as best he could from a distance. The flesh had sunk clean down to the bone, so that the face was little more than a leathery mask, and the bare hands little more than bony claws. The eyes were sunken pits, with tightly closed eyelids. The rest of the body was hidden behind the cloak, for which Hawk was grateful.

“I take it the ice is here to preserve the body,” he said finally, his voice hushed.

“It slows the process,” said Adamant. “But that’s all.”

Fisher’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Seems to me it’d be kinder to just let the poor bastard go.”

“You don’t understand,” said Medley. “He can’t die. Because of what he did, his spirit is tied to his body for as long as it exists. No matter what condition the body is in, or how little remains of it.”

“He did it for me,” said Adamant. “Because I needed him.” His voice broke off roughly. Dannielle put a comforting hand on his arm.

Hawk shivered, not entirely from the cold. “Are you sure he’s still ... in there? Can he hear us?”

The mummified body stirred on its chair. The sunken eyelids crawled open, revealing eyes yellow as urine. “I may be dead, Captain Hawk, but I’m not deaf.” His voice was low and harsh, but surprisingly firm. His eyes fixed on Hawk and Fisher, and his sunken mouth moved in something that might have been meant as a smile. “Hawk and Fisher. The only honest Guards in Haven. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Nothing good, I hope,” said Fisher.

The dead man chuckled dryly, a faint whisper of sound on the quiet. “James, I think you’ll find you’re in excellent hands with these two. They have a formidable reputation.”

“Apart from the Blackstone affair,” said Dannielle.

“Everyone has their off days,” said Hawk evenly. “You can trust us to keep you from harm, sir Adamant. Anyone who wants to get to you has to get past us first.”

“And there’s damn few who’ve ever done that,” said Fisher.

“You weren’t doing so well against the blood-creatures,” said Dannielle. “If Mortice hadn’t intervened, we’d have all been killed.”

“Hush, Danny,” said Adamant. “Any man can be brought down by sorcery. That’s why we have Mortice, to take care of things like that. Is there anything you need while we’re here, Mortice? You know we can’t stand this cold for long.”

“I don’t need anything anymore, James. But you need to take more care. It would appear Councillor Hardcastle is more worried about your chances in the election than he’s willing to admit in public. He’s hired a first-class sorcerer, and turned him loose on you. The blood-creature was just one of a dozen sendings he’s called up out of the darkness. I managed to keep out the others, but there’s a limit to what my wards can do. I don’t recognise my adversary’s style, but he’s good. Very good. If I were alive, I might even be worried about him.”

Adamant frowned. “Hardcastle must know he’s forbidden to use sorcery during an election.”

“So are we, for that matter,” said Medley.

“That’s different,” said Dannielle quickly, darting a quick glance at Hawk and Fisher. “Mortice just uses his magic to protect us.”

“The Council isn’t interested in that kind of distinction,” said Mortice. “Technically, my very presence in your house is illegal. Not that I ever let technicalities get in my way. But the Council’s always had ants in its pants about magic-users. Right, Captain Hawk?”

“Right,” said Hawk. “That’s what comes of living so near the Street of Gods.”

“Tough,” said Mortice. “All the candidates have some kind of sorcery backing them up. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Magic is like bribery and corruption; everyone knows about it and everyone turns a blind eye. I don’t know why I should sound so disgusted about it. This is Haven, after all.”

“Being dead doesn’t seem to have dulled your faculties at all,” said Hawk.

Mortice’s mouth twitched. “I find being dead unclutters the mind wonderfully.”

“Where do you stand when it comes to sorcery, Captain Hawk?” said Dannielle sharply. “Are you going to turn us in, and get James disqualified from the election?”

Hawk shrugged. “My orders are to keep James Adamant alive. As far as I’m concerned, that has overall priority. I’ll put up with anything that’ll make my job easier.”

“Well, if that’s settled, we really should be going,” said Adamant. “We’ve a lot to do and not much time to do it in.”

“Do you really have to go, James?” said Mortice. “Can’t you just stay and talk for a while?”

“I’m sorry,” said Adamant. “Everything’s piling up right now. I’ll come down and see you again, as soon as I can. And I’ll keep searching for someone who can help with your condition, no matter how long it takes. There must be someone, somewhere.”

“Yes,” said Mortice. “I’m sure there is. Don’t worry about Hardcastle’s sorcerer, James. He may have caught me by surprise once, but I’m ready for him now. Nothing can harm you as long as I am here. I promise you that, my friend.”

His eyes slowly closed, and once again to all appearances he became nothing more than a mummified corpse, without any trace of life. Dannielle shivered quickly, and tugged at Adamant’s arm.

“Let’s get out of here, James. I’m not dressed for this kind of weather.”

“Of course, my dear.”

He nodded to Medley, who led the way out of the cellar and back into the laundry room. After the bitter cold of the cellar, the pleasant autumn day seemed uncomfortably warm. There was frost in their hair and eyebrows, and they all mopped at their faces as it began to melt. Adamant let the trapdoor fall shut, and blew out his lamp. Hawk looked at him.

“Is that it? Aren’t you going to bolt it, or something? If Hardcastle is as ruthless and determined as you’ve made him out to be, what’s to stop him sending assassins here to destroy Mortice’s body?”

Medley laughed shortly. “Anyone stupid enough to go down there wouldn’t be coming back out again. Mortice’s temper wasn’t very good when he was alive, and since he died he’s developed a very nasty sense of humour.”

 

Adamant’s study seemed reassuringly normal after the freezing cold and darkness of Mortice’s cellar. Hawk picked out the most comfortable-looking chair, turned it so he wouldn’t have to sit with his back to the door, and sank down into it. Adamant started to say something and then thought better of it. He gestured for the others to take a seat, and busied himself with the wine decanters. Dannielle made as though to sit next to Hawk, and then quickly chose another chair when Fisher glared at her. Medley sat down beside Dannielle, who ignored him. Hawk leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. First rule of the Guard: If you get a chance to sit down, take it. Guards spend a lot of time on their feet, and it tends to color their thinking.

The last of the cellar chill began to seep out of Hawk’s bones, and he sighed quietly. Adamant poured him a drink from one of the more expensive-looking decanters. Hawk sipped it, and made appreciative noises. It seemed a good vintage, though Fisher always insisted he had no palate for such things. Just as well, on a Guard’s wages. He put down his glass, and waited patiently for Adamant to finish pouring wine for the others. There were things that needed to be said.

“Sir Adamant, just how reliable is Mortice?”

Adamant finished putting the decanter away before answering. “Before he died—very. Now—I don’t know. After everything he’s been through it’s a wonder he’s still coherent, never mind sane. The experience would have broken a lesser man. It still might. As it is, his life now consists mainly of pain and despair. He has no hope and no future, and he knows it. His friendship with me is his last link with normality.”

“What about his magic?” said Fisher. “Is he still as powerful as he used to be?”

“He seems to be.” Adamant emptied his glass and poured himself another drink. His hand was perfectly steady. “In his day, Mortice was a very powerful sorcerer. He says he’s as strong now as he ever was, but there’s no denying his mind does tend to wander on occasion. No doubt that’s how those blood-creatures got in. If he ever cracks and gives in to all that pain and madness, I think we could all be in very great trouble.”

“You must realise this changes things,” said Hawk. “I can’t overlook something like this. Mortice could end up as a threat to the whole city.”

“Yes,” said Adamant. “He could. That’s why I’m telling you all this. I didn’t have to. Originally, I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to know about him at all. That’s why he took so long to deal with those blood-creatures. I’d instructed him not to give away his presence unless he absolutely had to. It wasn’t until I met him just now, and saw him through your eyes, that I realised how much he’s changed since his death. He used to be such a powerful man.”

“But as things stand we’re in no danger,” said Medley quickly. “You saw for yourself how calm and rational he is. Look; you’ll be right here with us all through the election. You can keep a close watch on him. If he shows any sign that his control’s slipping, then you can report him. It’s not as if he was that dangerous. There’s no doubt he’s a very powerful individual, but he couldn’t hope to stand against the combined might of all the Guard’s sorcerers. I mean those people take on rogue Beings from the Street of Gods. And Mortice isn’t exactly the High Warlock, now is he? In the meantime, we need him. Adamant won’t survive the election without Mortice’s support.”

Hawk looked at Fisher, who nodded slightly. “All right,” he said finally. “We’ll see how it goes. But once the election is over ...”

“Then we can talk about it again,” said Adamant.

“And if he turns dangerous?” said Fisher.

“Then you do what you have to,” said Adamant. “I know my responsibilities, Captain.”

An uncomfortable silence fell across the room. Dannielle cleared her throat, and everyone looked at her. “This isn’t the first time you’ve worked with a magic-user, is it, Captain Hawk: I seem to remember the sorcerer Gaunt was involved in the Blackstone case, wasn’t he?”

“Only marginally,” said Hawk. “I never knew him very well. He left Haven shortly afterwards.”

“Damn shame, that,” said Medley. “His loss was a great blow to the Reform Cause. Gaunt and Mortice were the only sorcerers of any note ever to ally themselves openly with the Reformers.”

“You’re better off without them,” said Hawk flatly. “You can’t trust magic, or the people who use it.”

Dannielle raised a painted eyebrow. “You sound as though you’ve had some bad experiences with sorcery, Captain Hawk.”

“Hawk has a long memory,” said Fisher. “And he bears grudges.”

“How about you, Captain Fisher?” said Adamant.

Fisher grinned. “I don’t get mad. I get even.”

“Right,” said Hawk.

“We haven’t discussed your politics yet,” said Adamant slowly. “What beliefs do you follow, if any? In my experience, Guards tend to be uninterested in politics, apart from the usual favours and payoffs. Most of the time they just support the status quo.”

“That’s our job,” said Hawk. “We don’t make the laws, we just enforce them. Even the ones we don’t agree with. Not all the Guards in Haven are crooked. You’ve got to expect some bribery and corruption, that’s how Haven works, but on the whole the Guard takes its job seriously. We have to; if we didn’t, the Council would replace us with someone who did. Too much corruption is bad for business, and the Quality doesn’t like its peace disturbed.”

“But what do you believe in?” said Medley. “You, and Captain Fisher?”

Hawk shrugged. “My wife is basically disinterested in politics. Right, Isobel?”

“Right,” said Fisher, holding out her empty glass to Adamant for a refill. “Only thing more corrupt than a politician is a week-old corpse after the blowflies have been at it. No offence, sir Adamant.”

“None taken,” said Adamant.

“As for me ...” Hawk pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Isobel and I come from the far North. We were both raised under absolute monarchies. Things were different there. It’s taken us both some time to adjust to the changes democracy has made in Haven and the Low Kingdoms. I don’t think we’ll ever get used to the idea of a constitutional monarch.

“On the whole, it seems to me that the same kind of people end up on top no matter what system you have, but at least in a democracy there’s room for change. Which is why I tend to favour Reform. The Conservatives don’t want any change because for the most part they’re rich and privileged, and they want to stay that way. The poor and the commoners should know their place.” Hawk grinned. “I’ve never known my place.”

“But as far as this election is concerned, we’re strictly neutral,” said Fisher. “It’s our job to protect you, and we’ll do that to the best of our ability. No one will bother you while we’re around. Not openly, anyway. But don’t waste time preaching to us. That’s not what we’re here for.”

“Of course,” said Medley. “We quite understand. Still, you’re being put to a great deal of trouble on our account. You’ll become targets, just by being associated with us. Under the circumstances, perhaps you would allow James and myself to show our appreciation by providing you with a little extra money, for expenses and the like. Shall we say five hundred ducats? Each?”

He reached inside his coat for his wallet, and then froze as he took in Hawk’s face. Silence fell across the room. Medley looked from Hawk to Fisher and back again, and a sudden chill went through him. A subtle change had come over the two Guards. There was a cold anger and violence in their faces; a violence barely held in check. For the first time, Medley realised how the two Guards had earned their grim reputation, and he believed every word of it. He wanted to look to Adamant for support, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the Guards.

“Are you offering us a bribe?” said Fisher softly.

“Not necessarily,” said Medley, trying to smile. The joke fell flat. Medley could feel sweat beading on his forehead.

“Get your hand away from that wallet,” said Hawk, “or we’ll do something unpleasant with it. You don’t want to know what.”

“We don’t take bribes,” said Fisher. “Ever. People trust us because they know we can’t be bought. By anyone.”

“My Advisor meant no offence,” said Adamant quickly. “He’s just not used to dealing with honest people.”

“Politics does that to you,” said Dannielle.

“And you have to admit, you are rather ... unusual, as Haven goes,” said Adamant.

“As Haven goes, we’re bloody unique,” said Fisher.

Hawk grinned. “You got that right.”

Medley pulled at his coat to straighten it, though it didn’t need straightening, and looked at the ornate brass-bound clock on the mantelpiece. “We’re running late, James. The faithful will be arriving soon for your big speech.”

“Of course, Stefan.” Adamant got to his feet, and smiled at Hawk and Fisher. “Come along, bodyguards. You should find this interesting.”

“You got that right,” said Dannielle.

 

Hawk leaned morosely against the landing wall and wished halfheartedly for a riot. Adamant’s followers filled the ballroom below, all of them cheerful and excited and buoyantly good-natured. They listened politely to Adamant’s stewards, and went where they were told without a murmur. Hawk couldn’t believe it. Usually in Haven you tracked down a political meeting by following the trail of broken bottles and mutilated corpses. Adamant’s followers were enthusiastic as all hell, particularly about him, but seemed uninterested in the traditional passtimes of cursing the enemy and planning his destruction. They actually seemed more interested in discussing the issues. Hawk shook his head slowly. As if elections in Haven had anything to do with issues. He’d bet good money that Hardcastle’s people weren’t wasting time discussing the issues. More likely they were busy planning death and bloodshed and general mayhem, and where best to make a start. Hawk glanced across at Fisher. She looked just as bored as he did. Hawk looked back at the crowd. Maybe someone would faint in the crush. Anything for a little excitement. Hawk had reached the stage where he would have welcomed an outbreak of plague, to relieve the tedium.

He looked hopefully at Adamant, but he seemed in no hurry to make his entrance. He sat quietly in his chair halfway down the landing, well out of sight of his followers. Thick velvet drapes had been hung the length of the landing, blocking off the view, just so that Adamant could make a dramatic entrance at the top of the stairs. He seemed cool and perfectly relaxed, hands laced together in his lap, his eyes vague and far away. Medley, on the other hand, was stalking back and forth like a cat with piles, unable to settle anywhere for a moment. He was clutching a thick sheaf of papers, and shuffling them back and forth like the cards in a losing hand. He kept up a muttered running monologue of comment and advice concerning Adamant’s speech, even though it was obvious no one was listening to him. Dannielle glared at him irritably from time to time, but seemed mostly interested in studying her appearance in the full-length mirror on the wall.

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.”

“Don’t care much for tea,” said Fisher. “We stay.”

“You’ll do as you’re damned well told!” snapped Sykes. “Now, get out, and don’t come back till we call you. Adamant, tell them.”

Hawk smiled slowly, and Sykes paled suddenly as his breath caught in his throat. Without moving a muscle, a change had come over Hawk. He suddenly looked ... dangerous. The scarred face was cold and impassive, and Sykes couldn’t help noticing how Hawk’s hand rested on the axe at his side. The room suddenly seemed very small, with nowhere to turn.

“We’re bodyguards,” said Hawk softly. “We stay.”

“Gentlemen, please!” said Adamant quickly. “There’s no need for any unpleasantness. We’re all friends here. Hawk, Fisher, these gentlemen are my guests. I would be obliged if you would show them every courtesy while they’re in my house.”

“Of course,” said Hawk. His tone was impeccably polite, but the gaze from his single dark eye was still disturbingly cold. Sykes looked at Fisher, but if anything her smile was even more disturbing.

“There’s no cause for alarm, my friends,” said Adamant. “My bodyguards fully understand our need for confidentiality. You have my word that nothing discussed here will go beyond the walls of this room.”

Walpole looked at Sykes, who nodded grudgingly. Hawk smiled. Fisher leaned against the mantelpiece and folded her arms.

“But your wife will still have to leave,” said Sykes stubbornly. “This is not women’s business.”

Dannielle flushed angrily, and looked to Adamant for support, but he was already nodding slowly. “Very well, Lucien, if you insist. Danny, if you wouldn’t mind ...”

Dannielle shot him a quick look of betrayal, and then gathered her composure sufficiently to smile graciously round the room before leaving. She didn’t slam the door behind her, but it felt as though she had. Adamant gestured for Walpole and Sykes to be seated, and waited patiently for them to settle themselves comfortably before pouring them wine from the most delicately fashioned decanter. Hawk and Fisher held out their glasses for a refill. Adamant handed them the decanter, and pulled up a chair opposite his visitors. The two Guards remained standing. Hawk studied the two businessmen surreptitiously over his wineglass. He didn’t move in their circle, but he knew them both by reputation. Guards made it their business to know the movers and shakers of Haven’s community by sight. You could avoid a lot of embarrassment that way.

Garrett Walpole was a bluff military type in his late fifties. He’d spent twenty years in the Low Kingdoms army before retiring to take over the family business, and it showed. He still wore his hair in a regulation military cut, and his back was straight as a sword blade. He wore sober clothes of a conservative cut, and sat back in his chair as though he owned the place.

Lucien Sykes was an overweight, ruddy-faced man in his late forties. He wore the latest fashion with more determination than style, and looked more than a little uneasy in present company. Sykes was big in the import-export business, which was why he’d come to Adamant. The Dock-workers Guild was in the second week of its strike, and nothing was moving in or out of the docks. The Conservative-backed DeWitt brothers were trying to break the strike with blackleg zombie workers, but so far that hadn’t worked out too well. Zombies needed a lot of supervision, and weren’t what you’d call efficient workers. As it was, the Dock-workers Guild had more reason than usual to be mad at the Conservatives, and had lined up firmly behind the Reformers. So if Sykes wanted to get his ships in or out of the docks any time soon, he was going to need help from the right people. Reform people.

Hawk grinned. He might be new to politics, but he knew a few things.

“Well,” said Adamant finally, after everyone had sipped their drinks and the silence had dragged on uncomfortably long, “what exactly can I do for you, my friends? Normally I’d be only too happy to sit and chat for a while, but I have an election to fight, and very little time to do it in. If you’ll just tell me what you want, I’ll be happy to tell you what it will cost you.”

Walpole raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Plain speaking may be a virtue, James, but if I were you I’d keep it to myself. There’s no room for it in politics or business.”

“You should know,” said Medley, and Walpole laughed briefly.

“James, I can’t say I’m hopeful of your chances, because I’m not. High Steppes has been a safe Conservative Seat for more than thirty years. All right, Hardcastle is a bit of a rotter, but people will vote for the devil they’re familiar with rather than a Cause they don’t know.”

“Even though the devil has bled them dry for years, and the Cause will fight on their behalf?” Adamant smiled. “Or perhaps you don’t believe in Reform?”

“My dear chap, it hasn’t a hope.” Walpole took a cigar out of his pocket, looked at it wistfully, and put it away again. “Only allowed one a day,” he explained. “Doctor’s orders. I’d get another doctor, but he’s the wife’s brother. James, Reform is a nice idea, but that’s all. These fashions come and go, but they never last long. Too many vested interests concerned for it to get anywhere.”

“Is that why you came here?” said Medley. “To tell us we can’t win?”

Walpole laughed briefly. “Not at all. You asked me for money, James, and I’m here to give it to you. Who knows? you might win after all, and it wouldn’t do me any harm to have you owe me a favour. Besides, I’ve been a friend of your family most of my life. Fought beside your father in the Broken Ridges campaign. He was a good sort. I’m more than comfortably well-off these days, and I can afford to throw away a few thousand ducats.” He took a banker’s draft from his pocket and handed it to Medley. “Put it to good use, James, and let me know if you need some more. And after this nonsense is over, do come and see me. I’m sure I can put some business your way. Now I really must be going. Things to do, you know. Good luck in the election.”

He didn’t say You’re going to need it. His tone said it for him.

He rose unhurriedly to his feet, and stretched unobtrusively as Adamant got up and rang for the butler. Medley tucked the banker’s’ draft safely away in his wallet before rising to his feet. The butler came in, Walpole shook hands all around, and then the butler escorted him out. The room was suddenly very quiet. Adamant and Medley sat down again and turned their attention to Lucien Sykes. He glanced quickly at the two Guards, scowled unhappily, and then leant forward to face Adamant, his tone hushed and conspiratorial.

“You know my position. I have to get my ships in and out of the docks soon, or I stand to lose every penny I’ve got. You know I’ve donated money to the Cause in the past. I’ve been one of your main backers. Now I need your help. I need your word that the first thing you’ll do as a Councillor is to put pressure on those bastards in the Dock-workers Guild to call off their strike. For a while, at least.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Adamant. “But I could put some pressure on the DeWitt brothers to be more reasonable. After all, they caused the strike, by refusing to spend the money needed to make the docks safe to work in.”

Sykes’s scowl deepened. “That won’t do any good. I’ve already talked to Marcus and David DeWitt. They don’t give a damn for anyone but themselves. It’s become a matter of principle to them, not to give in to their workers. If they want to dig their own financial grave, that’s up to them, but I’m damned if I’m going to let them drag me down with them.”

“You could always go to Hardcastle,” said Medley.

“I tried,” said Sykes. “He wouldn’t see me. Three thousand ducats, Adamant. That’s my offer. I’ve got the bank draft right here.”

“I’ll talk to the Guild and put what pressure I can on the DeWitts,” said Adamant. “That’s all I can promise you. If that’s not good enough, then we’ll have to do without your money.”

Sykes took a folded bank draft out of his coat pocket, hefted it in his hand, and then tossed it onto the desk. “I’ll see you again, Adamant—if you win the election.”

He pulled his coat around him, glared briefly at Hawk and Fisher, and left the study. The door swung shut behind him. Hawk turned slightly to look at Adamant.

“Is it normally this blatant? I mean, when you get right down to it, those two were giving you bribes in return for future favours. Reform’s always campaigned against that kind of corruption in the past.”

“Fighting an election costs money,” said Medley. “Lots of it. James couldn’t hope to pay all the bills on his own, and the Cause can’t do much to help. What money they have has to be spread around among the poorer candidates. All they could give us was this house. So, we take funds where we can find them. You can bet Hardcastle isn’t bothered by any such niceties. If his supporters don’t make big enough donations, all he has to do is threaten to raise property taxes. And it’s not as if we promised to do anything against our principles. In the end, all politics is based on people doing favours for each other. That’s what keeps the system going. It may not be a very pretty system, but then, that’s one of the things we’re fighting to change.”

The door flew open, and Dannielle swept in. She glared at them all impartially, and then sank into her favourite chair. “I feel like I ought to open all the windows and set up incense sticks, just to get the smell of politics out of this room.”

“Sorry, Danny,” said Adamant. “But they really wouldn’t have talked freely with you there, and we needed the money they were offering.”

Dannielle sniffed. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Let’s,” said Medley. “Is there anything more you need to know before we start campaigning, Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher?”

“Yes,” said Hawk. “I need more information on the other candidates. Hardcastle, for example. I gather he’s unpopular, even among his own people.”

“The man’s a brute,” said Adamant. “He runs the High Steppes like his own private Barony. Even levies his own separate tax, though it’s not called that, of course. It’s an insurance policy. And people who don’t or can’t keep up their payments find their luck’s suddenly changed for the worse. It starts with beatings, moves on to fires, and ends with murder. And no one says anything. Even the Guard looks the other way.”

Hawk smiled coldly. “We’re the Guard here now. Tell me about Hardcastle himself.”

“He’s a thug and a bully, and his word is worthless,” said Medley unemotionally. “He takes bribes from everyone, and then welshes on the deal, as often as not. He’s been very successful in business, and it’s rumoured he knows where some very important bodies are buried. He has his own little army of men-at-arms and hired bullies. Anyone who tries to speak out against him gets their legs broken as a warning. I don’t think he has any friends, but he has acquaintances in high places.”

“Anything else?” said Fisher.

“He’s married,” said Dannielle. “But I’ve never met her.”

“Not many have,” said Medley. “She doesn’t go out much. From what I hear, it was an arranged marriage, for business reasons. They’ve been married seven years now. No children.”

“An army of men-at-arms,” said Hawk thoughtfully. “You mean mercenaries?”

“That’s right,” said Medley. “It’s hard to get an accurate figure, but he’s got at least three hundred armed men under his personal command. Probably more.”

“And this is the man you’re standing against?” said Fisher. “You must be crazy. You’re going to need your own private army just to walk the streets in safety.”

“What do I need an army for?” said Adamant. “I’ve got you and Captain Hawk, haven’t I? Relax, Captain Fisher. We have our own mercenaries. Not as many as Hardcastle, but enough. They’ll keep the worst elements off our backs. We’ll just have to play the rest by ear.”

“Terrific,” said Fisher.

“Tell me about the other candidates,” said Hawk.

Adamant looked at Medley, who frowned thoughtfully before speaking. “Well, first, there’s Lord Arthur Sinclair. Youngish chap, inherited the title a few years back under rather dubious circumstances, but that’s nothing new in Haven. Plays politics for the fun of it as much as anything. Likes all the attention, and the chance to stand up in public and make a fool of himself. He’s standing as an independent, because nobody else would have him, and he wants to see an end to all forms of tax on alcohol. He has some backing, mostly from the beer, wine, and spirits industry, and he’s wealthy enough to buy himself a few votes, but the only way he’ll get elected is if all the other candidates drop dead. And even then there’d have to be a recount.”

“He means well,” said Adamant, “but he’s no danger to anyone except himself. He drinks like a fish, from what I’ve heard.”

“Then there’s Megan O‘Brien,” said Medley, having waited patiently for Adamant to finish. “He’s a spice merchant, also independent, standing for Free Trade. Given that a great deal of Haven’s income comes from the very taxes O’Brien wants stopped, I don’t think much of his chances. He’ll be lucky to get through the election without being assassinated.

“And, of course, there’s General Longarm. Once a part of the Low Kingdoms army, now part of a militant movement within the Brotherhood of Steel. He’s been officially disowned by the Brotherhood, though whether that means anything is open to question. The Brotherhood’s always been devious. He’s campaigning as an independent, on the Law and Order ticket. Believes every lawbreaker should be beheaded, on the spot, and wants compulsory military service introduced for every male over fourteen. He’s crazier than a brewery-yard rat, and about as charismatic. His Brotherhood connections might get him a few votes, but otherwise he’s harmless.”

“I wouldn’t count him out completely,” said Adamant. “Brotherhood militants took The Downs away from the Conservatives at the last election. I think it would be wise to keep a good weather eye on General Longarm.”

“Any more candidates?” said Fisher, helping herself to more wine from the nearest decanter.

“Just one,” said Medley. “A mystery candidate. A sorcerer, called the Grey Veil. No one’s seen or heard anything about him, but his name’s on the official list. Magicians aren’t actually banned from standing in the election, but the rules against using magic are so strictly enforced, most magic-users don’t bother. They say they’re unfairly discriminated against, and they may well be right. Mortice says he’s never even heard of the Grey Veil, so he can’t be that powerful.”

Hawk frowned. “We had a run-in with a sorcerer, earlier today. It might have been him.”

“Doesn’t make any difference,” said Fisher. “We ran him off. If he was the Grey Veil, I think we can safely assume he’s no longer standing. Running, maybe, but not standing. The report we filed will see to that.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Hawk. “Apart from us, there’s Hardcastle and his mercenaries, militant Brothers of Steel, and a handful of independents with whatever bullies and bravos they can afford. Adamant, this isn’t just an election, it’s an armed conflict. I’ve known battles that were safer than this sounds like it’s going to be.”

“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” said Dannielle.

“I think that’s covered everything,” said Adamant. “Now, would anyone like a quick snack before we leave? I doubt we’ll have time to stop to eat once we’ve started.”

Hawk looked hopefully at Fisher, but she shook her head firmly. “Apparently we’re fine,” said Hawk. “Thanks anyway.”

“It’s no trouble,” said Dannielle. “It’ll only take a minute to send word to the kitchen staff and the food taster.”

Hawk looked at her. “Food taster?”

“People are always trying to poison me,” said Adamant, shrugging. “Reform has a lot of enemies in Haven, and particularly in the High Steppes. Mortice sees to it that none of the attempts get past the kitchens, so the food taster’s really only there as a backup. Even so, you wouldn’t believe what he’s costing me in danger money.”

“I don’t think we’ll bother with the snack,” said Hawk. Fisher gave the wine at the bottom of her glass a hard look.

“You stick with us, Hawk,” said Medley, grinning. “And we’ll give you a solid grounding on politics in Haven. There’s a lot more to it than meets the eye.”

“So I’m finding out,” said Hawk.