“I don’t think I approve,” he started.
“Hush,” she said, wrapping her arm around his massive frame. “Watch.”
The women fanned out, forming a circle, all the while displaying their weapons. Each one bore a different weapon, and showed appreciable skill with it. After a moment, he recognized that the weapon each wielded represented one of the ten archduchies, their “traditional” weapon. Some of those designations were based on actual history, like the pike warriors of Oblune, the chain-flail fighters of Linjar, or the axe-men of Acora. On the other hand, he was certain that there was no grand tradition of staff fighters from the Archduchy of Maradaine. If anything, it came from the Kenalian Order, one of twelve Elite Orders of Druthal, now disbanded. Of the twelve, only the Spatians and his own Tarians remained. The Kenalians disbanded some sixty years ago, and their last members were folded into the Tarians. Their techniques and skills were integrated into the Tarian discipline.
Which explained why the woman spinning her staff with deft skill and grace had a certain familiarity.
“Is that Fredelle?” he asked quietly.
“Who?” Lady Mirianne asked.
“The one with the staff,” he said. “I think she was in our Initiate cohort. But she washed out during third year, never made Candidate.”
“It’s certainly possible. A trained Tarian would be well received in the army, especially in an exhibition unit like the Royal First.”
The performance was ramping up in energy, as the women incorporated a fair degree of acrobatics into their maneuvers, spinning and flipping as they whipped their weapons around. They also showed this was not mere stagecraft or pantomime. They knew their weapons, they knew their forms. Fredelle had been trained in the staff in her time as a Tarian Initiate, and her exhibition brought her into a spar with the woman wielding the Oblunic pike. Both of them were exemplary in their skill. Even though he could see that the battle they enacted was planned performance, choreographed like a dance, it was thrilling to watch. It reminded him of the best training spars with Amaya during their Initiacy.
“I told you,” Lady Mirianne said, noting his engagement.
“They’re very good at what they do,” Dayne said.
Their performance ended with a flourish, and they moved away as the parade continued below.
“Come,” Mirianne said, turning inside. “Let’s open our doors and show this city what Henson’s Majestic truly is.”
Dayne followed Lady Mirianne as she strode out of her office and down the hallway. Sefferin could be heard in the distance, clapping his hands and calling out instructions. Once Dayne and Lady Mirianne had reached the winding stairway, the shop staff were all standing at attention at their stations throughout the store.
And, Dayne had to admit, the store was quite a spectacle. He rarely gave much regard to clothing beyond his uniform, and things like fashion, jewelry, and haberdashery did not concern him in the least. That said, the wide array of clothing, accessories, and other wares on display was like nothing he had ever seen. The shopboys and shopgirls all looked impeccable in outfits similar to Lady Mirianne’s though far less extravagant. Dark gray suits with waistcoats and cravats, and the girls in almost identical outfits.
“Perfect,” Mirianne said. “They’re all perfect.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Sefferin said.
She raised her voice as she floated down the stairwell to the main floor. “You all should be so proud of the work you’ve already done, and what you’re about to do,” she said. “Open the doors.”
Three men went to the main doors and opened them, sunlight and crowds bursting through. If Mirianne had intended some further speech to the patrons, there was no chance for it. Within moments people were filling the aisles around the different stations of the store, examining all the bits of finery that they had for sale.
Though many of the men ignored that, instead pressing to the far side of the store where the election polls had been set up. They were clearly eager to cast their votes, a feeling Dayne shared.
“My lady,” Dayne said with a gesture. “With your permission, I’m going to get in line before it gets too unwieldy.”
“Of course, dear,” she said. “I know you won’t enjoy yourself until you take care of that. You already know who you’re voting for, yes?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I would never come to the polls uninformed.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” she said with a kiss to his cheek. “Now I should attend to the business of business.”
Dayne made his way down while Mirianne went to consult with Mister Sefferin. He discovered that he couldn’t quite make a straight path to the voting polls. Instead he had to navigate through several different displays, where quite a few shopboys tried to offer him new suits or hats.
“A man your size needs something custom,” one overly eager boy said. “And we’ve got our measuring men already right here. Just as much service as your finest gentleman’s tailor.”
“Not now,” Dayne said, pressing through.
“Then if you’d consider, I have something else here. Not too many men come through here with a shield or sword. Rare thing, the shield, especially.”
“Please,” Dayne said, trying to work his way around.
“I’m saying, if you follow me, I have a fine selection of oils and polishes that would be just what you need.” The shopboy placed himself right in Dayne’s path. It was impressively bold, especially since he didn’t even come up to Dayne’s chin.
“What I need is to go vote,” Dayne said. The boy didn’t move. Dayne checked the badge on his waistcoat. “Eichorn?”
“That’s me.”
“I will tell her ladyship you were incredibly dutiful in your attempt to sell. Now move.”
Eichorn seemed to take this in for a moment, and then stepped aside.
Dayne had almost approached the polling line when he was accosted by four women. They were not shopgirls, but rather primly dressed ladies, all wearing suffragette pins.
“I see you are eager to vote, young man,” the lead woman said.
“I am—” Dayne started.
“As am I,” she said pointedly. “And yet, I am prevented.”
“I support your cause,” Dayne said quickly. He did not want to deal with the whole speech right now. “I have signed petitions, and if you wish me to sign again, I gladly will.”
She presented him a stylus and clipboard. “I’m glad the young men of today are so sensible.”
One of the other women raised an eyebrow at him. “I wonder if he should forsake his vote in solidarity. That would be a statement.”
“I can’t see how, ma’am,” Dayne said as he signed the petition.
“Imagine it! Thousands of men in this city not voting, to show that without our voice included, theirs will not be heard.”
“Jandalyn,” the lead woman said derisively. “I’ve told you many times how absurd that is.”
“It is a statement—”
“It’s handing the election to people who disagree with us.”
Jandalyn huffed and walked off.
“Thank you very much for your support, Mister. . . . Heldrin,” she said as she looked at the petition. “Are you from the city originally?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I grew up in the Sharain region, near Jaconvale.”
“Emma, don’t you know who this is?” one of the other women asked. “He’s her ladyship’s beau. You know, the one who rescued the Parliament.”
Dayne held up a hand in protest. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“No, it isn’t,” the woman said. “I read that pamphlet. You saved all of them from that horrible man, Tharek Pell.”
“Not all of them,” Dayne said quietly. Four members of Parliament had been killed. Perhaps not Dayne’s fault, but Dayne felt t
he weight of it, regardless. The impact on the nation had been profound. Not only were there more constables patrolling the streets in this part of the city, even the sheriffs of the Archduchy of Maradaine were making their presence known. That was uncommon in the city.
It also was why this election was so important. Instead of just voting for the usual twenty members of Parliament whose terms were ending, there were the four special elections to fill the seats of the murdered members.
“Still, he’s a hero!” the woman said.
“Well, then,” Emma said. “Perhaps you would be willing to speak at one of our rallies? It would mean so much to have a true hero speak in favor of our cause. Especially one as young and charming as you.”
Dayne hesitated. “Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to express political opinions while publicly representing the Order,” Dayne said.
“You could come out of uniform, perhaps,” Emma said.
“I’ll have to ask the Grandmaster,” Dayne said. “But if you have a card I will get back to you.”
She handed him her card, and finally let him pass. The line had already started to grow, in no small part due to an argument that had boiled up between the administrators and one of the men who had come to vote. Dayne cautiously moved in closer. He wouldn’t have imposed himself into the situation, but it looked like it was growing quite heated.
“Now don’t you tell me—” the man trying to vote shouted, shoving his finger just a few inches from the administrator’s face.
“I told you and will tell you, shove off!”
“I got a right, and you ain’t gonna—”
“You got a right to get a thumping!” The administrator pulled out a handstick, and was about to bring it down on the man’s arm when Dayne jumped in. He grabbed the handstick mid-swing and wrenched it out of the man’s grasp. That stung his hand, but it would have done far worse to the other man’s head.
“What’s going on here?” Dayne asked. They all stopped and stared at him. Towering a good head over them both probably was more than enough to claim their attention and authority. The shield and dress uniform wouldn’t hurt, either.
“He won’t let me vote!” the man shouted. “I got a right!”
“He can’t vote,” the administrator said. “Not here, and not today.”
“Why the blazes not, you pussucker?”
“Gentlemen, civility,” Dayne boomed out. “Why do you think he can’t vote?”
The administrator shook the man’s identification papers. “It says here he lives on Mastill Avenue, over in Keller Cove. That’s Archduchy of Sauriya. This is Archduchy of Maradaine. He needed to vote in his own neighborhood on the twenty-second.”
“Yeah, but I work over here.”
“It’s where you live, mate.”
“And I couldn’t even get to vote that night!” the man shouted. “Hooligans were causing ruckus all over the neighborhood. So I figure—”
“You figured wrong,” the administrator said, shoving the man’s papers back to him.
“I’m afraid he’s right, friend,” Dayne said. He had heard about some of the commotion on the south side of the city that night, how disruptive it had been across the neighborhoods on the riverbank. “It’s a shame you missed your chance to vote, but that’s how it is.”
The man looked like he was going to complain more, but reconsidered it when he sized up Dayne. He shook his head and stormed off, grumbling about northsiders.
“I appreciate the help,” the administrator said. “You here to vote?”
“I am,” Dayne said. “But others were ahead of me, and—”
“Nonsense, you’re here, and we’ll get to everyone in time,” the administrator said. He handed Dayne a ballot. “Get it done and that way you don’t have to worry.”
Dayne decided not to argue and quickly filled his ballot—Waters and Hinkle, the Functionalist candidates for the Parliament in the Archduchy of Maradaine, as well as his choices for the Archduchy Council, the representative for his district in the Council of Aldermen, and other city officials—the Commissioners of the Loyalty, as they were called. Satisfied with his selections, he pressed his thumb in the ink pad to show he had voted.
“Don’t forget to show your thumb to any of the shopfolk for a fine discount,” the administrator said. “And thank you for coming to Henson’s Majestic!”
Dayne worked his way back through the aisleways to the sales counters—it was nearly a labyrinth—all the while being offered deals on hats and capes and perfume. He had to hand it to Mirianne—she had built something astounding and surely lucrative. As overwhelming as he found the store and this opening event, it was certainly going to be popular. People were flooding the place, and he could see some of the porters were already weighed down with towers of packages wrapped in brown paper stamped with the Henson’s Majestic logo.
As he worked his way around another counter, he spotted a familiar face.
“I do like them, certainly, but with this summer heat, it will be months before I can wear them.”
Jerinne Fendall, a third-year Initiate in the Tarian Order, was trying on a pair of gloves while chatting with the Waishen-haired shopgirl working at that counter. Jerinne herself looked quite at ease, even though she was hardly fashionable in her Tarian drill uniform. Dayne did notice that she was no longer wearing the brace on her foot. It must have finally fully healed after having been broken by Tharek Pell.
“Oh, you should have asked me about summer gloves,” the shopgirl said.
“I’ve never worn gloves in the summer,” Jerinne said, her full attention on the shopgirl. “Is that the fashion now?”
“It’s very much the fashion,” the shopgirl said, pulling out another box.
“I didn’t think you’d have cause for fashion outside of dress uniform,” Dayne said, coming up to Jerinne.
She looked up at him, and flashed a bright smile. “Dayne, whatever are you doing here?”
“You knew I was going to be here,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“Ama—that is, Madam Tyrell ran us through our drills this morning, and then strongly suggested we rest before the formal session of third year begins tomorrow.” Jerinne shrugged. “I think she wanted to be rid of us for the day.”
“You’ll be glad for the rest,” Dayne said. “So what brought you here?”
“Well, Lady Mirianne told me she would treat me to a gift on opening day.” She turned her attention to the shopgirl again. “So I was definitely interested in a pair of fashionable gloves.”
Given where Jerinne’s gaze was focused, Dayne was certain she was far more interested in the girl selling the gloves than the gloves themselves, but that was none of his business. Dayne nodded, glancing around. “I need to find Mirianne.”
“You both . . . know her ladyship?” the shopgirl asked, her voice cracking a bit.
Jerinne leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s her, you know, intended.”
“None of that,” Dayne said.
Jerinne was about to say something in response, but was interrupted by shouts and screams from outside the store. Something angry had suddenly brewed out there. Dayne didn’t wait, making his way through the aisles as fast as he could without knocking people over. He was almost to the exit when he realized Jerinne was right with him, matching pace even though she still had a slight limp.
“You good to do this?” he asked.
“Don’t even know what ‘this’ is,” she said. “But I can keep up.”
They reached the main entrance, but found it to be blocked. A horde of people stood in front of the doors outside, arms linked together to form a human chain. Whatever was happening outside beyond that, Dayne couldn’t see.
“That’s some trouble.”
Dayne was surprised to find the speaker standing right next to him was Fredelle Pence, in her
skirted army uniform, leaning on her quarterstaff. Even though they hadn’t seen each other in nearly three years, she had a casual air toward him, as though they had been by each other’s side all this time. And in many ways, she was the same as she had been—same long chestnut hair cascading down one side of her head, same weary smile. But the years had changed her—no longer the nervous Initiate who panicked each time rankings went up, she had a quiet confidence that she wore like a favorite shirt.
She tried the door, but it couldn’t be budged. Dayne was still so befuddled by her sudden appearance, he said the first thing that came to his mind, even though it had nothing to do with what was going on. “Are you really a lieutenant?”
She turned to him, raising an eyebrow at him. “Good to see you, too, Dayne. How else do we get out of here?”
Whatever was happening outside involved more angry shouts. Dayne could hear someone making a speech, but he couldn’t make out any details.
“There’s loading docks to the alley,” Dayne said. “And the restaurant on the second floor has an overlook balcony.”
“I’ll take the balcony, you take the loading docks,” she said. She grinned at Jerinne for a moment. “Third-year, huh? You’re with me, Initiate.”
Dayne wanted to argue, but she was already heading toward the stairs, Jerinne following.
“I’ll see you outside,” he called after her, and dashed off toward the loading dock.
Jerinne chased after this bizarre army woman as she bolted through the store and up the staircase to the restaurant. People in the store were now in a state of panic, since they were being prevented from getting out. Jerinne saw the clerks and shopgirls were doing their best to calm things, lead people away from the main doors, but the unrest was growing rapidly.
When they reached the restaurant, the army woman stopped for a moment to glance around and assess her options.
“What’s our plan?” Jerinne asked, while the more obvious questions like “Who are you?” and “How do you know Dayne?” stuck in her throat.
Shield of the People Page 2
