“Turncoat!” shouted a man that Locke recognized as Thirdson Jovindus. “You ran under false pretenses! Your election must be nullified in favor of your second!”
“We elect men and womenin Karthain,” said Lovaris, and it was clear from his voice that he was speaking through a smirk that would have injured a lesser man with its intensity. “Those men and women declare party affiliations only as a matter of their own convenience. I am not bound to surrender anything. My honorable associate should more closely examine the relevant laws. Now, allow me to finish describing the new situation!”
Lovaris took a pole from the attendant he’d beckoned, then used it to extinguish and dislodge the candle from the middle-most black globe. One blank white glass was left in the midst of nine black and nine green.
“Simply because I have left the Black Iris does not mean that I have necessarily embraced any of the positions of the Deep Roots. I am declaring myself a party of one, fully independent, a neutral balance between Karthain’s traditional ideologies. I am fully willing to be convinced to any reasonable course of action in Konseil. Indeed, I remind my esteemed colleagues that my door is ever open for your approaches and entreaties. I shall very much look forward to receiving them. Good evening!”
What followed could only be described as the crescendoing clusterfuck of the Karthani social season, as half the Konseillors of the Black Iris party, technically immune to constabulary restraint, attempted to storm the stage through a wall of bluecoats who could neither hurt them nor allow them to hurt Lovaris. First Magistrate Sedelkis demonstrated the co-equality of the Karthani judiciary by kicking a Black Iris Konseillor in the teeth, which brought even Deep Roots Konseillors into the fray to uphold the privileges of their station. Bluecoat messengers raced off to find reinforcements, while most of the noncombatant spectators refilled their goblets of punch and settled in to watch their government in action.
“I don’t believe it,” said Sabetha. “How the hell … I’ve got no more succinct way to put it. How the hell?”
“You warned Lovaris we were coming to try and convince him to change the color of his lapel ribbon,” said Locke. “And you know he didn’t buy that offer for an instant. He chewed on my self-respect for a while, then wiped me away like a turd.”
“’But we’d already prepared a second line of attack,” said Jean, pouring himself a fresh finger of brandy. “Ego-fodder. Something designed to appeal to his sense that he ought to be the hinge around which the rest of the world turned.”
“Catnip for an asshole,” continued Locke. “Jean offered the second approach, on the theory that Lovaris might be more willing to parley seriously with an envoy he hadn’t just pissed all over. Turned out to be a good guess.”
“And now Lovaris is the most important man in Karthain,” whispered Sabetha. “Now any deadlock in Konseil is going to have to be resolved by his vote!”
“A possibility he found quite stimulating. The other Konseillors might detest his guts,” said Locke, “but they willbe at his door, hats in hand, for the next five years, or until he’s assassinated. Hardly our problem either way.”
“And that’s all it took? A friendly suggestion?”
“Well, obviously, he agreed to go through with it only if the numbers added up,” said Locke. “If you’d had a wider margin of victory, he would have stayed silent. And there was one hell of a bribe to sweeten the deal.”
“He settled for twenty-five thousand ducats,” said Jean.
“How does he expect to hide it?” said Sabetha. “The Black Iris are going to rake him over the coals! His countinghouse will be watched, his business dealings will be dissected, any fresh property that turns up will be beaten like a dusty carpet for clues!”
“Hiding it’s not the issue,” said Locke, “since you already safely delivered it to him for us.”
Sabetha stared at him for a moment, then whispered, “The reliquary boxes!”
“I quietly boiled twenty-five thousand ducats down to precious stones, mostly emeralds and Spider’s Eye Pearls,” said Jean. “A lightweight cargo to stash in the bottom of the drawers. Your constables were much more squeamish about digging through the dust and bones of Lovaris’ forebears than he was.”
“I’d thought you’d taken them to hold hostage for his cooperation,” said Sabetha.
“It was the sensible conclusion,” said Locke. “We didn’t feel comfortable hauling a fat bribe to his manor ourselves; too much of a chance someone in your pay would notice us. Maybe even someone working for his household.”
“Try about half his household,” said Sabetha. “So you needed that treasure delivered to Lovaris, and you fed me its location on that boat … gods! How long had you known I had Nikoros under my thumb?”
“We found out nearly too late,” said Locke. “Just about everything he gave you before the boat was legitimately at our expense.”
“Hmmm. To give him the word on the boat …” She rubbed her temples. “Ah! That alchemical store I relieved you of in the Vel Vespala—that tip came from Nikoros. You … you must have given everyone you suspected word of some different juicy target!”
“And the target you stepped on told us who the leak was,” said Locke, grinning. “You have it exactly.”
“You impossible assholes!” Sabetha leapt up, moved around the table, pulled Locke and Jean from their chairs, and threw an arm around each of them, laughing. “Oh, you two are such insufferable weaselly shits, it’s marvelous!”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” said Jean. “But for the grace of the gods, we might still be cruising the Amathel.”
“So what have we done?” said Sabetha, her voice full of honest wonderment. “What have we done? I suppose I won the election, but … I’m not sure if winning it for about thirty seconds is winning it at all.”
“Just as I’m not sure that nudging a victory into a tie is really the same as winning for our side,” said Locke. “Nor is it quite losing. A pretty mess, isn’t it? One for the drunkards and philosophers.”
“I wonder what the magi are going to say.”
“I hope they argue about it from now until the sun grows cold,” said Locke. “We did our bit, we fought sincerely, we perverted the final results just enough to eternally confuse anyone watching—what more could they possibly want?”
“I suppose we find out now,” said Jean.
“Did … Patience give you any instructions or hints about what to do once the ballots were counted?” said Sabetha.
“Not a word,” said Locke.
“Then why don’t we all get the hell out of here and let our employers find us in their own time?” Sabetha tossed back the last of her brandy. “I’ve got a safe house just off the Court of Dust. Rented it for a month, had firewood, linens, and wine laid in. I’d say it’s as comfortable a place as any to rest and figure out what we’re going to … do next.” She ran her fingers lightly over Locke’s left arm.
“Any plan to sneak us out of here without getting swept up in a brawl?” said Jean.
“New skins.” Sabetha produced a scalpel-thin dagger from somewhere in a jacket sleeve and used it to slit one of three paper parcels stacked beneath the chamber’s unnerving fresco. “Much as I hate to take this dress off display, I thought we’d find our exit that much easier if we dressed like the enemy.”
4
AT THE tenth hour of the evening, a trio of bluecoats pushed through the curious crowds at the main entrance to the Karthenium; a slender watchman and a sturdy watchman, led by a woman with sergeant’s pins on her lapels. They disposed of the last few people standing in their way with a combination of shoves and ominous mutterings about official business.
Locke and Jean followed Sabetha about fifty yards west, to a branching side court where a carriage waited. The night had darkened considerably, and as he opened the carriage door Locke’s eye was caught by an orange glare somewhere to the south.