Orb ,Sceptre ,Throne

‘The floor recognizes Councillor Lim,’ a clerk announced into the silence.

It now occurred to Torvald that crowding about the central lectern were only some fifty or so members of the Council, yet the amphitheatre held seats for hundreds. ‘Where is everyone?’ he whispered to Coll.

‘It’s a damned trick,’ Coll answered, low and fierce. ‘There is a little-known emergency steering committee that can be called to meet in case of fires and such. Just those close enough to participate. Quorum is thirty. Thankfully I was nearby … sleeping in my chambers.’

Passed out, you mean. So, an emergency sub-committee of Council. But to decide what?

At the lectern, Lim stood tall and pole-thin, his dark expensive silk shirt and trousers accentuating his figure. He raised his arms for silence.

So, Lim, is it? Torvald believed he’d heard that Shardan Lim was dead.

‘Thank you,’ the fellow began. ‘My fellow councillors, fair Darujhistan has weathered astounding events of late. Many of you, myself included, no doubt wish that history would be so good as to pass us by for once, allow us our well-earned peace to quietly tend our fields and watch our children play …’

Torvald snorted: the man looked as peaceful and compassionate as a viper. Coll chuckled. Torvald glanced over to see him offer a wink. ‘What’s going on?’

In answer, the man gestured to the front. ‘Let us hear from Lim.’

‘That’s not Shardan Lim, is it?’

‘Ah. You are new. No, this is Jeshin Lim. His cousin.’

Torvald grunted. He’d never heard of a Jeshin Lim. But then, he’d probably never heard of most of the men and women in the hall. The young man had been talking all the while, offering some long-winded soothing introduction to the course of action he wished to suggest. In time, the meat of the speech arrived: ‘… and so it is clear that this abrupt, unannounced flight by all the Moranth present within the city, combined with the equally sudden withdrawal of their allies, the Imperial Malazan elements staining our fair city, can amount to only one thing: the first stage in a pre-planned, coordinated initiation of hostilities against the freedom and independence of Darujhistan!’

The hall erupted into chaotic noise once more. Most cheered, calling out their support of the claim. Only a few shouted their dismissal.

Torvald and Coll remained silent. Torvald leaned to Coll. ‘Why is he saying everything twice?’

‘Ah. An older style of rhetoric. Something of a traditionalist, our Jeshin. New to assembly, he is. But there’s a great deal of money backing him.’

Closer to the man, Torvald noted that while Coll was impressively large, it had all gone to fat. And though a strong miasma of Daru spirits surrounded him, he did not appear to be drunk.

‘And what do you propose?’ an old man’s sarcastic voice cut through the shouting.

The raucous arguing died down as everyone waited for Lim’s answer.

Coll gestured aside, indicating the speaker: an aged fellow, thin and straight, his hair a grey hedging round his skull. ‘Councillor D’Arle.’

‘Will you marshal the troops?’ the old man continued scathingly. ‘Assemble the navy? But wait … we have none! And the Malazans know this! If they wanted to occupy us they would have done so long ago.’

Councillor Lim was shaking his head. ‘With all respect to House D’Arle, that is not so. The truth is that the Malazans have tried to annex us to their Empire but that said efforts have to this time failed, or been defeated by circumstance, or the intervention of diversionary challenges — such as the Pannions to the south. Now, however, with said threat crushed, and Moon’s Spawn also eliminated from the field — now it appears clear that the Malazans see that it is time to bring our fair city to heel.’

‘You do have a proposal,’ Councillor D’Arle demanded, ‘lurking somewhere within all that puff and wind?’

‘I like this fellow,’ Torvald whispered to Coll.

A taut smile from Coll. ‘Sad family history there.’

Showing surprising patience, Councillor Lim inclined his head in assent. ‘I do. I propose that this emergency assembly of the Council now vote upon the investiture of the ancient position created precisely for such rare crises. I am speaking, of course, of the temporary and limited post of Legate of Council.’

Coll’s meaty hand closed painfully on Torvald’s shoulder. ‘The bastard!’ he hissed, giving out a cloud of stale alcohol. ‘You can’t do that!’ he bellowed into the hall.

Lim’s thin brows rose. ‘I see that we are fortunate in this time of threat to have Councillor Coll with us. You have a proposal for the floor, do you?’

‘Only that the office of Legate was abolished centuries ago because of its abuses!’

‘Hear, hear!’ called Councillor D’Arle.

‘And short-sighted and mistaken that was too,’ Lim answered. ‘For how else can the city respond quickly and authoritatively to sudden emergencies?’

A cheer went up from the gathered councillors. Coll slowly shook his head. ‘A stacked deck, as they say,’ he murmured to Torvald.

‘We will now vote upon the reinvestment of the position of temporary Legate of Council,’ called out the clerk. ‘All in favour raise hands.’

Almost all raised their hands. Coll and Torvald did not.

‘Proposal carried,’ announced the clerk.

A great cheer answered that pronouncement. The councillors congratulated one another, slapping backs and shaking hands. The celebration seemed premature to Torvald as they had yet to actually do anything.

Councillor D’Arle pushed his way forward. ‘And I suppose you would tender your name for this post?’ The man’s voice was icy with scorn.

Lim bowed. ‘Yes. Since Councillor D’Arle has been good enough to mention it.’

The old councillor’s jaws snapped shut.

‘Seconded!’ another councillor shouted.

It occurred to Torvald that the man with him was probably the only councillor who could boast of any direct military training or experience and that time was running out. He shouted, ‘I nominate Councillor Coll!’

‘What in Oponn’s name are you doing?’ Coll ground through clenched teeth.

Silence answered the shout. Councillor Lim squinted down at Torvald. A look of distaste clenched his pale fleshless face. ‘And you are …?’

‘Nom, Torvald Nom.’

‘Councillor,’ Coll hissed.

‘Councillor! Ah, Nom.’

Lim inclined his head in greeting. ‘I see. Welcome, then, to House Nom, so long absent from these proceedings. We have a nomination on the floor. Does anyone second?’

Silence, then a young woman’s voice called out, ‘I second.’

Torvald sat to find Coll glaring at him. ‘I don’t know whether to thank you or call you out,’ the man growled.

‘Don’t you think you should be Legate?’

‘If reason and logic ruled the world no one would be Legate. But it doesn’t rule. Power and influence does. And I have neither. I am sorry to say that you have made yourself some enemies this day, my friend.’

‘Well, we’re off to a good start then. Who was that who seconded?’

‘Councillor Redda Orr. Most say she is too young to sit on the Council, but she has a sharp political mind and grew up in these halls.’

‘Friend of yours?’

‘No. She just hates House Lim. Blames them for her father’s death.’

‘Ah.’ Rather belatedly it occurred to Torvald that he had just leapt into a kind of gladiatorial free-for-all without knowing any of the rules or the players. But then, why should he change the habits of a lifetime? He’d always run a very fast and loose game. Never mind the poor record scattered in his wake — he was alive, wasn’t he? There were many others who couldn’t boast as much.