"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 <em>my</em> 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 facade. 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 tore 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 clamor 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-paneled 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 realized 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?"