The Republic of Thieves #2

7

“NOW TELL us,” said Jean, staring down at a detailed map of Karthain with all of its avenues and islands, “which districts are usually considered an absolute lock for either party?”

It was deepening evening, the day after their midnight visit to the house of Fifthson Lucidus. Locke and Jean were in the private gallery with Damned Superstition Dexa and Firstson Epitalus. Nikoros, who’d been worked like a clockwork automaton for longer than Locke had intended, had passed out in a high-backed chair. Whether it was honest fatigue or alchemically induced, Locke allowed him to snore on for the time being.

“We’ve got all the right places, dear boy,” said Dexa, pointing to the southeastern portion of the map. “Isas Mellia, Thedra, and Jonquin. The Three Sisters, the old money districts. The Silverchase and Vorhala routinely come back eight-tenths Deep Roots, as well.”

“As for the opposition,” said Epitalus, “they’ve got the Isle of Hammers and the surrounding neighborhoods. Barresta, Merreau, Lacor, Agarro—shop and trade districts, you see.” Epitalus exhaled twin streams of white pipe smoke from his nostrils, and brief-lived cloud formations drifted over the illustrated city. “New men and women. Ink still wet on the receipts for their voting privileges, eh?”

“So it’s five against five,” said Locke, “and the other nine districts are in play?”

“More or less,” said Dexa. “Sentiment across the city—”

“Can go hang itself,” said Locke. “Here’s the basic plan, as much as I can reveal now. We keep most of our money out of the settled districts. We don’t have time to turn the Black Iris strongholds, and we shouldn’t have to worry about them turning ours. We’ll run some misdirection and some nice childish pranks, but most of our leverage gets thrown against the nine in the balance. How busy are you two with Konseil duties?”

“Hardly busy,” said Dexa. “We partly recess during election season. Karthain all but runs itself, barring emergencies.”

Epitalus mouthed something under his breath, and Locke was sure it was Bless the Presence.

“Good,” said Locke. “I’d like you two to do me a favor. Go after some undecided voters in districts outside your own. Make personal calls. Important people, the cream of the middle bunch. I’m sure you can think of a hundred candidates. Charm us votes one by one in the districts where every one of those votes will count. Does that sound agreeable?”

“With all due respect, Master Lazari,” said Epitalus, “that’s simply not how it’s done here in Karthain.”

“I doubt your counterparts in the hierarchy of the Black Iris would quibble at such a task.”

“It’s simply not how things are done where folk of substance are concerned,” said Dexa gently, as though explaining to a very small child that fire was hot.

“We have higher expectations than the Black Iris,” said Epitalus. “Firmer standards. We don’t scuttle about courting just anyone, Master Lazari. Surely you can see that it would make us look beggarly.”

“I doubt that any of the recipients of the solicitations I propose,” said Locke, “would be anything but deeply flattered to receive someone of your stature.”

“We don’t mean them,” said Dexa. “Rather, our fellow members of the Deep Roots. This sort of behavior could not be countenanced—”

“I see,” said Locke. “Never mind that these scruples have brought you embarrassing defeat in the last two elections. Never mind that you will apply your ‘firmer standards’ to a smaller and smaller circle of associates, with ever-shrinking influence, should you blithely allow the Black Iris to best you again.”

“Now, now, dear Master Lazari,” said Dexa. “Surely there’s no cause—”

“I am charged with winning this election,” said Locke. “To do so I will bend every custom that must be bent. If I lack your full confidence, you may have my resig—”

“Oh no,” said Epitalus, “no, please—”

Once again Locke saw the curious working of the arts of the Bondsmagi, as the ingrained prejudices of the Karthani warred with their conditioning to see him as some sort of cross between a spymaster and a prophet. It was something behind their eyes, and though it seemed to be going his way he thought it best to lay on some sweetness for added assurance.

“I would hardly ask this of you,” he said soothingly, “if I didn’t believe that I was sending you out to certain success. Your quality and grace will knock these individuals into our camp straightaway, and since you’ll be choosing them yourselves they’ll bring the Deep Roots nothing but credit. Get us a hundred or so. Winning will be worth it, I assure you.”

Dexa and Epitalus acquiesced. Not energetically, to be sure, but Locke was satisfied that their nods were sincere.

“Splendid,” he said. “Now, I’ve got a dinner eng—er, appointment. Business appointment. Something, ah, that could really work to our advantage. Master Callas will be here if you need anything.”

“I thought you were overdressed for a planning session,” said Dexa.

“What about poor Via Lupa?” said Epitalus.

“Hmm? Oh, Nikoros .… Let him sleep on for a bit. He’ll be up to his ass in baskets and green ribbons tomorrow.”

Locke made several pointless adjustments to his dark blue coat, and brushed imaginary dust from his black silk cravat.

“And if I don’t come back … ,” he muttered to Jean.

“I’ll knock the Sign of the Black Iris into its own foundation, and put Sabetha on a ship to Talisham.”

“Comforting,” Locke whispered. “Right. I’ve got to go wait for the carriage. Pin a note to Nikoros’ lapel, would you? I’m still waiting on that bloody alchemist and constable.”