'Now, now,' said Gaunt quickly. 'No quarreling.'
'Don't be silly, dear,' said Katherine. 'We enjoy it.'
The three of them chuckled quietly together.
'So, William,' said Gaunt. 'How's your new bill going? Is the debate finally finished?'
'Looks that way,' said Blackstone. 'With a bit of luck, the bill should be made law by the end of the month. And not before time. Haven depends on its docks for most of its livelihood, and yet some of the owners have let them fall into a terrible state. Once my bill becomes law, those owners will be compelled to do something about renovating them, instead of just torching the older buildings for the insurance.'
'Of course, the Council will help them out with grants for some of the work,' said Katherine. 'Just to sweeten the pot.'
'One of your better ideas, that,' said Blackstone.
'I'll be interested to see how it works out,' said Gaunt. 'Though I have a feeling it won't be that simple.'
'Nothing ever is,' said Blackstone.
'How's your latest project going, Gaunt?' asked Katherine. 'Or aren't we allowed to ask?'
Gaunt shrugged. 'It's no secret. I'm afraid I'm still not having much success. Truthspells are difficult things to put together. All the current versions produce nothing but the literal truth. They don't allow for nuances, half-truths and evasions. And then of course there's subjective truth and objective truth;'
'Spare us, darling,' protested Katherine, laughing. 'You'd think I'd know enough by now not to enquire into a sorcerer's secrets. Magic must be the only thing in the world more complicated than politics.'
'You obviously haven't had to spend half an evening listening to an old soldier talking about military tactics,' said Blackstone dryly. 'And speaking of which, aren't the Hightowers here yet? You did say they'd be coming.'
'They'll be here,' said Gaunt.
'Good,' said Blackstone. 'I want a word with Lord Hightower. He's supposed to be backing me on my next bill, but I haven't seen the man in almost a month. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd started getting cold feet.'
'I shouldn't think so,' said Gaunt. 'Roderik's all right, when you get to know him. These old military types can be a bit of a bore when it comes to refighting all their old battles, but their word is their bond. If he's said he'll support you, he will. Count on it.'
'It's not his support I need so much as his money,' said Blackstone dryly. 'Politicians can't live on applause alone, you know. The kind of campaigns I run are expensive. They need a constant flow of gold to keep them going, and even my resources aren't unlimited. Right now, Hightower's gold would come in very handy.'
'Mercenary,' said Katherine affectionately.
At the other end of the huge parlor, Graham Dorimant and the witch called Visage were helping themselves to the fruit cordial in the silver punch bowl. As a refreshing fruit drink the cordial was something of a letdown, there being too much emphasis on the various powerful wines involved and not nearly enough on the fruit, but Dorimant was well known for drinking anything, provided he was thirsty enough. And the current heat wave had left him feeling very thirsty.
Graham Dorimant was medium height, late thirties, and somewhat overweight. He smiled frequently, and his dark eyes held an impartial warmth. He'd been Blackstone's political adviser for almost three years, and he was very good at his job. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of Haven's electoral system, and he knew where the bodies were buried. Sometimes literally. He was on first-name terms with most of the Council, and quite a few of their staffs. He knew who could be persuaded, who could be browbeaten, and who could be bought. He knew when to talk and when to push, but most important of all, he had no political interests himself. Ideologies left him cold. He didn't give a damn one way or the other. He aided Blackstone simply because he admired the man. Dorimant himself was lazy, amoral, and uninterested in anything outside Haven, but he nevertheless found much to admire in a man who was none of these things and yet attacked life with a zest Dorimant could only envy. Though he rarely admitted it to himself, Dorimant had found more fun and excitement in his time with Blackstone than at any other time in his life.
He drank thirstily at his fruit cordial, and smiled winningly at the witch Visage. Dorimant fancied himself a ladies' man and aspired to an elegance he was too lazy to fully bring off. He wore nothing but the finest and most fashionable clothes, but lacked the self-conscious elan of the true dandy. Basically, he had too much of a sense of humor to be able to take fashion seriously. His only real vanity was his hair. Although he'd just entered his late thirties, his hair was still jet black. There just wasn't as much of it as there used to be.
The witch Visage smiled back at Dorimant and sipped daintily at her drink. She was in her early twenties, with a great mass of wavy red hair that tumbled freely about her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, and her broad open face was dominated by her striking green eyes. There was a subtle wildness about her, like an animal from the Forest that had only recently been tamed. Men sensed the wildness and were attracted to it, but even the most insensitive knew instinctively that her constant slight smile hid very sharp teeth. Visage was tall for a woman, almost five foot nine, but painfully thin. She made Dorimant feel that he wanted to take her out to a restaurant and see that she had at least one good meal before he had his wicked way with her. Such a paternal, protective feeling was new to Dorimant, and he pushed it firmly to one side.
'Well, my dear,' he said briskly, 'how is our revered master? Your magics still keeping him safe and sound?'
'Of course,' said Visage shyly, her voice as ever low and demure. 'As long as I am with him, no magic can harm him. And you, sir, does your advice protect his interests as well as I protect his health?'
'I try,' smiled Dorimant. 'Of course, a man as honest as William is bound to make enemies. He's too open and honest for his own good. If he would only agree to turn a blind eye now and again;'
'He would not be the man he is, and neither of us would be interested in serving him. Am I not right?'
'As always, my dear,' said Dorimant. 'Would you care for some more cordial?'
'Thank you, I think I will. It is very close in here. Are you not having any more?'
'Perhaps later. I fear all this fruit is terribly fattening, and I must watch my waistline.'
'That shouldn't be too difficult,' said Visage sweetly. 'There's enough of it.' Dorimant looked at her reproachfully.
Hawk and Fisher stood together before Gaunt's front door, waiting for someone to answer the bell. The sorcerer's house was a fair-sized two-story building, standing in its own grounds, situated near the Eastern boundary of the city. A high wall surrounded the grounds, the old stonework mostly buried under a thick blanket of ivy. The grounds had been turned into a single massive garden, where strange herbs and unusual flowers grew in ornate patterns that were subtly disturbing to the eye. The night air was thick with the rich scent of a hundred mingled perfumes. Light from the full moon shimmered brightly on the single graveled path. The house itself had no particular character. It stood simply and squarely where it had stood for hundreds of years, and though the stonework was discolored by wind and rain and the passing of years, its very simplicity suggested a strength that would maintain the house for years to come.
The front door was large and solid, and Hawk eyed the bell pull dubiously, wondering if he should try it again in case it hadn't worked the first time. He tugged impatiently at his high collar and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Both he and Fisher were wearing the formal Guards' uniform of navy blue and gold, topped with their best black cloaks. The heavy clothes were stiff, uncomfortable, and very hot. Hawk and Fisher had protested loudly before they set out, but to no avail. Guards had to look their best when mixing with High Society. To do otherwise would reflect badly on the Guards. Hawk and Fisher had given in. Eventually.
'Leave your collar alone,' said Fisher. 'You're not doing it any good.'
'I hate formal clothes,' growled Hawk. 'Why did we have to draw this damned duty? I thought that after staking a vampire we'd have been entitled to a little time off at least, but no; just time for a quick healing spell, and off we go again.'
Fisher chuckled dryly. 'Nothing succeeds like success. We solved the vampire case where everyone else had failed, so naturally we get handed the next most difficult case, bodyguarding Blackstone.'
Hawk shook his head dolefully. 'The only really honest Councilor in the city. No wonder so many people want him dead.'
'You ever meet him?' asked Fisher.
'Shook his hand once, at an election rally.'
'Did you vote for him?'
