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 recognize 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 backstage 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-paneled 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 rewritten 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.
<em>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</em>.
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 Mortise’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.'
